These paper boats of mine are meant to dance on the ripples of hours, and not reach any destination... Rabindranath Tagore

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past...F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby

We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories.
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On the way to the river are the old dormitories, used for something else now, with their fairy-tale turrets, painted white and gold and blue. When we think of the past it's the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe it was all like that.
--from Margaret Atwood - The Handmaid's Tale

Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another's skin, another's voice, another's soul.
- Joyce Carol Oates

Monday, December 13, 2021

Secret Scribbled Notebooks...

Secret Scribbled NotebooksSecret Scribbled Notebooks by Joanne Horniman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Secret Scribbled Notebooks by Joanne Horniman represents teenage Kate's journey of identity; a journey seeking self-worth and purpose. Each notebook colour represents symbolic signposts in that journey. The red notebook is the current moment of thought; the blue is the limited memory and the yellow, from a third-person perspective, seems to have been inserted in some vague future. In that journey, Kate looks at her circumstances and tries to make sense of them, her role in them. To one special person, Kate introduces herself as Penelope. That seems to be a sign of wishing she had some special vibe in her presence. Sprinkled through her journey are alignments with musicians - Crowded House- and writers - Oscar Wilde. Is this a novel? an autobiography? a diary? Somehow, the concept of notebook seems to be the best-fit tag. There is a barrage of variables in these notebooks, but there is one constant, a tree, a fig tree. That tree is her home, her sanctuary for dreaming. Overall, this book is an intriguing insight into the cogs and wheels of inner, secret processes perhaps we all may recognise.

MY POETIC REVIEW: Songlines on the Winds

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