oh my goddd i am fucking oBSESSED with this art for the ministry of time seriously i need y'all to please read this book. i need y'all to swoon over graham gore with me. it's not just a gorgeous romance novel, nor just a spy thriller, nor just a fantastic twist on time travel, nor just a way to obsess over the franklin expedition (for all you the terror girlies) but an incredible evisceration of the british empire that follows a British-Cambodian character by a British-Cambodian author. just. GOD. and graham gore is so dreamy. have i said that yet? he’s so dreamy and i adore the narrator (she’s a crunchy character with some incredible flaws and i adore her for them) and it's so good. 5/5 stars. if i could give it more i would. (also contrary to what i'd said before based on what i'd heard, it does end happily imo!)
That’s what I love about reading; one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It’s geometrically progressive – all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment.
‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’ by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
Every time you look up at the stars, it’s like opening a door. You could be anyone, anywhere. You could be yourself at any moment in your life. You open that door and you realize you’re the same person under the same stars. Camping out in the backyard with your best friend, eleven years old. Sixteen, driving alone, stopping at the edge of the city, looking up at the same stars. Walking a wooded path, kissing in the moonlight, look up and you’re eleven again. Chasing cats in a tiny town, you’re eleven again, you’re sixteen again. You’re in a rowboat. You’re staring out the back of a car. Out here where the world begins and ends, it’s like nothing ever stops happening.
‘Lost At Sea’ by Bryan Lee O’Malley
What I Will
by Suheir Hammad
I will not
dance to your war
drum. I will
not lend my soul nor
my bones to your war
drum. I will
not dance to your
beating. I know that beat.
It is lifeless. I know
intimately that skin
you are hitting. It
was alive once
hunted stolen
stretched. I will
not dance to your drummed
up war. I will not pop
spin break for you. I
will not hate for you or
even hate you. I will
not kill for you. Especially
I will not die
for you. I will not mourn
the dead with murder nor
suicide. I will not side
with you nor dance to bombs
because everyone else is
dancing. Everyone can be
wrong. Life is a right not
collateral or casual. I
will not forget where
I come from. I
will craft my own drum. Gather my beloved
near and our chanting
will be dancing. Our
humming will be drumming. I
will not be played. I
will not lend my name
nor my rhythm to your
beat. I will dance
and resist and dance and
persist and dance. This heartbeat is louder than
death. Your war drum ain’t
louder than this breath.
All children, except one, grow up.
'Peter Pan' by J. M. Barrie
"Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth."
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