I’ve never read an actual war novel before.
I’ve read novels set during wars. The Book Thief is one of my favourites. I cried absolute bucketloads reading that book. I read Connie Willis’ Blackout last year, just before I started Book to the Future (and now the next book is out and I’m wondering how on earth I’m going to squeeze it into my already insane reading schedule. Gah!).
But real war novels are something else entirely. And arguably, when it comes to war as a genre, All Quiet on the Western Front is considered one of the greatest stories of war ever written.
Continue reading “1929 – all quiet on the western front ~ erich maria remarque”
Hang on just a freaking second here, I thought to myself, reading the blurb on the back of Virginia Woolf’s 1928 “biography”, Orlando.
I glared at the cover as I continued in my thoughts – So it’s about a dude who wakes up one day to find that he’s no longer a dude? Huh? You’re either a dude or you’re not a dude…err, dude.
What the heck kind of book IS this??
Continue reading “1928 – orlando ~ virginia woolf”
Three quarters of my way into Franz Kafka’s Amerika, I heaved a great sigh and wondered if I really, honestly had to finish this book.
After all, Franz Kafka himself couldn’t bring himself to finish it. So why should I?
Continue reading “1927 – amerika ~ franz kafka”
Oh no. Not again.
I’ve found another author I adore. Which means, naturally, that I want to read everything else he’s ever written…
Continue reading “1925 – the great gatsby ~ f. scott fitzgerald”