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Monday Musing: 26/08/13

August 26, 2013January 20, 2019 ~ The Book Habit

Hello all!

You may be in for a double round of posts today, as I attempt to make up for my lack of presence this weekend. I am currently in Oxford, catching time with my mum while she is here on a business trip from the US. I will be back this evening (hopefully) with a belated review but, in the meantime, here is a Monday Musing to get your week started.

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My name is Laura and I am a book addict. The Book Habit is a chronicle of my literary adventures, indulging my decades-long love affair with the written word. Here I post reviews, as well as anything else related to the literary lifestyle.

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Women have had a historically unique relationship with the supernatural. Hand-in-hand with the subjugation of a group is the need to explain and condemn any deviation from social norms. The childless woman, too friendly, too reclusive, too beautiful, not beautiful enough - all have been justified through the idea of female perversion through witchcraft, devilry, and demonic possession. It is no surprise then that women are the founders of gothic literature, in all of the genre’s profound, transportive glory. From Ann Radcliffe to Mary Shelley - as well as the more contemporary efforts of Angela Carter and Octavia Butler - gothic horror has been a way for women to reclaim their own sense of identity in a world determined to confine them. The original goths, female authors broke boundaries and stereotypes as they grappled with the rationally irrational to stretch society’s idea of the shadowy possibilities of unconventional heroines, predatory men, and gory lustfulness. Today on The Book Habit, I’m looking at the history of women as authors of the best gothic literature - asking what exactly lies at the heart of our unique ability to conjure the very best of gothicism’s imaginative potential. Click the link in my bio to have a read!

“The most racking pangs succeeded: a grinding in the bones, deadly nausea, and a horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death. Then these agonies began swiftly to subside, and I came to myself as if out of a great sickness. There was something strange in my sensations, something indescribably sweet.”

October has been a bumper month for books, both personally and across the literary world. We had a rule-breaking Booker Prize announcement that celebrated the power of female voices in fiction, some great new releases, and the publication of some of the deepest quantitative research to-date on literary censorship in US schools. In my corner of the world, books have played a massive role in my celebration of all things October. I’ve recognised the darkening days and dropping temperatures with a truly prolific month of reading. I passed the 52 book mark for 2019 and have closed out the month knee-deep in a return to my childhood love for Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy. So grab a massive mug of tea, a couple (or more) of biscuits, and click the link in my bio to read about all of the most important literary happenings from October! And let me know what your favourite October read was, down in the comments! 🍂

A few years ago, I was lucky enough to work on the film sets of both Poirot and Miss Marple. It was a fortunate consequence of my time spent as a tour guide and manager at Knebworth House, a favourite location for the fictional murders and bejeweled parties of countless period dramas. As a lover of Agatha Christie’s work, getting the chance to see some of the author’s most provocative narrative twists come to life was an incredible privilege. And it set me on a deep dive into Christie’s global fandom in an attempt to unravel exactly what it is about her novels that has established Agatha Christie as the queen of detective fiction. This month marks 99 years since the publication of Christie’s first foray into the mystery genre - The Mysterious Affair at Styles, published in the US in October 1919. It is a perfect opportunity to revisit Christie’s work and the incredible legacy that has earned her the status of both the most sold and most translated author in history. On The Book Habit today, I’m talking about my own relationship to Agatha Christie’s work and my thoughts on what it is that sets the author’s work apart. Click the link in my bio to have a read! .

September has been quite the month. Aside from contending with a nose-dive in my mental health, I also turned 31. Now officially ‘in my 30s’, September has demanded some quiet contemplation as I look to the year ahead. I always enjoy the timing of my birthday. It comes just as autumn unfurls itself with the subtle grace of falling leaves and the misty augurings of dropping temperatures. More than the obvious calls to start afresh that come with the spring, I’ve always connected with autumn’s invitation to reappraise and embrace those small, yet significant, changes that the season brings. It feels appropriate that I get to welcome in a new year at the same time. In combination with the reassessments demanded by life with panic disorder, depression, and the many symptoms that come from these two conditions coexisting, it’s been a significant month. Not least because of the books that have helped me to carve a meandering path through the psychological wilderness that operates hand-in-hand with mental illness. I discovered Angela Carter at a time when I required the silent soothing that only luminously poetic prose can bring. And I was whisked away to a thrilling escape through the historical, Dracula-inspired mystery of Elizabeth Kostova’s ‘The Historian’. That fiction can provide us with a wordless sense of well-being and comfort in times of profound distress is something that I have experienced in my lifelong struggles with mental illness. September has been no exception. For more on my month in review - including my favourite articles, interviews, and new releases from the literary world - click the link in my bio! And, whatever September held in store for you, I hope that fiction has served your needs as well as it has mine. 🍂

“The flowers cupped in the garden with a midnight, unguessable sweetness, and the grass rippled and murmured in a small voice that was an intensification of silence. The stillness was like the end of the world. She was alone. In her carapace of white satin, she was the last, the only woman. She trembled with exaltation under the deep, blue, high arc of sky.”

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