Wednesday, May 25, 2011


My old barn is in bad repair. It's collapsing in on itself, has opened "vents" at the back end where the floor has decided to go on its own, and has acquired a funky, earthy smell---not altogether unpleasant. These holes, by the way, allow an entrance way for various mice to set up home over the winter months. My wife will not go into the barn during this time, I however don't mind much. I like to think of it as "Bernie's Winter-Over" place for these wee beasties. The barn is quite old now, and I think Mother Earth is reclaiming it for herself---these things happen to us all, by the way. My wife has been after me for the past couple of years to replace said barn; I always refused. I've grown inexplicably fond of this structure as I watched its brave effort to ward off the inevitable. But, I was thinking it was time now to turf it, as painful as that will be.

I approached this decision to purchase a new barn with my wife. She said, "No!" She went on the explain that now that she is retired our capital is reduced somewhat making it not as easy to spend on things not necessarily essential---or something like that. She ended this assessment by saying we'll look at it in a couple of years, or so. She's usually right on these matters---so far. I spent a time looking at the barn from the patio searching for a solution or a patch; the barn seemed to be staring back through pleading mouse holes.

You see, there's another problem involved here. I recently came in possession of a snow blower---an excellent powerful machine for firing snow from your driveway into your neighbour's yard. It works well. But since this machine is so powerful it's also quite big---for a small, rotten barn, that is. And every time we try to get something out of the barn for gardening and such, I have to take the snow blower out and park it in the middle of the driveway. Parking the snow blower in the middle of the driveway on a warm, sunny day makes the neighbours nervous, I find. They're looking at you suspiciously from the corner of their eyes. When you start it up, which I did to tune it up---just in case---the neighbourhood kids all ran home. A bit odd, I thought. If we could keep the snow blower out of the barn for now, it would all work fine, I thought. I suggested to my wife we use the machine as a planter in the summer. You could put plants and flowers on top and within the blades. It would be unique, if anything. This was a silly solution, and my wife confirmed this fact by not even venturing a response.

So I'm going to have to put on my flimsy carpenter's cap and devise a reno system for the old barn to try to breathe new life into it. I think I can do that. I might even put ceramic tiles on the sinking floor. My wife is in agreement as long as it doesn't cost more that a new barn would. That could be difficult---I'm thinking siding, and a window! Automatic doors, security cameras, LIGHTS!, a big screen TV---HD! The possibilities are limitless.

I have so many books I want to talk about. I AM going to blog every week now---since my readership has gone significantly up, by the way. I'm reading AGENT ZIGZAG by Ben MacIntyre right now. It's an excellent non-fiction book about a British spy during WW11. I finished reading his OPERATION MINCEMEAT about the same thing actually. He's such a good writer, and the stories are beyond believable even though they are true. I'm enjoying them very much. They would make great movies, by the way.

Next: Heaven and Hell---books and ideas.

Thursday, March 17, 2011


As I have mentioned many times, the modern novel is in bad repair descending into sappiness, mundane slack philosophizing, and moral dribbling. My past reading has been almost exclusively non-fiction. This genre has progressed leaps and bounds lately.
I wish to review---if you will--- one such book I finished reading a couple of months ago: PRESENT AT THE CREATION by Amir D. Aczel.

This is the story of the Large Hadron Collider, its construction, cost, purpose, and controversy. I enjoyed it immensely, although the mathematical science data eluded me, I must admit. Briefly the Large Hadron Collider is a project of CERN, the European Organization of Nuclear Research. It's a 16.5 mile-long circular tunnel under the French-Swiss countryside where they release protons in opposite directions and with the help of many huge magnets whip these protons up to the speed of 99.999999.1 percent of the speed of light( why they can't achieve the speed of light---186,000 miles an a second---check Einstein's Relativity), and then smash them in a purposely head-on collision. How cool is that? What comes out of these collisions are numerous and sometimes puzzling mini particles, which the scientists study to their hearts content. They're hoping to find the Higgs boson which is a particle---in theory only---that is suppose to supply all other particles with their mass---the God particle, so named. They don't even know if it exists! and they spent billions of dollars constructing this race tunnel to find it. If, however, they do find it, this will give them a huge understanding of how the universe came to be. Stephen Hawking, the huge brain in the wheelchair, doesn't think they will find it and bet a sum of money to that intent.

It's all very complicated when you get into the details of this scientific jumbo, and although I get the gist, I'm always tongue-tied when I try to explain it. I easily forget the details which are many, for sure.

