Bookworm #7: Once in a house on fire

"At school, I couldn't help but grin. At home, something ripped under my skin when I smiled, trying to pretend that everything was fine. Deadly moods lurked in a purple-white haze, smoke clinging to the curtains, turning stale overnight.” 

Thought I'd blog about one of my latest reads today as I've been rubbish at keeping up the bookworm feature despite the fact that I've been reading non-stop recently! I actually read Once in a house on fire a while ago but totally forgot to write about it.

Ashworth writes a memoir of her harrowing childhood as she grows up in 1970s Manchester. Written from her own point of view, she explores her struggle for identity as she is faced with violence, poverty and racism as a young girl. Although the subject matter is extremely dark, Ashworth's poetic style makes this a hard to put down book. I read it almost from cover to cover and I began to feel for this vulnerable child floating in a world of apparent hopelessness and cruelty. She describes how her love for literature got her through the hard times and made 'miserable things seem sublime.' I can't even begin to describe how beautifully written this book is; it actually makes me feel a little envious. Ultimately this is a book about strength and survival and I would thoroughly recommend it to anyone.

“A poem was a box for your soul. That was the point. It was the place where you could save bits of yourself, and shake out your darkest feelings, without worrying that people would think you were strange. While I was writing, I would forget myself and everyone else; poetry made me feel part of something noble and beautiful and bigger than me.” 

 

 

BOOKWORM #1

I had a few hours to spare today so decided I would finally venture into the Oxfam Bookshop in town. I only had two pounds with me so decided I would make it my mission to find a really good book for a low price. I spent a good 45 minutes in there looking at all the books, music and collectable items. There was a Haruki Murakami collectable in there which I spent ten minutes staring at with my mouth wide open. If you haven't read Murakami then I would really recommend his books. Here's an excerpt from Norwegian Wood:

'Eighteen years have gone by, and still I can bring back every detail of that day in the meadow. Washed clean of summer's dust by days of gentle rain, the mountains wore a deep, brilliant green. The October breeze set white fronds of head-tall grasses swaying. One long streak of cloud hung pasted across a dome of frozen blue. It almost hurt to look at that faroff sky. A puff of wind swept across the meadow and through her hair before it slipped into the woods to rustle branches and send back snatches of distant barking-a hazy sound that seemed to reach us from the doorway to another world. We heard no other sounds. We met no other people. We saw only two bright, red birds leap startled from the center of the meadow and dart into the woods. As we ambled along, Naoko spoke to me of wells.'

Anyway, there I was looking through all of these books and Goodnight Mister Tom popped out at me from a shelf. Literally. I knocked it off and decided I would pick that one. So far, so good.