Hmmm. I may not restrict myself to a single Heyer, but this would have to be in my top three. I've just been listening (again) to an unabridged audiobook of it, which is terrific and highlights the wit and irony of Heyer's writing. And the utter fun of the story.
This image came from here; it's the edition I have of the book (but am too lazy right now to photograph and upload...). That blog entry compares Sophy to Jane Austen's Emma. Sophy being Much cleverer at managing people.
I think I came to Norman McLean's book, A River Runs Through It and other stories, thanks to the 1992 film, directed by Robert Redford. Such a strong, graceful, wise, sad book (semi-autobiographical) and film, about two brothers, one responsible, one not, the ties that hold a family and the losses that never quite heal; and flyfishing, which is absolutely about itself but also a metaphor for much more. The book was rewarding too, and has one of my favourite pieces of prose, which is the ending of both the book and film.
"It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us."
Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, alhtough some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where teh summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the worlds' great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.
In the film, most of this is done as a final voiceover by Robert Redford (as the voice of the older Norman McLean - Redford doesn't appear on camera in the film). The rhythm of this piece of prose, its simplicity and craft, its wisdom and mystery, catch me every time I hear or read it. I don't fully understand it, and yet I do.
Just when you thought it was all going to be tragic novels, here's a change of pace. This book is hilarious, clever, witty and fun to browse. The imagination it shares is utterly delightful and inspirational, so many quirky, individual sock creatures. I still have my old school hockey socks (red, yellow and green stripes, white 'feet') and someday, this book is the one that will make them become something new. Found this book at the Sydney Needlecraft and Quilt Fair at Darling Harbour several years ago. I do like the way people are shaking up the world of softies/soft toys with books like this. John Murphy's website is here.
After a little discombobulation at the start, getting used to the dual voices of Henry and Clare, and the time-travelling, this is one of my greatest favourites, a great, rich, tragic, hopeful story about love and loss and the ordinary things that matter so much. The unabridged audiobook read by William Hope and Laurel Lefkow is utterly brilliant, the best performance of this book (the film wasn't able to hold the narrative richness and detail of the book) and my favourite audiobook ever.
I thought I'd document, here on the blog, a year-full of favourite books. Or 365 favourites. Given that this house houses hundreds (OK, thousands), it will be fun to choose especial favourites.
I heard the owl call my name, by Margaret Craven
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Love this book. Found it as a teenager, and by the end of it, I still cry. Margaret Craven's writing is powerfully simple, plain clear storytelling that leaves room for you to engage, rather than forcing you to do so. A young priest, Mark, is sent by his bishop to be the minister in a remote Canadian village, because he doesn't have much time and the challenges of this will make the most of his time. The native Canadian people (first people? I'm not sure of the current correct terminology) view him at first with suspicion, and he has to earn their trust and find his way in an unfamiliar culture. It's not all a pretty story, or unrealistically neat, but it's one that resonates. It's not a 'religious' book per se, so whether or not you're a believer, it's worth reading.
Sometimes a photo a day, to make me look more closely and see what is around me to be considered and captured, using the immediacy of digital photography. And possibly the odd rant, from time to time. Things made, found, discovered. A cornucopia. On the One Vivid Leaf blog, crochet!
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