Fay know why.

It was a borrowed copy; my reading was interrupted by the necessity to step away from the book to avoid ruining it with the occasional wrinkly tear splotch! Suddenly Superman is fascinating and fresh again. It feels like the best thing I have ever read.

Characters in novels are people whose secret lives are visible or might be visible: we are people whose secret lives are invisible. And that’s why novels, even when they are about wicked people can solace us; they suggest a more comprehensible and thus a more manageable human race, they give us the illusion of perspicacity and power.
E.M. Forster

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In this graphic novel, the narrator is a comic book writer presented with the unwelcome chance to make visible, not the secret life of a wicked character but of Superman and through this struggle he eventually finds comfort. Steve’s deepest insecurities and vulnerabilities become visible through his unravelling of the meaning Superman holds for him. I loved the exploration of the process of writing and the optimism of the story; Steve gains the power to start living again. The artwork is awesome.

One reading isn’t enough.

Now need more Superman more Seagle and moreKristiansen.

Unintentional comedy moment: Laurent, having murdered Therese’s husband, stops at the patisserie to stuff himself with cakes! Gruesome but compelling. Still trying to get the claustrophobic Passage du Pont-Neuf, the disgusting image of the drowned Camille and the throbbing scar out of my head.

although the recitation of the Arnold poem was cheese on toast! Shame! I read the final pages with increasing irritation yes yes yeszzzzzzzzzzzzz

I found this book in the children’s section of the library. At first I could only nibble little pieces of big information, in the bath (yes I know very naughty with a library book)and the the big numbers made my head spin and made me dizzy. Next I had to overcome the layout confusion:where do you read first? So much information -looks like someone has been sick on the page horror! Somehow the pictures began to make sense. Friends and my cousin answered questions and didn’t make me feel stupid for asking. It’s so wierd that I could have existed for nearly 33 years before looking at these ideas all together and considering them seriously. I returned the book last week and am still missing its large format visual reassurance so I am going to buy my own copy tomorrow.Then I won’t have to visualise the page to remember what WIMP is an acronym for! I need this book for reassurance before I can investigate more complicted ideas. I just wish they made a handbag size edition so I could keep it with me in the way some like to carry a bible I guess.

I started well. Creation myths. Yes. Good. However by page 11 phrases such as “the universe should be flat” made me feel entirely lost so I went to the library to find something a little simpler to begin with.

Why? This was on my shelf and I‘d enjoyed her earlier novels.
Should have read the Cosmology book first? Wasn’t sure if I would enjoy this, possessing little knowledge of tarot, cabbalistic theology or Grand Unified Theory (working on it though). So obviously some of Winterson’s ideas were lost on me: “You be a quark and I’ll be a lepton.” Perhaps I’ll come back to this line, having understood the properties of elementary particles and extract beauty, humour or something more from it. Winterson messes about with time, simultaneously linking past and future but only sometimes did Stella and Alice become real.
I laughed aloud when the poet, discovering her physicist husband’s affair conducted her own experiment; “If I drop a CD player and a laptop out of the same window at the same time which one will hit the ground first?” The novel was worth reading for this moment, albeit brief.
Ultimately this did not give me the reading thrill I was looking for. I didn’t care enough about the characters or find their triangular relationship particularly fascinating or convincing.

Yes! This is what it felt like. Spufford reminded me of the excitement of becoming completely immersed in a story, of experiencing Bilbo’s adventures and of the Aslan obsession my friend and I acted out in our playground games. Spufford’s unpicking of his moment of “elaborative choice” and his first forays into adult fiction took me straight back to the shelves of the local library in Suffolk where I spent Saturday mornings, fearing being told to get back to the children’s section at any moment.
Both autobiography and exploration of the effect of fiction on the developing imagination, Spufford intertwines poignant insights into his family relationships with his reading memories.
Love this book!