I know it sounds really silly and awkward. I have been in embarassing situations before: When I put a new book close to my nose, inhale the powdery scent; drawing the breath through my nose and closing my eyes in sheer bliss; only to open them and meet eyes that flicker away in horrified fascination, unwilling to meet my gaze.

Sufficient to say, these poor book-deprived souls tend to slink unobstrusively away from me putting the maximum distance between themselves and the perceived madwoman sitting next to them.

***

I have been re-reading old favourites and a couple of new works. One is Wintering by Kate Moses, which I had waited an entire year for the paperback, because the hardback was just too dear. It is a remarkable lyrical novel about the last days of Plath's life. It isn't in the style of Plath's novel (The Bell Jar) or her short stories; it is evocative of her poetry. Lush and luminous, every word seemed plump and ripe like a succulent berry. I took my time over this book, lingering over it, like a squirrel hoarding his nuts, because I wanted to taste every luxuriant line and make it last. Such was my restraint, that the book, a slim volume of 336 pages, took me over a week to finish. I saw parallels between the mis-matched couple of Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath in all the other mis-matched couples in the world; the Beau and I being one of them. I suppose that is probably why it resonated so much with me.

And reading Wintering reignited the desire to read The Silent Woman by Janet Malcolm and the various other authors who wrote on Plath. A pity I packed away my copy of Plath's collected poems. I would have liked to have her poems close at hand, when the mood strikes me.

I'm also re-reading Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser. I'm currently searching for a book on 18th century Versailles and court etiquette, because the courtly rules and modes of address fascinate me. The simpler the address, the higher your rank and regard in court. These rules are cursorily explained in the biography, enough to whet my appetite for more.

My copy is now dog-eared, despite my best efforts to ensure that it remains in mint condition. It is a tribute, though, to its tenacity for keeping me company on the numerous bus journeys.

I will probably start on Henry VIII after this, or finish Mary Queen of Scots. The latter has a sprig of rosemary marking page 322, because I stopped there six months ago, unable to stomach a third consecutive week of Tudor history.

I'm wondering if I should purchase a copy of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The hardback is now selling at half-price, a tremendous reduction of 35 dollars. Still it is rather dear to get a book, which I often started in fits and spurts of enthusiasm, but never managed to get past chapter three.