"I suppose all great happiness is a little sad...": a more preferred escapism..

I have rediscovered a desire to read, to consume eagerly and relentlessly those little black, purposely formed letters printed in books, leaflets, essays and even when, in a somewhat modern turn, illuminated by some manner of back light. I have concluded a number of factors that have contributed to this welcome state, most significantly not only being in a position to be quite literally undertake a literary tome of any size, stature, substance or genre, becoming free from certain academic confines instigated by an undergraduate degree. Secondly, the literary musings of one Amory Blaine, having already graced past entries, do nothing but on the one hand inspire and on the other become aware of ones belletristic ignorance. Finally, embarking upon a short break in the Lake District with my family, who have all now themselves become entranced by the magic of words, allowed me to devote myself entirely to exploring new avenues.

During the past few weeks, therefore, I have completed (albeit with regards Byatt's 'Possession' am currently undertaking) significantly different texts but are united by the fact each author is female. I must admit that the majority of literature I read heralds from male authors, through no conscious alienation of women I assure you, and therefore reading the below selection of books holds special consequence for me.