Thoughts on Walking and Thirteen
My cheeks are red and tingly. My legs ache a little and my fingers are only just coming back to life and/or thawing. And I am very happy. I love walking. Especially when the weather’s a little white and crisp – almost cutting. I love the rough stillness of being in a place where there are no other people; just trees and birds, bushes and grass. I love the merciless iced wind that knives; and the kestrel who didn’t seem to mind it one bit.
I am happy that I’ve taken this extra time off. I am beginning to relax.
I was thrilled to see Scott Pack singing the praises of another Sarah Salway book. I know, from reading his excellent blog, that he is, like me, a big fan of hers. I’ve not read Tell Me Everything yet, but I fully intend to and soon.
And while I’m on that subject…
I finished reading Thirteen, by Sebastian Beaumont the other day. I read it because he’d (Scott Pack) recommended it. Simple as that. (Well, it sounded interesting too, but that’s not the point. The point is recommendations work. Even in the smallest of numbers.)
The book is excellent. It’s hypnotic, neurotic, weird and edgy – all of these in a very good way. And, most importantly, it’s a good (and oddly believable) story told well. As Mr Pack says, it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but with that said and accepted, it’d come highly recommended by me.