What I Read In March

What I Read In MarchBy all rights, March really shouldn’t have been a successful month for reading. It’s prime dissertation time in the Tamsin household at the moment (I’ve got just under three weeks to get it written, formatted, printed, bound and submitted to the Cambridge History of Art department), so I’ve been losing myself in books. Ok, I really shouldn’t really be surprised. Books are fantastic procrastination.

So this month I read five new non-Tripos books!

The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
One that’s been on my TBR list for actual years. I was so happy to finally get my teeth into this one! And it proved very toothsome indeed. I wrote a review about it here.

Wool by Hugh Howey
I loved this a lot. Wrote a review about it here. Sidled into Forbidden Planet yesterday and bought the sequel, Shift, and really can’t wait to read that next! I think I’m going to parcel it out in little sections and read each as a treat every time I’ve written a bit of dissertation. Then Dust can be my post-exams treat…

Wedding Night by Sophie Kinsella
I haven’t had a chance to read good old-fashioned chick-lit in absolutely ages, and I’ve had a soft spot for Sophie Kinsella’s writing ever since I made the mistake of not packing enough reads for Thailand in 2007, and bought everything she’d ever written in the tourist bookshop in the nearest town. Pure escapism.

Sandman: Season of Mists by Neil Gaiman
My boyfriend bought me the first Sandman graphic novel for my 22nd birthday in December, and I’ve slowly been reading my way through the series since then – this one is number 4! The writing is incredible (such a Gaiman fangirl) and I love that since I don’t have to wait for new novels to come out, I can read as slowly or as quickly as I like, and see how the art develops. These books are gruesomely fascinating, and I love them.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
A book that forces you out of your comfort zone and makes you contemplate things your mind usually shuts itself away from – namely, death. And how we’re all just barnacles on the container ship of consciousness. I wrote down my thoughts about it here.

Re-reads included Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook (so many tears) and George Orwell’s1984. The latter was read to commemorate my seeing the Almeida play, which was equal measures of brilliance and grisly to a face-hiding degree. Go see it if you can when it transfers to the West End!

I can’t believe it’s April already. Time to get my skates on with the old dissertation I reckon. No more non-academic books. Well, except maybe Shift…

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