High heels have been the topic of heated debate recently. From English temp, Nicola Thorp, being sent home from work after turning up in flats, to Julia Roberts kicking off her heels and going barefoot on the Cannes red carpet. It seems that suddenly everyone has realised the inherent misogyny and sexism that go hand-in-hand with the forcible wearing of heels.
So often I finish a novel and am left with a bevy of intense feelings that are not my own; a tinge of sadness, unexplained excitement, or a glimmer of hope. When I put down Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff, I was overcome with a sense of longing. A longing to be loved, a deep desire to be appreciated; seen. Most of all I felt a longing for Mathilde, the enigmatic protagonist of Fates and Furies, a character that I felt such an innate connection with that I’ve had trouble separating her from reality.
It’s an issue that has plagued me since puberty, a problem I have no real way of combatting. Why is it that all bras for busty girls look like they’ve been pulled out of your Granny’s knicker draw? Is it so crazy that a busty or curvy girl might want to wear a bra that is flattering, or god forbid, sexy?
I am like a literature sponge. When I read something I really enjoy I find myself absorbing the moods and attitudes of the characters, suddenly looking at everything in my own life and seeing a tint of fiction, the struggles or thoughts of the protagonists in my book manipulating my world view. This experience can be exciting, the opportunity to really engage in the mind-set of the characters or even author, but sometimes it can be disarming and almost disturbing.
I’ve been thinking a lot about kindness lately, mainly the frequency of kindness. I have a little theory about human behaviour. From my experience, it seems that there’s a weird effect that public transport has on people. Something about being crammed in with a group of strangers makes people show the worst side of themselves. Or maybe what they’re really showing is their true selves, as if their shielded by the anonymity of the masses. Regardless, there’s something about public transport that makes people act like utter arseholes.
Negative body image is an issue that has a huge effect on our society. Whether you want to admit it or not, everyone has had negative thoughts about their body (or someone else’s) at least once in their lives. And how could you not, when every single day our idea of what a ‘perfect body’ should be is moulded by the bombardment of media that tells us that perfection looks like a sculpted model from the glossy pages of a magazine.
Sometimes, I’ll read a book and sit down to write a review and simply have no words to explain how that book made me feel or what I loved about it. Sometimes all a book will leave me with is an indescribable feeling- a sense of its impact, something that words can’t really describe. That’s how I felt after reading The Wonder Lover by Malcolm Knox, so bear with me as I attempt to give you an adequate assessment of this amazing book.
Usually, I hate film adaption of novels. It tends to be that nothing on the screen can match up with what I’ve imagined while reading the book. It seems to be that the only way I can enjoy a film adaption is if I watch it before I read the book, letting the film influence my reading rather than letting my reading influence my viewing.
I love to read, but that doesn’t mean I love to read everything. In my lifetime I’ve read more books than I can count, but there are many that I’ve started and not finished. When I was younger I used to think it was a cardinal sin to being reading a novel and not finish it, but as an adult I see it a bit differently.
I love being recommended books. I think the type of book that people recommend you is so indicative of their personality, and to a further extent the relationship you share with them. So, when a very talented artist and high-school friend, Chloe, recommended that I read Kafka in the Shore by Haruki Murakami (a book which had been waiting on my bookshelf for several months) I had no choice but to dive in.