A have an embarrassing confession to make. I haven’t read a single Jane Austen novel. Ever. I have no logical explanation. It’s not that I don’t read romance. I do read romance, a lot of it. And it is certainly not that I have anything against 19th century English literature. I don’t. I love Dickens and Hardy. And I’ve read Jane Eyre three times, so it’s not anything against women writers of 19th century England, either. It’s a mystery and it shall remain a mystery but t least I am now familiar with the material after I binged watched every adaptation of an Austen novel I could find. Continue reading The Great Romantic Binge
Here’s a romantic story from a couple of years ago. Possibly slightly disturbing but who am I to judge. Continue reading The Book
Hello, my name is Irina and I don’t have any guilty reading pleasures. That’s right, I have never felt guilty about any book I’ve read. I have, however, felt a little embarrassed about some of the books I like to read and, to be totally honest, reread. Continue reading Not Guilty. Only A Little Embarrassing.
One day, about ten years ago, someone called me a lamiastriga. He was a news writer at the company I was working for at the time and I was an editor. He was an excellent writer and he was also a really funny and smart guy. We chatted about all sorts of supernatural stuff (we were both fans) and it was during one of these chats that he invented the word. Later he left the job and moved to Germany. We lost contact but the word stuck in my memory. Continue reading The Road So Far