Where Is Your Bookmark? (10/08/2013)

I wish I could have stopped  on my drive to work this morning to take a picture of the sunrise this morning.  It was beautiful.  Reds and oranges mixed in with the pale blue sky.  I almost wish I had not yet finished reading Adé: A Love Story by Rebecca Walker just yet.  It would have been the perfect backdrop to do so.  I finished the book last night and am not quite ready to begin another one.  Sometimes books have that effect on me.  

I am thinking of reading Help for the Haunted by John Searles next.  It seems a fitting October read. But Juliet Dark's The Angel Stone, the third book in the Fairwick Chronicles is calling to me too.

What are you reading right now?  Is it something you would recommend?

Every Tuesday Diane from Bibliophile By the Sea hosts 

First Chapter First Paragraph Tuesday Intros, where  

participants share the first paragraph (or a few) of a 

book they are reading or thinking about reading soon.

Since I haven't quite settled on the next book I want to read, I decided to share the introduction of a book my daughter pulled off the shelf and handed to me last night.  From Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary:

We  were in study hall when the headmaster walked in, followed by a new boy not wearing a school uniform, and by a janitor carrying a large desk.  Those who were sleeping woke, and we all stood up as though interrupting our work.  

The headmaster motioned us to sit down, then turned to the teacher and said softly, "Monsieur Roger, I'm placing this pupil in your care.  He'll begin in the eighth grade, but if his work and conduct are good enough, he'll be promoted to where he out to be at his age."

 

The newcomer hung back in the corner behind the door, so that we could hardly see him.  He was a country boy of about fifteen, taller than any of us.  He wore his hair cut straight across the forehead, like a cantor in a village church, and he had a gentle bewildered look.  Although his shoulders were not broad, his green jacket with black buttons was apparently too tight under the arms, and the slits of its cuffs revealed red wrists accustomed to being bare.  His legs, sheathed in blue stockings, protruded from his yellowish trousers, which were pulled up  tight by a pair of suspenders.  He wore heavy, unpolished, hobnailed shoes.

Would you continue reading?

 

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© 2013, Wendy Runyon of Musings of a Bookish Kitty. All Rights Reserved. If you're reading this on a site other than Musings of a Bookish Kitty or Wendy's feed, be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.