libri vermis

Just finished The Book of Lost Things, and yes, it is wonderful, everyone. I am now starting Jane Eyre, which I borrowed from the library yesterday. It's funny, because I would never have chosen to read this book on my own, but joining this forum and having others recommend it has intrigued me. Now I am excited about reading it. You are all a bad influence on me.

Charles De Lint is wonderful. I haven't read all of his stuff, but most of what I have read has been excellent. Many of his books take place in the fictional town of Newford, but most of them can be read in any order you like. An excellent book to start with, to get a feel for Charles De Lint's style, is Dreams Underfoot. It is a collection of short stories from Newford, and it will introduce you to Jilly Coppercorn, a recurring character in the series.

You might want to check out some of Charles De Lint's books. He writes urban fantasy, often with teenage characters. I love his work myself. Here are three to look into if you are interested: The Dreaming Place Dreams Underfoot The Blue Girl

I am glad to hear you liked this book. It's on my bookshelf, yet to be read, and I am looking forward to this one more and more.

Welcome to the forum, Julia.

The first poem I ever read that I remember staying with me. That is why it is my favorite. Plus, she's a fairy! The Lady of Shalott On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, willow veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott? Only reapers, reaping early, In among the bearded barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly; Down to tower'd Camelot; And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott." There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot; Or when the Moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott. A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, burning bright, Moves over still Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And around about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance -- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right -- The leaves upon her falling light -- Thro' the noises of the night, She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame, And around the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."

I hope you enjoy it. I am new here, and can't stay away.

I can't help it. I am usually in another world (reading). Ahhh, sounds good!

Leave it to me to think of things at the last minute:roll:, but if we do have others interested in participating, don't we need to leave some time for them to respond? And what shall we make the deadline for others to respond if they are interested?

I am almost done with The Book of Lost Things, but I am planning to read the extra information in the back as well. Excellent, excellent book that made me a cry a little in spots. But I cry easily. :D

Sometimes I think you can learn more about history, psychology, sociology, and life by reading fiction than you can by reading non-fiction. Also, sometimes what is purported as fact is not.

Why do courts even permit cases like this?

Once a week, I will recommend a book that I have read in the past that I think is a highly worthy read. I will try to make selections that may have not been read by most of you on this forum. If it looks interesting to you, find some time to read it. Today's selection is A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin. Here is the synopsis: For Alessandro Giuliani, the son of a prosperous Roman lawyer, trees shimmer in the sun beneath a sky of perfect blue, and at night the moon is amber as Rome seethes with light. He races horses across country to the sea, climbs the Alps, and is a student of painting and aesthetics. And he falls in love, deeply and eternally. Then the Great War intervenes. Half a century later, in August of 1964, Alessandro, a white-haired professor, finds himself unexpectedly on the road with an illiterate young factory worker. During a walk over days and nights, the old man tells the story of his life. How he was a soldier, a hero, a prisoner, and a deserter. And how he tragically lost one family and gained another. Dazzled by the action and envious of the richness and color of the story, the boy realizes that the old man's magnificent tale of love and war is more that just a tale. It is the recapitulation of his life, his reckoning with mortality, and above all, a love song for his family. I have nothing to add, except this was one of my favorite books. It made me laugh, weep, ache from it's beauty, and think. If anyone does decide to pick it up and read it, please give me your thoughts. I would love to hear them.

Welcome to the forums. Please don't let Cthulu in, though.

Yes, but wouldn't a minion of Satan lie about her worship of the Father of Lies?

I definitely am like that as well, where I won't re-read a book until a year or two later. But I find that when I re-read books, there is always something of importance that I missed the first time through. And I think of how terrible it would be if I had never had the chance to discover what I had missed. But I also constantly want to read new books. I guess I will just have to live forever.

Hmmm, my thoughts, and this is just me. If I don't find a book worth reading more than once, then it wasn't worth reading in the first place.

Oh, this thread is kind of old, but I will make some suggestions anyway. I agree with Douglas Adams Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series and the Christopher Moore books. I would also add Tom Robbins. Still Life With Woodpecker, Another Roadside Attraction, Skinny Legs and All, and Jitterbug Perfume are all good ones. Another good one is Freddy and Fredricka by Mark Helprin.

Yes, Thomas Covenant is one of the most unlikeable characters in literature. I agree with you there. However, I disagree about there not being an illuminating epiphany. There is a Lord Foul inside of us all, I think, and that may be why so many find this series uncomfortable and even loathsome to read. Exploring the part of ourselves that we don't like can be very difficult. I agree with you completely about Twilight and the last few books of the Harry Potter series, though.

I have a lot more fiction than I do non-fiction on my bookshevles. But if I want to read factual stuff, I just go to the internet.