Book Mooching

I ended up at BookMooch after all. :) I've got a 2 for 1 deal on this week in case you're interested.

http://bookmooch.com/m/inventory/ashleedee

*Ahem*

Question: what is the strangest thing you have ever used for a bookmark? You know, those times when you really needed to mark your place but only something weird was handy.

My answer: This is sort of embarrassing, but what the heck. I'm currently using the little paper off the wing of a pad to mark my place in An Interrupted Life.

So, how about you? ^_^

Marrying Mozart

I recently read Marying Mozart and didn't find it to be as good as I hoped. I suppose I was amused by the story, but the characters seemed familiar - far too familiar. The whole time I felt like I was reading some sort of combination of Pride and Prejudice and Little Women. For instance, I absolutely could not imagine the mother as anyone else but Mrs. Bennet due to the fact that her constant thought and ambition was marrying her daughters off and marrying them well. Even the way she spoke reminded me of Mrs. Bennet. I naturally couldn't help but wonder just where - and in what amount! - this author was getting her influences from ...

I feel like a hard reader to please, especially after seeing all the 5 star reviews this book got on Amazon. I would have given it 3.

More Mystery ...

Me being my wimpy self, after finishing And Then There Were None I decided that I didn't want to read another mystery again for a long time. A day or two later, however, I began to feel less sure about it. Then I watched Marple: The Body in the Library on PBS and completely changed my mind. I now want to read everything Agatha Christie. From the great to the just ok - I want to read them all. Not sure exactly where I should start, though. Any suggestions?

Ten Little Indians

Not only did I start And Then There Were None yesterday, I finished it. I just couldn't stop. Remember how I wasn't going to read mysteries after dark? Well, at 10PM I was still going strong; there was no way I could actually sleep without finding the answer. About that time, however, I had to go downstairs and finish reading in the living room, close to my mom and sister. Yes, I know, only a huge wimp can't stand to be alone while reading Agatha Christie, but whatever. :)

My anxiety aside, the book was very enjoyable. The story flowed beautifully and the set up was clever. I did have numerous moments of slight confusion in the beginning due the fact that I'm terrible with names. I had to flip back and reread the little introduction to the characters at the beginning of the book a few times before I got them all straight.

The book opens with 8 different characters from all walks of life on their way to a place called Indian Island, which has recently been purchased from a millionaire. There has been a great deal of speculation as to who bought the island and the rumors range from a Hollywood film star to the Admiralty. All of the guests have been invited to the island in various ways by various, somewhat sketchy sources. When they arrive at the island, they find their host to be absent, leaving only a recently employed butler and cook to take care of his guests. There is a theme in the house, they notice. A framed poem about ten little Indians hangs in each bedroom over the mantel and ten little Indian statues grace the dining room table. "It's an amusing idea, isn't it?" says one of the guests.

After dinner everyone adjourns to the parlor for drinks. "The whole party had dined well. They were satisfied with themselves and with life. The hands of the clock pointed to twenty minutes past nine. There was a silence. Into that silence came The Voice. Without warning, inhuman, penetrating ...

" 'Ladies and gentlemen! Silence, please!'

"Everyone was startled. They looked round - at each other, at the walls. Who was speaking?"

One by one the mysterious voice accuses each of the guests of murder. There is a clatter as the butler drops his tray, and the cook faints. After she has been attended to, everyone tells how they came to be on the island and they see that something isn't right. They were tricked. They then explain, one by one, the accusations of murder made against them - and all, for the most part, were accidental. Then, without warning, one of the guests chokes violently and dies. It is later noticed that one of the little Indians from the table is missing, and so it begins ...

Is the killer one of the 10? Is there someone hidden on the island? I guess you'll just have to read it and find out. ^_^

WHAT???

I am in agony. I just discovered what BookMooch is but the stupid page refuses to load. I just needed to get that off my chest. ^_^

And suddenly, from down the hall came the sound of ...

I love a good mystery. Not a ghost mystery, not a horror mystery, not a "now where is that old, expensive doll" mystery, but a good, page turning, who (THE HECK) dunnit mystery that will keep you awake and looking over your shoulder.

It's been a long time since I read anything that left me feeling delightfully spooked, but thankfully I found Miss Pinkerton. It is a collection of four stories about a nurse, Miss Adams, who works undercover for the police. The book consists of: The Buckled Bag (short story, 1914), Locked Doors (short story, 1914), Miss Pinkerton (novel, 1932) and Haunted Lady (novel, 1942). It was interesting to read Mary Roberts Rinehart's detective stories one after another, to see her imagination grow and her stories become more comprehensive.

I finished Haunted Lady last night around 2AM and was, as I had been the previous night, very much awake. I was also hungry, but too afraid to go downstairs alone for fear I might see a dark figure lurking outside a window. I recruited my sister to come with me. "You go first," I said.
I found something to eat, and we talked in hushed tones so as not to wake up our sleeping parents. After a bit we headed back upstairs.

"Do I have to go first?" my sister asked.

"No, I'll go." I wanted her to guard my back (hehee).

I proceeded to go up, looking down at the stairs while thinking, which is my habit. I was beginning to feel much more at ease and reminded myself that I was safe, in my own cosy home, not in an old sprawling, creaking, half empty mansion. I was about half way up the stairs so that my head was level with the hallway above. I looked up at that moment, and expected to see the familiar tan carpet of the hall and my sister's door. Instead I saw two eyes glaring at me. I gasped, startling my sister who gasped as well, and then realized I was looking at the cat.

My sister and I could barely contain our laughter until we got into her room and closed the door.
Yes, I do love a good mystery, but, being the uptight person I am, I really need to be more careful not to read them after dark. Hopefully I remember that as I go through Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None ...