something...

After four days of almost feverish reading, I have finished Philippa Gregory's "The Other Boleyn Girl." (Yes, I am always behind fashion when it comes to books. I have to wait at least three years until something falls off the best-seller lists before I'll consider picking it up.) Inspired by the first two episodes of "The Tudors," courtesy of Showtime on demand, I found myself intrigued by the...well, the intrigue, rather, intrigues, maintained by courtiers in the 16th century. And Showtime manages to keep it quite sexy. Henry VIII is a strapping young man, with a voracious sexual appetite. That characterization is maintained in Gregory's novel. There's a whole lot of lusting going on behind all the courtly love. While Mary Boleyn (so far) just has a cameo in the television series, she is the main character/narrator of Gregory's novel. It's so fun to root for her, trying to maintain her sanity and find a little happiness despite her precarious footing in the royal court and the scheming of pretty much all her relatives. And there is a happy ending for Mary Boleyn, albeit a not so happy one for her siblings.

Enough about that. Point is: When did I fall in love with historical romance? After reading "Pride and Prejudice" late last summer (again, proof of my easy dismissal of anything popular in literature)? Or was it back in high school, reading the Brontes? Altogether, I'm left to admit I find something super romantic about England. And I'm talking sweep her off her feet and then have tea romance. Not the technical Romance. Which is more Bronte and less Stephanie Laurens. Whom I worship.

On a totally different note, the re-design I found myself suddenly inspired to implement in my apartment is coming along quite nicely. I'll work on photos at a later date...

always, carolyn