I can't think of a more apt or promising beginning for a book blog. That one humble phrase is pretty much the essence of the last millennium's literature. It is ripe with potential, for all stories must have a beginning.
Now you know what this is all about, why should you read this book blog instead of all the other millions out there? I'm sure I don't know. I don't claim this is superior (instead, it is probably inferior) to the others. I'm not an english major, I am neither a jack-of-all-genres nor a master of any one, and I have decidedly quirky tastes in books. All this blog can offer is the opinionated and unashamedly ignorant reactions of a girl to the books she encounters.
So what can you expect? No Twilight, no Hunger Games and DEFINITELY no Fifty Shades of Grey. Please guys, lets keep it clean. I have not read them and I wouldn't read them. They're basically best-selling pulp fiction without any literary merit, written to appeal to the masses and pregnant with cliches, Mary Sues and emotional overdoses.
Before you jab that comment button and flame me, remember, I did say I was opinionated. Please don't turn the comment box into a pro-Twilight/Hunger Games/Fifty Shades crusade.
So what do I read and what will I post about? Well, anything I find conceptually intriguing, even if I don't entirely like the book. George Orwell's 1984 falls into that category. Or anything stylistically significant, for example if the author writes well or beautifully, even if I don't like the plot. Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl would have a spot there. Or something I really genuinely like but don't expect anyone else to like, because I know I have unorthodox tastes. I am also partial to old books and things written a long time ago, euphemistically known as classics. And I have this hangover from a childhood of reading series books, and every so often I will revert back to my ten-year old self and write on something obscure but highly cherished, like Trixie Belden. Most definitely not mainstream.
My favourite author is surprisingly normal though - Jane Austen. I can hear half of you heaving a collective sigh of relief because finally, I'm starting to sound a little human. And then I can hear the other half curling their lips disdainfully, automatically dismissing me as one of those romantic saps who think the only stories worth reading are those that end with a marriage. I would like to say - since Jane's not here to defend herself, but I am - that to write off her novels as romance books is to not even skim the surface of the lake. Austen writes with brilliant psychological precision -
