Saturday, April 24, 2010
Oh me…Oh my…Flavia de Luce…what a fascinating little person she is!!! Barely 12 years old with a mind that absorbs chemistry and all of its applications as though she was a mad scientist. What an odd sad household Flavia is a part of. A long gone mother whom she never knew, two sisters who torture her horribly, and a very aloof unhuggable father…this is the essence of Buckshaw…the place the de Luce’s refer to as home. Flavia has inherited all of the chemistry equipment of a dead relative complete with simmering beakers and a skeleton. Yikes!!! Flavia loves this room that is solely hers within Buckshaw…it is her refuge and it is also the place where she plans chemical revenges on her vengeful sisters. It is also the place that calms her because nothing is as wonderful to Flavia as writing in her notebook and figuring out her experiments.
I found this book to be just a tad difficult at its beginning. It took a number of reread pages for me to get used to the characters and the total “Englishness” of the book but after the first few rereads it was not an issue at all…I became totally absorbed in this mystery, the characters, the events and most of all Flavia. I love English settings and mysteries with a passion and this one was perfection. It had twists, turns, fascinating characters…in fact the only thing missing was the butler…but that place was held by Dogger…the de Luce’s all around gardener, caretaker and handyman. One of my favorite aspects of this book was the relationship that Flavia had with Inspector Hewitt…it was just the right touch of respect, admiration and humor. I already own the second Flavia de Luce book and can’t wait for more.
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Friday, April 23, 2010
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Thursday, April 22, 2010
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Wednesday, April 21, 2010
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Tuesday, April 20, 2010
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Monday, April 19, 2010
My mom was known for having the most beautiful handwriting. It was just so perfect and lovely. People loved getting cards and notes from her and she loved sending them. She loved being called the lady with the lovely handwriting. My brothers and sister and I treasured cards from her and she showered us with cards and notes. What bothers me now is that I didn't save them in any one area...I would tuck them into books and cookbooks and notebooks and folders and drawers so that now...when I find one...it is just achingly sad. When my mom died...she had been ill for quite a few months and no longer wrote anything...not cards or notes or letters. I don't think she even remembered our birthdays or anniversaries at all during her last year of life and she treasured them before she became so ill. Just writing about her this way makes me so very sad that she is no longer living. I used to cry when I was little when cousins or aunts or uncles wanted me to stay at their house for sleepovers...I could not bear to be away from her at night. If she went to a meeting at night and walked home...I could not sleep until she was safely in the house. She was such a funny brave and lively mom...she used to wash the windows on the second floor of our house by sitting on the window sill with her legs dangling in and her upper body out...and I would hold on to her legs from the inside as tightly as I could so she would not fall...so she would not slip away...and now...I just try to hold on to every little memory and thought of her...as tightly as I can.
Posted by https://booksthoughtsadventures.com at 3:23 PM