A collective of bibliophiles talking about books. Book Fox (vulpes libris): small bibliovorous mammal of overactive imagination and uncommonly large bookshop expenses. Habitat: anywhere the rustle of pages can be heard.
Spring keeps trying to break through here in the UK, but is constantly being foiled by Bank Holidays, which are famously anathema to fine weather. (There was no need for the snow though … really, there wasn’t. A little bit of drizzle would have done just as well.)
Anyway, all a Book Fox can do is sit and wait patiently for the day to come when warm clothing can be cast aside and frivolous summer gladrags donned.
So that’ll be the week in Benidorm in August, then …
In the meantime, there are always books, and this week we have reviews of three that couldn’t be more different from each other in tone and style if they tried:
Monday: Hilary takes sneaky delight in Jay Rayner’s bad days at the office in My Dining Hell.
Wednesday: Kate read Colm Toibin’s Brooklyn on the way back from New York.
Friday: Diana Birchall, joining us from sunny Santa Monica (we hates her) gets stuck into Edith Sitwell’s classic English Eccentrics.
(Picture credit: Photo of a wood carving in Caton, Norwich by Mark Harris on Flickr and reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.)