Reads for the Nostalgic Romantic: The Valentine's Day Edition

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that come Valentine's Day, the nostalgic romantic must be in want of a pleasant read. There's nothing like sinking down in your favourite armchair with a glass of wine and a cozy read in your hands- much like Amanda with "Pride and Prejudice" in Lost in Austen.
As much as we love all things Austen, here are some titles to take a chance on which have been tried, tested and true by yours truly:

Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks: 

“There you are, sir. There's nothing more than to love and be loved.”

The Doctor and the Diva by Adrienne McDonnell:


"As she moved through more Handel and Mozart, to "Caro mio ben", her eyes glittered and skimmed across the audience. I always search for a face I can sing to, Erika had told Ravell. Tonight, he hoped that face would be his own."

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson:


“You are a wise man, Major, and I will consider your advice with great care--and humility." He finished his tea and rose from the table to go to his room. "But I must ask you, do you really understand what it means to be in love with an unsuitable woman?" 
"My dear boy," said the Major. "Is there really any other kind?” 



The End of the Alphabet by C.S. Richardson:


“A man can see a hundred women, lust for a thousand more, but it is one scent that will open his eyes and turn him to love.” 



Possession by A.S. Byatt:


"We can be quiet together, and pretend - since it is only the beginning - that we have all the time in the world." 
"And every day we shall have less. And then none." 
"Would you rather, therefore, have had nothing at all?" 
"No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere.” 

Silk by Alessandro Baricco:


“Perhaps sometimes life shows you a side of itself which leaves you with nothing more to say.” 



So Bright and Delicate: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne:


“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.” 


Happy reading!

I Cried To Dream Again

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,

Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 

Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices 

That, if I then had waked after long sleep, 

Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, 

The clouds methought would open and show riches 

Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, 

I cried to dream again. 

-William Shakespeare, The Tempest (III.ii.138-46)

From the Shore to the Sea

A new year, a new beginning. It's like I've finally reached the shore and now it's off to sea again, bound for another journey.

I will visit Europe sometime during the summer. I will to achieve my 50 book pledge. I probably will read more than fifty, being the bookworm that I am- and this time, I'll keep track of the titles I've read. I will paint on more canvases. I will strengthen my French and take up Icelandic. I will continue to write my novel. I will learn how to cook and bake more. I will take more chances. I will love more. I will live more. 

About that last remark: I had a conversation with a friend one evening in December at a pub. We were catching up and that soon led to the subject of what it means to us that we're arrived at the end of the year. There were things we looked back fondly, but there were regrets. We both felt that we were floating through life feeling a tad  numb and now we want to feel alive, to be awakened once more. This is something I will continue to hold close to my heart. I feel a stir of change coming on and I welcome this feeling with open arms.

I absolutely loved this film to the point that it's now a top ten in my books. It's films like these that make the world more luminous.


Perfect Sense: A chef and an epidemiologist falls in love as an epidemic begins to rob people of their sensory perceptions. 

Perfect Sense was beautiful, poetic, incredibly eye-opening and left me to wonder about all the things I thought of before the film, and the things I thought about after. Ewan McGregor and Eva Green were incredible in this film. To be honest, I love all of Eva Green's films. Each are a work of art.

The Ghost of Druadian Forest

Another one of my written pieces I wrote as of late. Enjoy!

The Ghost of Druadian Forest

I have walked in the wake of you for all these centuries

When you thought it was only your shadow.

Here, the moonlight sees to it that you would be safely home

As you walk among the night beasts.

Hear them stir and beat their ivory drums,

Watch the stars dance to its own refrain

Feel the brush of white butterflies against your arms

As you move silently in the maze of sleeping oak trees.

Can you feel the strands of my raven hair brush against your divine face?

You can thank the wind; it only wants to trigger long-forgotten dreams.

I am half-sick of listening to swan songs and caressing cold faces

Only the black owls are my true companions.

They whisper caution when I’m in the company of the living

But temptation always shrouds me with her fiery glow.

Deep into the forest I go,

Midnight strikes against the gleaming white walls

Where my huntsman lies forevermore.

It was he who found the roses for me, buried beneath the forest floor

Hidden among the cracked shells and smooth black stones.

For hours I lay still

Pressing my cheek against his stony face

As I call out his name.

Here dwell the masters of Triumph and Tragedy

Can't you hear their silent screams?

The beating of their heavy wings

Brush against my still worn heart.

Come morning, their battle cries are like ice melting into water

Which seep into my very bones

Releasing harder truths than I can bear.

For a spectre like me,

I'll never have a home to call my own

For this forest, like all good mothers

Hold lost souls (like me) together

Delivering me from evil.

Looking up, I see the moon appearing in the night sky.

I begin to feel my pace quickening.

Run.

Off I go again

In search of lost time.

Ode to Sherlock...and my Admittance to the Sherlockian School of Deduction

 There are those of you who may know me well enough to understand the delicate situation of the incredible maddening passion I undergo when it comes to my love of Sherlock Holmes. I thank my nine year old self for that.
 It all began when I was bored one day (as many of us nine year old selves would often find ourselves in) so I decided to hop over to the library near my house to see what sort of new releases they had in store in the children's section. Rather than take my pick on one of the Beatrix Potter stories,  my overwhelming curiosity let me to the adult fiction section. The shelves were much taller and the books seem so grand, so thick, and so different compared to the stuff they had for us kids. I wanted to touch all of their spines, to open each one of them and just...read. 
As I was absent-mindedly walking along the rows of shelves, one title stood out and I paused,
 The spine read: "The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes" by Arthur Conan Doyle. 
Right there and then, I had the overwhelming urge to take a few deep breaths ( I got easily excitable at the prospect of a great read. Times haven't changed.),  pull the book out of its cozy place, bring it with me to the nearest armchair, open it, and be amazed by what was in store. Which is exactly what I did. 

