I don't know if any of you know this, but I am a bibliophile. It sounds vaguely obscene, but worry not, for all it means is that I love books.
I truly do. I'm obsessed. I have loved books ever since I read my very first word when I was three (Water, in case you wanted to know) and the love affair has continued to this day.
This being said, one of the few things I pride myself on is my library. I have a large bookcase in my room brimming with over a thousand books, which seem to explode from the shelves. I desperately need a bigger book shelf, but there isn't one that will fit in my room (cruel fate).
This made me start to think (which is never good). There are people have amazing tastes in things such as... music (cough, Gabby, cough), fashion, or movies, that they can be very proud of. I've never been able to pride myself on my music (I love what I love, but I am no aficionado), or fashion (comfort is my first priority), or even movies (I always lose those SCENE IT? games). But one thing I can pride myself on my taste in books.
I've read and own everything from classics to chic lit. My books vary in all different genres and degrees of thickness. They are all similar in one respect though: I can read them over and over and never tire of the story.
Books; stories, and characters, are so real for me. When there's a book in my hands, I slip inside of and disappear into the world the author has created; images and voices in my head so vivid, its hard to return from sometimes. More than once a day my brother has had to yell in my ear to get my attention out of whatever I'm reading, because once I start reading, the world around me fades to a dull roar and reality is whatever I am reading at that moment.
Good writing is one of the most enjoyable things to experience, I find. When a talented author can string sentences together and make me ache for the character they've created as if they were real, I'm impressed. That being said, and probably the whole reason I'm posting this, is to talk about the book I've just finished for the second time: Jellicoe Road.
Jellicoe Road (or "On the Jellicoe Road" as its known in Australia) is the third book written by my favorite author, Melina Marchetta. The first book she wrote was called "Looking for Alibrandi" and the second, which is one of my favorite books, is "Saving Francesca".
Jellicoe Road is, simply put, one of the most achingly real and poignant stories I have ever read.
Its the story of Taylor Markham who was abandoned by her mother when she was eleven on the Jellicoe Road. It is the story of how a now seventeen year old Taylor, with the help of her friends and loved ones, struggles to remember her past and detangle the murky and tragic pasts of the people surrounding her. I recommend it to anyone, but would advise you have tissues ready at hand, because those pasts Taylor detangles are utterly tragic. However much sadness the book holds, it holds an equal share of sweetness and hope which balances the story beautifully. You can't read the book without hoping and cheering Taylor on as she quests to find the truth.
Melina's style of writing is so beautiful and lyrical and when she writes its like she paints an unmistakable portrait that you can instantly recognize as hers. She has this lovely quirk in which sometimes her character's thoughts end up as a single, long sentence, which seem to pour from the main charcter's stream of conciencesness like she can't get the words out fast enough.
Melina Marchetta's talent is admirable and I burn with envy and wish I could write half as well as she does. If reading this made you even a little curious as to what her books are about, I suggest you scurry to the nearest bookstore and buy Saving Francesca and Jellicoe Road as fast you possibly can. You won't regret it.
Happy reading!
love,
Jo <3>
