Once more, dear friends, I write from a borrowed laptop in the south of France. The Book Accumulator and I have spent the last few days roaming tiny stone villages in Provence, buying postcards and lavender soap and crêpes galore. Today/tomorrow the rest of the family join(ed) us and we’ve got a few more days here before I’m off back to the UK.
I’ve been reading a book a day but I fear I will not conquer Laurence Cossé’s A Novel Bookstore before midnight. Not least because I finally have cooperative internet and I am
hugging it to myself, weeping quietly wasting time on it.
Will Schwalbe’s The End of Your Life Book Club was excellent, I gave up on The Girl on the Stairs by Louise Welsh and Philippa Gregory’s latest, The Kingmaker’s Daughter was one more rendition of the same material but still as gripping as ever. I’m finding The Novel Bookstore confusing but still enjoyable.
Encore de café au lait, s’il vous plait!