Book meme

Mar. 5th, 2011 09:05 am
 As this is (nominally) a LJ of reading, I thought I'd swipe the book meme that [info]azdak posted:

The book I am currently reading:  England's Mistress, by Kate Willams - about Emma Hamilton.  Bought at random in Waterstones because it was World Book Day and I was going to buy an actual book in an actual bookshop, darnit.   I know nothing about Emma Hamilton beyond the fact that she was Nelson's lover, so it's interesting to find out more.  The book's well written and does, thankfully, seem to make it clear where they are extrapolating from the known experiences of other people in a similar situation (as to childhood/teenage etc experiences) rather than discussing something actually known about Emma.

The book I am currently writing: another tax book - on intellectual property, again.

The book I love most: to read, Gaudy Night.  As a physical object, a book on calculus that was my grandfather's at school - it's gorgeous, bound in soft leather with thin pages, and is covered in neat scribbling of his thoughts and questions as he worked through it.

The last book I received as a gift: I have no idea.  People tend not to give me books because they don't know what's already in the 4,000+ here at home.  

The last book I gave as a gift: a book on architecture details, to nephew for his birthday about six weeks ago - he wants to study architecture at Cambridge.

The nearest book on my desk: I have a small desk, there's isn't a book on it, unless you count the books stored on my Kindle app on the iPhone and iPhone?  In which case the open book in the iPhone app is A History of Christianity by Diarmaid MacCulloch and the open book in the iPad app is Abraham Lincoln and the Structure of Reason by a couple of lawyers and I'm too lazy to turn on the iPad to find out their names.  The iPad and iPhone are stacked together, so I can't tell which is nearest.  The nearest physical book is impossible to tell, as the desk in the middle of shelves, there are rather a lot all at the same distance away from the edges!

And finally - still not running yet. My kneecap is still numb in the middle and hypersensitive around the top, so I'm disinclined to stress-test it.  Maybe next week.
Hoarse from lecturing for six hours; still oddly bemused by the brass band playing in the park outside my window at work when I got back from lecturing. Exploring the wonders of Ngaio Marsh on Kindle (yes, I have all them in physical form but - like DLS - there's a comfort factor involved).

Leftover mac and cheese for dinner. Life is good.
Wandered homewards via Mecklenburg Square. There were people in the Square garden playing tennis, energetically if rather erratically. The continuity across decades was rather comforting.

Reading: Death on the Air - the Ngaio Marsh kick continues.
Working. A lot. Deadlines have all come crowding in, for opinions and articles and lions and tigers, oh my.

Reading: Final Curtain by Ngaio Marsh. Have something of a Rory/Troy thing going on at the moment, possibly brought on by finding an audiobook of Five Red Herrings read by Patrick Malahide (which is lovely), and remembering just how delicious he was as Roderick Alleyn - and still is, thanks to the wonders that are the DVD and iTunes. The series is a treat for the next vacation, I think. The books are filling in odd moments, when I really can't take the legislation any more.
http://gaudynight.com/

"And we know the sex is great because Harriet doesn’t get around to sourcing the quotation for ten whole days." Fabulous quote.
Fog blanket morning; porridge with bananas and raisins; coffee steaming gently, as the heating hasn't made much of a dent in the cold. No run this morning, it's a rest day as I'm trying to ease back to fitness gently, to at least try and minimise the risk of objections and refusals from joints and other parts.

Outside my room at work now is the chapel, wherein there is a new organ. Yesterday passed in a succession of practices and odd notes as the tuners settle it in. It takes a month to tune an organ, it seems, so I have a few more days of background music.

I have my gown now, a thing of wonder and beauty and miscellaneous folds and buttons and history. The wig can wait until I need one; the gown is needed for dinner in Hall and sufficient other formalities that it seemed better to buy than to rent. Practicalities aside, the symbolism meant something.

The rediscovery of a love of learning, of researching, is just glorious. No timesheets, no targets - the client deadlines are mine to manage in any way that I want, so there's little obstacle to digging into obscure facts and tangents, to reading cases settled over 150 years ago and wonder about the lives of the people whose dispute has passed into legal history. I find I can think again, find links and develop theories, and not be constrained by petty mismanagement. Which is not to say that the mortgage no longer needs to be paid, to be prosaic, but I choose how I get there. I've underestimated choice for a long time.

Reading: Murder Must Advertise - Dorothy L Sayers (the Wimsey kick continues), and countless caselaw on domicile.
Early morning, late night. It's dark and I sit in a small pool of light, a single and not especially powerful lightbulb as the only light on in the house or hereabouts. Even the streetlighting is off. The cats are asleep, snuffling softly after imagined rabbits. I've been reading Virginia Woolf's Thoughts on Peace in an Air Raid, as it went with the mood and the recent re-listening to A Presumption of Death and a sudden burst of wimseyfic reading.

Odd how many people who write wimseyfic also seem to write vorkosiganfic; then again, as they seem to write Cordelia/Aral, perhaps it's not at all surprising. Harriet Vane and Cordelia Vorkosigan: perhaps the closest I come to having heroes.
Procrastinating this evening: I should be updating my notes for tomorrow's seminar. Instead, I'm hoping that my voice will hold for the six hours I have to lecture and am delighted with the discovery of new (good) Wimsey fic. It'll go nicely with my current re-re-listening to Edward Petherbridge's readings via audiobook of various Sayers and not-Sayers novels. Blow the quality of the latter, I just rather love his voice. I do wish he'd do Busman's Honeymoon, though. My recollection of seeing him at the Lyric in the play of the novel of the play ... or whichever way it was ... grows fainter, which is tiresome.

February 2015

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