While your witch is ‘on the road’, there will be some book interiors from wherever she goes. This here is Son’s Uppsala book collection, with no previous styling done before the camera snapped. At least there is less dust than there would have been at Bookwitch Towers. There is an Icelandic flavour to it, but when I asked if he’d now get round to reading Arnaldur in the original, I was laughed at. Though he did get out a children’s book and read a little to me.
His UCL neighbour here in Uppsala uses his bookshelf for storing shoes on.
It felt unexpectedly heavy, that unexpected weight on my feet, as I slid into bed, late. Well, attempted to slide, anyway. I’m so very kind and caring (even if I do say so myself) that I do not put the light on if I’m last into bed. I try to have a calm and organised bedroom, but it doesn’t always work out so well.
So as I discovered this unexpected lump on top of where my feet should go, I felt with my hand in the dark, and encountered a book. Of course. The Resident IT Consultant is under the impression that any horizontal area is an OK place to leave a book. Or ten. I have tried to suggest that encountering the unexpected in the dark may make me scream. Not because I’m scared. Because I prefer the duvet to be the only cover at night.
But then I consider the bad effects of waking people up in the middle of the night, so keep my screaming to the absolute minimum. Fuming to myself, I lifted the book off my bed and dumped it on the floor, avoiding the temptation to fling it. Far.
As I got up in the morning and could see again, I looked at the evidence of the curious incident in the night time. The Colossal Book of Mathematics, no less. No wonder it felt uncomfortable.
But it does seem like the perfect bedtime reading. It’d send me to sleep in a minute.
I was teased when I asked to read the Justin Bieber unofficial biography. Coming from the publisher that’s a bit much, but it’s always possible it wasn’t meant seriously. I’m too old. Then I was subjected to more mental abuse when Daughter found the book in my possession. You see how I suffer for this blog.
When I visited Random in January, one of the books discussed in the meeting I was at, was this book, which had then barely been conceived. Someone had cottoned on to the new and growing phenomenon of Justin, and it was seen as a good thing to have some sort of biography of this 15-year-old to sell, and as soon as possible. (Maybe they go out of fashion as soon as they come in?) I was fascinated to see how books like these may be dreamed up and planned, so was very keen to see the end result.
If I was ten or twelve I would most likely adore Justin, too, and in that case I’d love this book. It’s very colourful in cerise and pink, red and blue, with absolutely masses of photos of the boy and his hair that blows forward from the back. Good teeth, too. According to Daughter the page layout has been executed in a pleasing manner.
The book is like a thick girls’ magazine (ahem, I mean a thick magazine, not that the girls are), and if anything like it could conceivably have existed of Svenne Hedlund in 1966 I’d have been in heaven. So it follows that this should put a few girls in a Justin heaven, a few decades on. You get quizzes and wordsearches and crosswords and all that kind of thing. There is even a colour-in Justin. Did I mention all the photos? And there is a detachable poster of this Canadian teenager, too.
Have looked him up on YouTube, which is where it all started (Mums rock, is what I say), although I didn’t fall into raptures over him, if I’m to be perfectly honest. And Daughter and I have an argument over how to pronounce Bieber. I say I’m right and she’s wrong.
I reckon a lot of girls could be made tolerably happy with a copy of this book.
But how does he do that hair?