There is something so complete about hedgehogs. So stubby and round and right. I love them. I am reading a wonderful book, The Elegance of the Hedgehog. I say 'reading' but I am only on page eleven. The research for second book has sort of eaten my reading life for breakfast. It has done it in a terrific, active verb, gracious kind of way but done it quite thoroughly all the same.
I am writing about early 20th c. figures this time round and they are just so recent. I walk by the places they lived and the same stone on the same doorsteps, some of the same banks and bookshops and restaurants are sitting on the same corners, and the same trees are growing in the same parks--astonishing as WWI, WWII and the 20th c have all brutally happened in between.
All this reality and scenery from these lives makes the researching truly immediate--but it is at the point where it is so immediate that it has moved into my living room and taken up all the space. And so I am taking action, reclaiming my recreational reading and starting with hedgehogs--French hedgehogs on the Rue de Grenelle at that. The book already has a charming, drown you in melted butter and crooked streets and warm you into fluffy pastry sort of feeling to it--impressive by page eleven.
On other fronts, I am discovering Goodreads. It is a slow toe dipping in giant ocean sort of discovering as Goodreads is vast and dedicated. A lovely man called Rick has set up a thread for Exit the Actress. It was so sweet of him! I am consistently astonished by the random, goodwill Nell has found in her adventures in publishing. It is wonderful.