Since then, Sherlock Holmes has been my hero in every sense of the word. I'd like to think that this sort of admiration has blend into my lifestyle in some way or another. I have listened and loved all the scores made for Sherlock Holmes, not to mention watched everything that was adapted to television and film, read every story and read other books regarding Sherlock and/or the author. In short: have anything Sherlock? Will read/listen/watch/research.  One might say that I am a Sherlockian in its truest extent.

Furthermore, I knew that one way or another, us Sherlockians would be in for quite a big surprise. And a big surprise it was, when on a trip to the mailbox early this morning, I was greeted by a mysterious black envelope sealed with a gold crest which I then immediately tore it open on the spot, read it, ran back home going:  "Oh my god, oh my god, it's really happening, I KNEW it!!"- booked a ticket to London, and began to pack.

Once you've read this, you would understand my irrepressible urge to skip down the sidewalk, whopping with excitement, and hugging random strangers throughout the entire time:

SHERLOCKIAN SCHOOL OF DEDUCTION. 

Headmaster: 

Sherlock M. Holmes

(Consulting Detective, self-declared High Functioning Sociopath, Genius.)

Dear Sherlockian,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Sherlockian School of Deduction. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on November 1. We await your owl by no later than October 31.

Yours sincerely,

John H. Watson,

Deputy Headmaster. 

________________________________

SHERLOCKIAN SCHOOL OF DEDUCTION 

Uniform

First-year students will require:

1. Seven sets of woolly jumpers (preferably cable-knit)
2. One plain scarf (navy blue) for day wear.
3. One Milford coat (black)
4. One umbrella (black, wooden handle; family sized)
5. Two Westwood suits (black)
6. One lab coat (white)
7. One forensics sterilized suit (blue)
8. One “bobby” uniform (reflectant vest, checkered hat)

Please note that all pupil’s clothes should carry name tags.

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following

• The Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
• The Science of Deduction by Sherlock Holmes
• Notions in Army Medicine by John Watson
• The Sociopath Next Door by Martha Stout (Also known as DI Lestrade’s writing alias)
• How to Run a Country While on a Diet by Mycroft Holmes
• Dealing with the Jerk you Love by Sally Donovan and Molly Hooper
• Psycopaths: The rules to spot and/or become one by Jim Moriarty and F. Anderson

Other Equipment

• 1 British Army Browning L9A1
• 1 Pocket spyglass
• 1 lab kit (vials of various sizes, chemicals capable of causing explosions combined)
• Jam and Milk supplies for the rest of the Year

Students may also bring a cat OR a fox OR a hegehog OR a bee OR a dinosaur OR a hammerhead shark.

Of course, when it comes the wardrobe part, I will be tweaking it a bit according to my suitability. I look forward to owning a British Army Browning L9A1. Don't look surprised- us Sherlockians secretly want to own one.
I was thinking of bringing my hammerhead shark- his name is Gladstone- but I don't think he could fit into my suitcase, the poor chap. My second choice would be a fox. I imagine I would name it Watson.




So if I unexpectedly vanish from my usual haunts in Toronto- you know where I am.




Joanne






(Note: This wonderful letter was inspired by disequilibrium- I took out the "Badassery" part because the Sherlockian School of Deduction is itself, already badass. It needs no further emphasis.)

In This Way Only

Painter: Janet Hill



The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only.

- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

A Second's Thought

(Photo: Oxford's Bodleian Library)

Lovely minds, think alike:

Virginia Woolf  described walking past a library at Oxford in contemplation: “I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse perhaps to be locked in.”



(Photo: Inside the Bodleian Library)

I have always dreamt of opening a book store that would reminisce an atmosphere Sherlock Holmes would enjoy walking through, in a lovely neighbourhood somewhere within the city. If that can't be done, I will continue to improve and collect unique editions and rare books as I have done thus far, and create the most stunning home library the world has ever seen.
 A girl can dream...and possibly succeed.

Prelude

Prelude
Tomas Tranströmer


Awakening is a parachute jump from the dream.
Freed from the choking vortex, the diver
sinks towards the green map of morning.
Things magnify. He sees, from the fluttering lark's
position, huge tree-root systems
like branchings of subterranean chandeliers. Above ground,
in tropical flood, earth's greenery
stands with lifted arms, as if listening
to the beat of invisible pistons. And he
sinks towards summer, is lowered
into its dazzling crater, lowered
between fissures of moist green eons
trembling under the sun's turbine. Then halts
the downward dive through time's eyeblink, the wingspread
becomes an osprey's glide over streaming water.
Bronze Age trumpets:
their outlaw tune
hangs motionless over the void.


In the day's first hours consciousness can own the world
like a hand enclosing a sun-warm stone.
The skydiver stands under the tree.
With the plunge through death's vortex
will light's great chute spread over his head?


To my great delight and much cheers, a hearty congratulations to Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer, who has won the 2011 Nobel Prize for Literature.
The reason for his win? "...through his condensed, translucent images, he gives us fresh access to reality".
Tranströmer's words are so mesmerizing, capturing our world and the human understanding with such depth, it is fair to say that he is one of a kind- not to mention he's also a favourite poet of mine! He is truly one of the greatest Scandinavian poets.
Although you may not have known of his existence previously, you sure do now. Look into some of his works at your local bookstores today.