Sunday, March 21, 2010


Indeed, this is such a brilliant writer that her readers would believe anything she told them.
-- Daily Mail --

"Indeed", indeed!
A very pithy summation of my own thorough duping!
Gripped by the veritable knickers, I was!
I believed it all!
And to say more is to spoil too much, for a new reader.
I find it very difficult to say almost anything at all about this book without letting too much well-woven information slip.
But if you want to grab onto a book that does not at all disappoint the attention-span of even a half-awake reader -- pick this one.
Affinity, by Sarah Waters.
It is the third of her books I have read and it is my favorite, having loved the others.
Brilliantly crafted. Affinity is a book I unreservedly recommend to all readers yonder -- wandering in the Victorian London fog.
Trust me.
In the end, a lantern shall be brought near. Very near.

I remembered that comment of Arthur’s, that women’s books could only ever be journals of the heart. I think I thought that, in making my trips to Millbank, in writing of them here, I would somehow disprove or spite him. I thought that I could make my life into a book that had no life or love in it—a book that was only a catalogue, a kind of list. Now I can see that my heart has crept across these pages, after all. I can see the crooked passage of it, it grows firmer as the paper turns. It grows so firm at last, it spells a name—
-- from Affinity, by Sarah Waters --


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