A Brighton based Author, Playwright, Insatiable Reader, Publisher ....and foodie.
I thought I would re-read my bookshelves, prior to a much needed cull. Keepers or charity shop? Please help me decide. Most of the books are beloved old friends, some are new, and some are waiting to be tasted. Some need to GO.
I am convinced that one day I will be found buried under the toppling pile of books on my bedside table, but tant pis, there are worse ways to go. I blame it on my mother. She was a true bibliophile, teaching me to read when I was four, begging me with tears in her eyes that “It would be so much fun!” She was right. It was.
Some of her books I inherited (apart from the Dickens which she adored and I had, and have, an aversion to) So, I thought I’d start with some of her old friends.
Aren't librarians nice? And most publishers, too. I was at The Reading Agency Roadshow which was held at Brighton library (an opportunity to pitch new books to libraries) and at the end of the day the generous publishers gave some books away (or perhaps they just didn't want to carry them home - no - banish that unworthy thought) And I was given The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh published by Macmillan. Now, clever, clever Macmillan have also published a little handbook as well by Mandy Kirby with a forward by Vanessa to accompany it. Double whammy huh? But well worth it. Enchanting. I loved it. The novel is fascinating, but the concept of the Victorian language of flowers bought up to date is charming. Of course, the Victorians didn't actually make up bouquets telling a story (of a love affair - natch) but they were used as talking points on a dinner table, or a conversation piece on an over mantle. Geranium? True friendship. Marigold? Grief. Nasturtium? Impetuous love. Moss? Maternal love. Violet? Modest worth. Periwinkle? Tender recollection. Awww.... Roses of course had many, many meanings depending on the colour. So I leave you with....