I said it. This is my official acceptance of something I have known to be true deeply and darkly down inside myself. As a child, I would have been horrified!
But let's be real, here. If I'm going to read a book, do I pick up Jane Eyre? No. I don't. And I want to read it, at some point, but it sits on my shelf untouched. I've never read a work of Charlotte Bronte; I've read Wuthering Heights and I adored it. Er. Most of it. Especially the ending, when Madame Emily makes a beautiful use of ambiguity in a description of Catherine's gravestone sinking into the...heath...but...
I just ordered a copy of...(prepare yourselves)...
The Media Relations Department of Hizbolla Wishes You a Happy Birthday. (Neil MacFarquhar)
And if I'm being honest, I'm totuhly excited for it to ahrive--and I can guarantee, that while poor Jane has been sitting on my shelf for months now...that I'm going to open up Media Relations the day I get it.
Shooo.
"She writes letters to me, even with a <10% return rate."
