Category: The Written Word (page 1 of 1)

I’m reading a book right now that’s titled, ‘Tis. It’s written by an Irish author named Frank McCourt. I’m not sure why I’m finding myself reading so many books authored by the Irish as of late, but interestingly, I am. First it was Maeve Binchy’s Quentins and then it was Sharon Owens’ The Tavern on Maple Street and now it’s ‘Tis. Funny how that happens. I think it’s because I’ve been visiting the free book giveaway in Farmington at the end of each month. A non-profit in town offers hundreds of books at no cost to the public and I end up taking a few home each time. Books with interesting titles that just happen to be of the Irish persuasion, not that the Irish need to be persuaded one way or the other.

Two of my favorite books are The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear, written by Patrick Rothfuss. Both books are beautifully written and if I was forced to keep only two on my shelf, it’d be these two. By the way, if you’ve ever been interested in what Patrick Rothfuss’ favorite fantasy books are (that he’s enjoyed reading, himself), please visit my post on the topic. Yes, this is something I’ve looked into. I’m always curious about what other fantasy genre aficionados have found themselves toiling with. Some of his list I agree with, some I don’t. I have a feeling he listed a few books in there that are so common that it would be strange not to include them. Yet, I doubt he’s even read them. But alas, I may be wrong.

I do believe I’ve found the Hemingway I’ve been waiting for. While I’m now on page 300 and something of For Whom the Bell Tolls, I marked page 252 because, on it, the writing was stellar. It’s the sort of writing that reminded me of The Road by Cormac McCarthy. By the way, if you enjoy what you read below, please take a look at The Road. It’s one of my top five favorite books of all time. It’s intense, to say the least.

A few weeks ago, Laura and I decided to re-watch the entirety of Downton Abbey. We adore the series and if memory serves, this latest viewing was her fourth. It was my second. Granted, Laura has been aboard the Downton train since its inception. She, along with my mother, have been avid fans who harken back to the days of 2011 when it initially aired on PBS. I’ll confess that I ignored much of the hubbub. The brouhaha. As my mother filled me in on the show, I secretly thought she was mispronouncing Downtown, as in Downtown Abbey. As it turns out, she was correct and I was incorrect. Downton Abbey is a fictional estate located in Yorkshire County, England (filmed at Highclere Castle). It’s an excellent show, but not one without its drawbacks. It’s those drawbacks I wish to discuss in this post today.

Reading For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway has taken longer than expected. It’s been a slog, to say the least. As I’ve mentioned dozens of times, if I love a book, I’ll read chapters each night. If it hasn’t exactly picked up yet, I’ll read a page or two and fall asleep doing so. Apparently, evidenced by my falling asleep so quickly after opening this one, I’d say it’s yet to pick up. I’m hoping it will. I’m more than halfway through so something’s bound to happen. I mean, it’s just got to happen, right?

I’m not sure of how many times I’ve written this post. Each time I enter the internet though, I’m compelled to write it again. I swear, the world is against me in this regard. It teases me and taunts me – all because my mother was an English major during the final two years of her college career. Much of my young life was consumed with grammatical correction and since I surely can’t wander around the depths of the seemingly dark web commenting on the grammar of people who would lambast me for doing so, I’m relegated to the writing of my thoughts on this very website. I apologize for putting you through this, but it’s something that needs to be done.

For the past few days, I’ve been looking at photos of Scotland, England, and parts of France (and even Pennsylvania) that show lots of beautiful white snow on the ground. I must confess, I’m a bit jealous. Here in Maine, we’ve seen only rain. While that’s fine, and as I’ve mentioned in my previous post, we’ve certainly needed it, I’ve got to say rain’s nothing compared to the first snowfall. And as for the locales I mentioned above, the folks who live in them are in their glory. They don’t see much snow at all. Except for those living in Pennsylvania. They get lots of it.

I consider this blog my personal journal. I haven’t exactly began journaling, per se, yet, but I’ll certainly do that once I write all the posts that’ve been bouncing around my mind for the past few months. I love journaling and I feel it’s something everyone should do. It forces a person to sit down and think about his or her day. It forces recollection and ponderance. It forces a slower pace. And these may actually be good things.

If you’ve ever read and enjoyed Maeve Binchy’s “Quentins,” you’d surely enjoy reading “The Tavern on Maple Street” by Sharon Owens as well. While Quentins was set in Dublin and The Tavern on Maple Street was set in Belfast, both authors shared an uncanny ability of offering glimpses into pub life in Ireland. And they did a good job of it too. While I can’t say either of these books were specifically sought out by me, I can say that I’m glad I read them.