Imaginings of Bliss

The other day I received the catalogue of Sceptre's new fiction for 2008. Ever since they published two of my novels their catalogue has arrived in the post twice a year. Some seem more enticing than others and this particular one looks very enticing indeed. I would love to read each one.

Ronan O'Brien's debut novel, called CONFESSIONS OF A FALLEN ANGEL whose cover graces the front of the catalogue is about a man who can foresee death in the people closest to him, That is a chilling thought. I keep thinking of the people I know who have died and how glad I am that neither they nor I knew that their end was near.


Next is Gregory Norminton's SERIOUS THINGS which is a 'gripping tale of vengeance, morality and the complex paths that can lead to redemption' which is set in a boarding school, and since it is written by Mr. Norminton will undoubtedly be a thing of beauty. It also has a particularly gorgeous cover to match.




RED MANDARIN DRESS by Qui Xiaolong appears to be an intelligent thriller set in Shanghai;





while Frances Itani's REMEMBERING THE BONES is a retrospective of a life.





Clare Morrall, whose first book ASTONISHING SPLASHES OF COLOUR was published by Tindall Street Press and was short-listed for the Booker Prize, has written THE LANGUAGE OF OTHERS which sounds like a very interesting book about seeing the world differently;



and Melvyn Bragg has written a love story from the 60's called REMEMBER ME...(this looks really good judging from the extract).

Andreï Makine's is called HUMAN LOVE. This is an author I have heard much about (all good) but never read. Somehow I shall have to change that some day. The name of the next author, David Benioff, also seems familiar. His book is called CITY OF THIEVES and is 'a funny and poignant tale of an unlikely friendship' while finally, in the fiction selection, is Siri Hustvedt's THE SORROWS OF AN AMERICAN which promises 'to probe the mysteries of the heart and mind'.

Sometimes, well quite often in fact, I dream of being stranded somewhere so that I can just read. I would like a large fire of aromatic woods, one of those reclining chairs in pale soft leather, perhaps a little gentle and unobtrusive music, a glass or two of wine and an assortment of delicious little snacks and a stack of books just like these beside me. Then, when I look up there will magically appear in front of me some intelligent and articulate friend who has read exactly the same books and we will spend the night (which has now become very long) discussing them. We will come to some deep and meaningful conclusions and gradually fall asleep where we sit. It is not too much to ask, and frankly, dear blog-reader, I feel I deserve it.