I am officially over the stress-induced migraines, thank you very much. In an effort to slowly restore myself, I visited my local Oxfam charity bookshop yesterday. I haven’t been in the habit of buying books lately, preferring to save a buck by trawling the local library instead, but for £1.99 I don’t think my Market Day budget is going to suffer.
I’m chastened and ashamed to admit that the only Margaret Atwood book I’ve read is The Robber Bride, which I remember reading about in an issue of Vogue back when I was in high school and since then have not read anything else by her but that book. I’m hoping her first published novel The Edible Woman will get me interested in reading more of her work. I will be keeping my distance from The Handmaid’s Tale though. I can’t handle bleak dystopian fiction at the moment.
I am currently enjoying Diving Belles, an amazing short-story collection by Lucy Wood. It gets really cold in my house during the day, and I have no problem imagining myself besides the sea in Cornwall, where the stories are set. Wood takes Cornish folklore and weaves it into everyday life, creating new tales tinged with magic.
So, I’m going to reinvigorate myself through loads of reading. It’s better than burying my head in the sand and calling it quits.