Novels without the prose

I judge a book by its prose. I love how words weave together - how they leave me with a delicious and intoxicating feeling - sometimes more than the novel itself. But great prose can turn any story into a great read, I suppose. And I'm one who likes to get waist-deep into books, that feeling of familiarity with the places and the faces through a mental movie reel.

The thought of novels told through pictures was a bit disconcerting for me (not exactly graphic novels). Then fate showed me these two books which I Googled and searched on Goodreads now I'm lusting over them! 

and

Chopsticks and The Scrapbook of Frankie Pratt are novels in scrapbook format. I love the idea of using bits  and scraps of memories to tell stories and adore Caroline Preston for using vintage ephemera from her grandmother's attic and antique shops to make a novel set in the 1920s. I envy her for having bits of the era I wish I lived in! 

I think photos are as beautiful as words! These novels will surely be delectable, don't you think?

Mine for the reading!

I came across this beautiful quote from Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Will definitely put this on my reading list!

“From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood. There was poetry for quiet companionship. There was adventure when she tired of quiet hours. There would be love stories when she came into adolescence and when she wanted to feel a closeness to someone she could read a biography. On that day when she first knew she could read, she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived."

My love affair with Amor Towles

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I still can't put this down. It feels like a love affair - sneaking glances, hurried words, stealing away to unlit rooms, just to taste Towles' prose on my lips.

I love Katey. I want my own Wallace Wolcott and Dicky Vanderwhile, and cried when they left. I hated Eve. I wanna punch Tinker on the face and wrap my arms around Hank, or maybe the opposite. I adore Anne Grandyn, her grandeur, her poise, her strength. I miss New York, and fell in love over and over again for the blinding lights, the nostalgic feeling for the future, every feeling, every word that is New York. Katey Kontent is my heroine. I'm Amor Towles' lover. This book will take you in.



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Current read: Rules of Civility

The crisp sound of plastic ripping under my fingers, the smell of paper, the smooth plane of the cover slightly disturbed by embossed letters, the crowded parking lot, lines of impatient work people, a woman clicks her tongue loudly, a man wipes his sweating nape, a girl staring me down over his boyfriend's shoulder. I looked up once, she looked away. I smirked and read and read and read, my body humming with lust over pages of prose. The van abruptly arrived, the line pushed me forward, I trip over words. Inside the capsule-like vehicle, bodies cramped against each other, shoulder-to-shoulder, elbow-to-rib, knees against the back of the seats, I pray for a short ride home. 

"On Friday nights, we let boys whom we had no intention of kissing buy us drinks, and in exchange for dinner we kissed a few whom we had no intention of kissing twice."