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May. 13th, 2006 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyTintern Abbey, where I've been all day, was absolutely lovely, as was the ruined church a little way up the hill and the field of bluebells right next to it. I shall link to photos when Smaller no doubt puts 'em up, provided they're not friendslocked.
There was a gorgeous little bookshop, too, in which I found a beautiful hardbacked Leaves of Grass from 1908 which I couldn't afford, and a gorgeous book which I did buy.
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens by JM Barrie, hardback, with coloured illustrations by Arthur Rackham. For a pound. I'm pretty sure I got away with something there since the girl behind the counter couldn't believe it was only a pound and checked very thoroughly for another price.
I love Arthur Rackham, always have. I think what I love about his art is the same thing I love about Neil Gaiman's writing; that it's only one step removed from where we are, from our world. So you have stately gentlemen wandering along with goblins peering at them from behind trees. The closeness of it makes for better escapism, in my opinion. The same applies to Terry Pratchett; although the Discworld isn't our world, it very well could be. His characters are exceptionally real, which pulls you into the book far more than high fantasy with noble elves and the like. Don't get me wrong, I do adore Lord of the Rings, I just love the ability to persuade myself that I could be a part of the story.
Also came up with some notes for the first piece of original writing I'm going to work on. Which is nice.
Now I'm going to go help the flatmates prepare an enormous communal pasta dish.
If this post didn't make much sense, by the way, I apologise; I've not really slept and I'm beginning to lose touch with reality a little. Everything in my head makes sense, it's just the transitional process between that and the outside world that seems to be a problem.
There was a gorgeous little bookshop, too, in which I found a beautiful hardbacked Leaves of Grass from 1908 which I couldn't afford, and a gorgeous book which I did buy.
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens by JM Barrie, hardback, with coloured illustrations by Arthur Rackham. For a pound. I'm pretty sure I got away with something there since the girl behind the counter couldn't believe it was only a pound and checked very thoroughly for another price.
I love Arthur Rackham, always have. I think what I love about his art is the same thing I love about Neil Gaiman's writing; that it's only one step removed from where we are, from our world. So you have stately gentlemen wandering along with goblins peering at them from behind trees. The closeness of it makes for better escapism, in my opinion. The same applies to Terry Pratchett; although the Discworld isn't our world, it very well could be. His characters are exceptionally real, which pulls you into the book far more than high fantasy with noble elves and the like. Don't get me wrong, I do adore Lord of the Rings, I just love the ability to persuade myself that I could be a part of the story.
Also came up with some notes for the first piece of original writing I'm going to work on. Which is nice.
Now I'm going to go help the flatmates prepare an enormous communal pasta dish.
If this post didn't make much sense, by the way, I apologise; I've not really slept and I'm beginning to lose touch with reality a little. Everything in my head makes sense, it's just the transitional process between that and the outside world that seems to be a problem.
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Date: 2006-05-13 07:52 pm (UTC)