Before you decide to write me off altogether, my absence can be justified, and remains somewhat bittersweet. Some recent changes in the life of this little bookworm:
- I got a new job with an awesome company Downtown!
- I've been training my replacement. (the big suck)
- I've been visiting a loved one in the hospital. (One strong, beautiful lady and she's looking better everyday!)
- I celebrated my two year anniversary with my super wonderful love, J.
So, if you've decided to cut me some slack and you're still reading, let me say that I've read Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar and Robert Alexander's Rasputin's Daughter without posting much about them. Shame.
I've heard that many people said that felt they could really identify with her frame of mind at a younger age, but didn't see much in the novel as they aged. However, the moments that Esther vocalizes her disengagement with the tedious aspects of life, and the enormous weight of indecision, I felt that I shared many of the same feelings, not to mention, a grossly similar habit of over analyzing most anything.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.The Bell Jar is a must read classic work of literature, and helped me complete another of my requirements for the Classics Challenge.
Robert Alexander's Rasputin's Daughter was less than stellar. I'm actually not going to say too much. I was hankering for some historical fiction after I completed Michelle Moran's Madame Tussaud, and had purchased a used copy of RD from Goodwill some time ago. I've also been quite fascinated with Nicholas II and his charming family, which were held captive and then secretly killed at the start of the Russian Revolution. Rasputin, a healer employed by the royal family, and a Siberian peasant, was largely unpopular with the aristocracy of Russia. This novel, told from the perspective of Rasputin's eldest daughter, exhibits the days leading up to his murder and the specifics of his daily life. The novel, while entertaining and mostly interesting, was lacking in good writing. Most of the dialogue was hurried, and the narrator seemed too easily manipulated, while events that were used to create suspense did little to follow through. I felt that it did lead me to research actual figures from this period, and I was entertained. If you have it, read it; however, I wouldn't necessarily suggest purchasing a copy.
Also, thanks to everyone that comes and brightens my day with input on my posts! I hope to get back into the swing of things in the near future, and can't wait to share my reviews of books to come.