… and walks out with these five books, $120 poorer and feeling a mix of pure happiness and buyer’s remorse.
We’re off to a great start.
This is a fierce, angry novel that takes some heavy contemporary issues – misogyny and slut-shaming chief among them – and bakes them into a brutal dystopian fable.
The premise: ten young women who’ve all been caught up in some kind of sex scandal wake up in a makeshift outback prison, forced to do hard labour for their “sins”. Continue reading “Book 1: The Natural Way of Things by Charlotte Wood”
Here it is folks. The Tower of Shame.
At least it used to be a tower, singular. Now there are six high-rises – the beginnings of an unread metropolis – and a smattering of smaller structures sprouting in their shade.
The original foundations were laid around 15 years ago, when I was still in high school – the oldest book here, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, dates back to the year 2000 I think – but I managed to keep it to a single tower for the better part of a decade. Continue reading “The Tower(s) of Shame”
The most memorable moment of my 2015 reading life was discovering the work of Kazuo Ishiguro.
The Japanese-born English author has been a literary mainstay for two or three decades now, of course, but I’d somehow never got around to reading him.
I had seen the film version of Never Let Me Go but associated it more with Alex Garland, the novelist turned film maker who wrote the screenplay, than I did Ishiguro. Continue reading “My favourite books of 2015”
Okay, so here’s how it’s going to work.
* I have to read 52 books by the end of 2016 but beyond that, there are no weekly or monthly quotas. If it takes me three weeks to read a long book then so be it, as long as it all evens out in the end.
* I’ll mostly be reading fiction but I’ll squeeze in the occasional non-fiction book too. Continue reading “52 books in 2016: a few rules”
Hello book lovers and welcome to Bookhemian Rhapsody.
This is a blog born of a horrifying realisation: I’ll never read all the good books.
I’ve done the numbers.
I’m 33 now, so if I live to the average Australian male life expectancy age of 80 – and I’m not afflicted with blindness or debilitating mental infirmity in the meantime – I’ve got 47 years of reading to go. Continue reading “Welcome to Bookhemian Rhapsody”