Fiction within fiction within fiction...

I could not help myself and bought Stranger than Fiction on DVD. Apart from being an utterly loveable movie, it fascinates me because it tackles one of my favourite subjects in the world: fiction within fiction. A movie about a book. Of course, in Stranger than Fiction, the line between the two is extremely blurred or maybe even nonexistent.

Which might be the biggest reason why I like Inkheart by Cornelia Funke: a novel about a novel. About the escape of the "fictitious" characters into the "real world", and later about the people from the real world entering the fiction. Come to think of it, my childhood-favourite The Neverending Story (the book!) deals with a similar subject matter. And Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next novels, books about books.

It is the ultimate daydream. To enter a story, or to have the story's characters enter your own world. Or maybe consider that we are ourselves works of fiction. If I am part of a story, I am sure I am only one of those people who do not even get as much as a passing mentioning. I'm one of those whose existence is merely implied by sentences such as "the city's population had grown considerably over the years".

Bookporn.

Glennkill made me pleasantly nostalgic for Ireland. I went there in 2000. Connemara. I was picturing the Cliffs of Moher for the book's setting, which worked perfectly well. The grass there was so soft, you wouldn't believe it.

This is where I got my fantastic and beloved Ireland Mug. It has sheep on it. It gets along very, very well with the book about Irish sheep who solve a crime:

There's a story to tell about this mug. To make it short: I won it for making dirty jokes.

More bookporn:


Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which I liked, by the way; three of the candles I lighted in memoriam of various deceased characters, a practice I soon gave up due to limited amount of candles in the house; my coffee-filled Ireland Mug; and some wool, which we can all pretend symbolizes the plot thread.

Irony

I do not know whether I read a real or a fake spoiler. (Not "read", really. More like "jumped into my eye".)
This means that even if it was a real spoiler, I cannot fully believe it, and as long as I do not fully believe it, I have not been spoilt, since the excitement and uncertainty will still be there.
I do not know whether I should be happy or unhappy about this state of affairs.

Glennkill, in the meanwhile, continues to be one of the most relaxed and cute crime novels in the world. But how scary the life of a sheep can be.

One down, one two go, three days left!

The Three Evangelists is kind of stylish.
The detective work sometimes seems secondary. A lot of information only becomes available near the end, when the pace picks up considerably. There are times when not all that much appears to happen, and it's clear that this story is as much about its characters as it is about the murder, or maybe more so.

The idea of three eccentric historians who put aside their (professional) differences because only together they can afford the rent of a run-down house, this kind of echoes my existential fear of ending up a moneyless academic. The book tells me to face my possible fate with humour. It suggests that the idea is kind of romantic, even.
Also, I might have the tiniest crush on Marc, but it's really just the tiniest, and it already subsided a bit before the novel was over.

But, yeah. Stylish. If this was a movie, I could already envision the movie poster.

Together they fight crime!

I have a small to-read list that should keep me entertained until Saturday. It is important to stay entertained. Boredom leads to the internet, and the internet contains spoilers.

Fred Vargas: The Three Evangelists
(original title: "Debout les morts"; I read it in English because I completely thought Fred Vargas was an English man. She's actually a French woman. I suck!)
It's about a trio of historians trying to catch a murderer.

Leonie Swann: Three Bags Full
(original title: "Glennkill"; once more, I assumed the author was British or American. I mean... Swann? I am very proud that I discovered that she is in fact German. That's how I managed to buy the German version and not again get stuck with a translation I wouldn't need!)
It's about a herde of sheep trying to catch a murderer.

When was the last time I read a book about detectives catching murderers?

Anticipation

My current room has windows to the south and to the west, so despite it being a lovely, warm, sunny morning, the room is rather dull and bleak. This suits me. I am not a morning person. Nevertheless, I have joined forces with my coffee cup to challenge the Japanese language and study for next week's exam. So determined I got up early. So determined I have already ranted against the Catholic Church with my parents. So determined I have sorted my bookmarks.
There I found it.
Oh, right. Blog.
I had kind of forgotten about this thing. But hey, what better time than now to tackle the wondrous affair of books? And movies? Deathly Hallows in a week! The phenomenon. This is definitely worth blogging about at great length, and who knows, I might even keep up with it.