On one otherwise normal Tuesday evening I had the chance to live the American dream. I was able to throw my incompetent jackass of a boss from a fourteenth-story window.
~ Opening Sentence, Chapter One
Now, how can you not love a book that starts that way? I couldn’t resist it when I read it 12 years ago and I couldn’t resist this time either 😀 I just hope the rest of the book is as good.
“When I was a little boy,” said Mr. Banks, “I loved going for walks. I used to walk with my Governess down to the second lamp-post and back every day. And I never grumbled.”
Michael stood still on his stair and looked doubtfully at Mr. Banks.
“Were you ever a little boy?” he said, very surprised.
Mr. Banks seemed quite hurt.
“Of course I was. A sweet little boy with long yellow curls, velvet breeches and button-up boots.”
“I can hardly believe it,” said Michael, hurrying down the stairs of his own accord and staring up at Mr. Banks.
He simply could not imagine his Father as a little boy. It seemed to him impossible that Mr. Banks had ever been anything but six feet high, middle-aged and rather bald.
“What was the name of your Governess?” asked Jane, running downstairs after Michael. “And was she nice?”
“She was called Miss Andrew and she was a Holy Terror!”
“Hush!” said Mrs. Banks, reproachfully.
“I mean—” Mr. Banks corrected himself, “she was—er—very strict. And always right. And she loved putting everybody else in the wrong and making them feel like a worm. That’s what Miss Andrew was like!”
~Chapter 2
Ha! I can remember as a young boy realizing one day that my Dad’s name wasn’t “Dad”. He had his own name, just like I had mine. It shocked me to be honest, and the world got a whole lot bigger in just those few seconds. Did you ever have some experience like that as a kid, when you just suddenly weren’t a child anymore in some minor regard and how big it was to you? Tell me about it if it did.
I included the rest of the scene because every description that Mr Banks applies to his old governess, Miss Andrews, pretty much applies to Mary Poppins as well. I’m just waiting for them to meet and for the sparks to fly!
He walked downstairs in his socks, wearing a simple gray, long sleeved BU Hockey T-shirt, and jeans that hid the rugged athleticism of his six feet one-inch frame. Anton arrived at the front door just as the doorbell rang for the third time.
He opened the door; before him stood the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen in his life.
She was tall, nearly the same height as Anton, brunette with vivid blue eyes, flawless complexion, wearing a professional black business pants suit with a short jacket, and a translucent scarlet silk chiffon shirt that displayed the round curves of her breasts within a stylish black bra.
Just standing still, she was a seductive mix of poise, elegance, and class, with a face that demanded attention.
I started A Subtle Agency, by Graeme Rodaughan, the first book in the Metaframe War series. I know it involves vampires, but that quote from the first chapter does not bode well. I swear, if “rippling abs” make even ONE appearance, I’m dnf’ing this like it has the bubonic plague.
Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures. He paid her only the compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the occasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste. His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to that ecstatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was estimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the others; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and thirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling and every exquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed to make every allowance for the colonel’s advanced state of life which humanity required.
~Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 7
This quote is from Marianne Dashwood’s viewpoint, from Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. She is 17. It made me laugh so hard because “Ancient” Colonel Brandon is 10 years my junior. Oh, I love Austen’s writing almost as much as I do Dickens’.
ps,
I am posting this because,
A: I Have Words in need of getting loose
B: The Pumpkin Festival might get rained out tonight AND tomorrow and thus I’ll have nothing to post about it tomorrow. Thus this post is my “Blog Insurance”.
They filled their pockets and then their hats. Then a furious gardener chased them with a rake. They ran. Cat was very happy as he carried his full, knobby hat home. Mrs. Sharp loved apples. He just hoped she would not reward him by making gingerbread men. As a rule, gingerbread men were fun. They leaped up off the plate and ran when you tried to eat them, so that when you finally caught them you felt quite justified in eating them. It was a fair fight, and some got away. But Mrs. Sharp’s gingerbread men never did that. They simply lay, feebly waving their arms, and Cat never had the heart to eat them.
~Chapter Two
Hahahahaahaha! Man, that’s some good comic writing right there 😀
