You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘French novel’ category.

I’m reading a French novel.

Just writing that conjures up all sorts of fantasies I’ve often had about my alter ego.  This girl  majored in English (instead of Science) and spent her college days sitting in the courtyard of an old, New England, brownstonish, liberal arts college.   She drank coffee (something I really do detest), read obsessively (something I actually do) and discussed the relative merits of Russian versus British authors (even in my wildest fantasy she hates those darn Russians, she is me after all. . .) with her equally pretentious but brilliant friends (my real friends are indeed brilliant, but hardly pretentious).  This alter ego of mine, incidentally, was taller, thinner, had red hair and wore glasses due to an affected sense of fashion rather than out of actual need.

But fantasies aside, it’s a New York Times bestselling French novel.  In other words, just a book like any other. Read the rest of this entry »

Advertisements

Jessica’s Reading

Jesse’s Reading

Jesse and Jessica are Both Reading

Devin’s Reading

Categories

Advertisements