constance: (This is what the book says.)
For two days now, I have been bringing Sarah Caudwell's first novel to work with me, planning to embark on a reread of her woefully short series of detective novels. I'm really looking forward to it, but activities have conspired against me on both days, and so the book is sitting forlornly in my desk drawer right now, and I am forlorn as well, thinking of it and wishing I'd thought to bring it home with me.

I mention this because I have an ulterior motive: every now and again I try to interest someone, anyone, in these books, which are, if you like piffling English comedies of manners or epistolary novels or classic-style whodunits or sophisticated drawing-room comedies, and I do like all these things, utterly captivating. It's odd that no one ever seems to believe me when I proclaim their perfection; like Linus's pumpkin patch, I must not be quite sincere enough--or maybe it really is just that the thought of clever, sophisticated little pouffes of British mystery novels makes most people break out in hives--but here I am trying again, because like Linus, I cannot stop believing that one day everything will fall into place, and all my efforts will be rewarded by the conversion of a like-minded soul.

I guess, all gratuitous Peanuts references aside, that what I mean is this: I really like Sarah Caudwell. I think there are several people on my friendslist who'd quite like her too. That's it, really.


Have I mentioned that I began a diet (or, as my boss insists on calling it, a Lifestyle Change) on Friday? Well, I did. So far I've eaten a lot of salad and laid off the fries, and though this does not seem to have made any notable difference so far--it's hard to tell, really, when I tossed my scale a couple of moves back--I have hopes. And more importantly, I feel better. So much more smug! So much more virtuous! So much more willing to tell anyone who listens how healthy I am being!

Well, you know. Except for the BottleCaps, of course. But really! I am only eating them a few at a time! No, really! I can't let them go to waste!



I have just thought of what I can do to remedy my unfortunate problem of not having Thus Was Adonis Murdered at hand. I will begin the second book instead! Normally I could no more contemplate this madness than I could raise Ms Caudwell from the grave to write more, but after all, I have read the books before, in their proper order. And after all, I really do like her an awful lot.


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March 2012

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