The Child That Books Built

Also while at CMS Summer School I spent some of the afternoon hanging about with the lovely Nixon's in the apartment where they were staying, in between lazing about in Katoomba parks, and as always I had a cursory look at the bookshelf. There I spied an interesting looking book called The Child That Books Built, by one Francis Spufford, which I took off the apartment-owner's shelf to peruse quickly. It's a book by a book addict about how he was shaped by his childhood addiction, and I think I am hooked on the prospect of reading it. Here is a list of reviews of the book for any other book addicts. I am recklessly rushing into this blog before I have actually read it myself. Unfortunately you don't seem to be able to get the nice hardcover version I came across anymore (I'm so shallow I am still influenced by a book's cover) but there is a new paperback edition.

This weekend I plan to begin Bleak House, by Charles Dickens, because I am one of those impoverished souls who, despite a love of classics, has never read a Dickens novel and because Drew thinks it is fabulous and Ben thinks the BBC production was the best TV series of 2006. It is a formidable sized book, which doesn't exactly sound like it will brighten up my day, so wish me well.