We interrupt your regular blogging schedule for this very important meme (seen here, here and here):
- Hardcover or paperback, and why?
Once upon a time, I loved paperbacks – I couldn’t resist their clean, deliciously unbroken spines, all lined up in row in a bookshop (or their affordable price tags, for that matter). There was nothing I liked better than a stack of them, and if they had matt covers? All the better. However, in these heady days of disposable income, I have become something of a hardback fan. Undoubtedly my new penchant for contemporary fiction, which demands you buy IMMEDIATELY on release, and my craze for book prizes has helped to fuel my lust for them. But I’ve also begun ‘collecting’ my favourite ‘old’ books in hardback as well (my pipe dream being to own a full HB set of Woolf’s novels, diaries and essays). Oftentimes people say they prefer hardbacks because they’re hardwearing, or because they have a feeling of permanence about them. But that isn’t really why I like them. I’m pathologically careful with books when I read them anyway and, lets be honest, hardbacks aren’t quite as tough as we make out. Their dustjackets are incredily vulnerable, and their boards are just as liable to get bashed about, dented and stained. No, it's because they beg to be nurtured – I’m one of those sad people who protects dustjackets in a plastic wrapper – and loved. I have a sneaky suspiscion that I value them so highly because they feel like treasure; the literary equivalent of gold.
- If I were to own a bookshop, I would call it…
I’d want to call it Eve’s Alexandria, but I don’t think that’s really practical. Firstly it doesn’t give enough of a clue as to what kind of shop it is – passers by might be more puzzled than intrigued - and, secondly, we would have to constantly explain what the name meant. Which in turn might give customers the false impression that we only sold books by women or for women, or something like that. Anyway, I think having ‘books’ in the name is a good idea – no ambiguity there – and I’ve always thought ‘Pomegranate Books’ sounded nice. And, of course, we would have a café/coffee bar at the back called ‘The Pomegranate’, which would be very suave and attract literary types, who would come to all of our bookish events (also attended by very famous authors). We would host two monthly reading groups: one for children and their parents, and one for adults; and we would invite local people to nominate their favourite books for recommendation in our window. Not that I’ve thought long and hard about it or anything…
- My favorite quote from a book is…
I don’t have a good enough memory to carry around a bank of quotations but it would probably be something from Woolf, perhaps the part from Mrs. Dalloway when Clarissa is climbing the stairs to her quiet room and she thinks of her life being cut into ever thinning slices. Does anyone know it? Or the one from Orlando, at the end, when Orlando calls out for herself. Or perhaps from The Waves (and this one I know the beginning of):
There is nothing staid, nothing settled in this universe. All is rippling, all is dancing; all is quickness and triumph.
- The author (alive or dead) I would love to have lunch with would be…
This question always puts me in a quandry. It doesn’t necessarily follow that your favourite authors would be good lunch dates. For example, I’m not sure I could really relax and enjoy myself with Woolf, or have fun with George Eliot, or discuss books with Henry James. I’m sure that the culture gap would gape wide and I’d make a gazillion faux-pas before I’d picked up my tea cup. So I’d probably go for someone contemporary like Margaret Atwood, or Ali Smith, or even the two together.
- If I was going to a deserted island and could only bring one book, except for the SAS survival guide, it would be…
Ahhh, this old chestnut. I’ll stuck with what I’ve said before: The Baroque Cycle by Neal Stephenson, which is split into three books but is technically one, long novel. I *love* it. Alternatively, if we’re clinging to a one volume rule (boo!), I’d take Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. Now I know that neither of these choices is particularly edifying – I should choose Shakespeare or Dickens or The Canterbury Tales, something that will keep me whetting my mind against the stone of truly great literature. But really, imagine it: you’re stuck on a desert island, alone and without any other source of entertainment. Would you want to delve into something thought-provoking, difficult or disturbing (or all three, in the case of the Bard), or would you want something absorbing, tightly plotted and good for a laugh. Thought so.
- I would love someone to invent a bookish gadget that…
Pointed out literary references. So, for example, when you’re reading something markedly intertextual like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road or Peter Rushforth’s Pinkerton’s Sister you could click your fingers and get a list of all the hints and resonances and where they come from. This would mean that you could always be safe in the knowledge that you hadn’t missed something obvious and essential, and could choose to follow up on things as the mood took you.
- The smell of an old book reminds me of…
Thomas Carlyle. No, really. When I was an undergraduate I developed a fascination with Victorian Medievalism (Ruskin, Pugin, Morris, Burne-Jones et al) and scoured Ebay for cheap copies of their work. Sadly, there wasn’t a great deal in my price range, but I did manage to buy several late 19th century editions of Carlyle (Past and Present, Heros and Hero Worship and Sartor Resartus). When they arrived they had this incredible perfume of age about them, and even though they were a bit grotty, I fell completely in love with them.
- If I could be the lead character in a book (mention the title), it would be…
Hmmmm…I’m not sure. Now I think about it all of my favourite books have tragic or unpleasant heroines. (What does this say about me?) Maybe I could break the gender mold and be a mix of Stephen Maturin and Jack Aubrey from Patrick O’Brian? With all the intelligence of one, and the outrageous good fortune of the other?
- The most overestimated book of all time is…
Well ‘of all time’ is somewhat hyperbolic. But two books that immediately spring to mind are The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger and On Beauty by Zadie Smith, which isn’t to say that they’re bad novels but only that I couldn't stand them.
- I hate it when a book…
Fails to live up to its initial promise. But then don’t we all.
~~Victoria~~