But I can't help thinking that this is just a smash-up derby, a demolition derby, if you will, propagated by the upper echelon of brain power, but a smash-up derby nevertheless. Maybe like your beer-soaked Friday night at the car race track where Jake and Bubba smash their old wrecks in a head-on for the amusement of the rowdy crowd?

As a child---and I would venture to guess this would be the norm for many other men--- I would play with my dinkies, model trains, etc., and arrange them in a semblance of domesticated harmony and bliss. "It's a beautiful day in Sunnydale today." Then after perusing the tranquil scene I would derail the train and have myself one smash-up upheaval that would reduce "Sunnyday" to ruins. It seemed somewhat satisfying. It has to be an innate genetic thing with boys, I don't know. I just wonder if this Hadron Collider thing is the same only at a higher meaningful level---if there is a meaning.

So I thought up a scene where these scientists are getting ready for the latest smash-up of protons. In this scene are five scientists: Ernst Gerbalvheel, Germany; Horst Blitzberger von horreshitten-Kurtz, Austria( he received the Nobel Prize for spelling his name rapidly without error FIVE times!); Ivan Illiitchenen Ivanostanlasov, Russia; Bert B. Bucket, UK; and Studs Sneed, USA. Dialogue goes this way:

Ernst, you're here! we're almost ready. Jeez, I'm shaken, man.
(laughs) What are we smashing today there, Horst?
Proton A(abracadabra), with Proton B(Bennyhill). Goddam, it's going to be epic. Epic!, Ernst.
Did I hear ya all saying we're smashing today?
Yep, Studs. Proton A and B. Classic, man.
Hey, Bert, get the snapps. We going to have a mash-up today. uhha. Weeehee.
Vodka for me, Bert. I love destruction with a buzz. Yukkkkk.
You Russians, Ivanostich.
Let's go!
I'm so goddam excited!
I can't feel my legs!
I can't see! I can't see!
My heart's pounding!
Let go of my hand! You're hurting me, Horst.
Here it is....the collision! NOW!!!
Yaaaa, yaaaa, Holy shit! Did you see that?!! Holy shit!
High fives all around there, boys..........

Anyway, Perhaps the Large Hadron Collider will answer all our questions about the origins of the universe, but I doubt strongly if this explanation will make this sorry world a better place to live for all.

Next post: Some truly awful and troubling modern novels.

Thursday, November 25, 2010


You know, spending a lifetime immersed in reading, following, and teaching Literature can have certain drawbacks and even embarrassing moments. Let me explain. First, there's the cringe factor: every time I see usually a young person being interviewed on TV, there's inevitably 4 grammar faux pas or colloquialisms uttered by this individual. They are: I seen, like, basically, and "and stuff". "I seen" is a grammar mistake. It's I have seen, or, the not often used, "I saw". "Like" is like used all of the time. "Basically:" well, hey, it's a big word; makes you sound educated and stuff. "And stuff": I haven't a clue why so many people use this; it's inclusive, I suppose. It's handy because it keeps the person from elaborating. So a sentence spoken would go this way: "yeah, well, I seen 'em and thar like all dressed up in robes and stuff, basically putting on a show". Cringe.

I'm a compulsive reader---I read everything I see. It's a quirk I have, probably stemming from my early childhood when I had a little difficulty learning to read. I practiced daily on signs, notices, papers, etc.---anything with writing on it. I'll give you an example of my compulsion. Waiting in a doctor's office can take more than an hour sometimes, and while I'm sitting and waiting I'm reading all the signs and posters on the wall---many times. One doctor use to have a poster listing 100 things you should do to live a healthy life. I read all 100---many times. I'd groan when I had to go to his waiting room. Oh, it's not debilitating or anything like that, and I am relaxed and can divert my attention at any time, but as the time wears on I will eventually start reading signs and posters again. My wife counts. Yes, like that Count muppet on Sesame Street. My mother counted too; I didn't know that until late in life. My dad use to keep time to the songs from the always-on jukebox playing in a loop in his head. I read. You know, the mind is indeed a strange thing sometimes.

Sometimes my reading compulsion combined with being a stickler can result in a rather embarrassing moment. This is an example of that; it happened recently.

I walked into the office of a local garage wanting some work done on my car. The proprietor behind the desk was busy talking to another costumer about tie rods or the like. I waited my turn, and so, I looked at the wall, saw a sign and read. This was one of those changeable message signs with white letters seemingly stuck in certain grooves. I read it. The sign was stating the garage's policy, I suppose; giving its mission statement including privacy, integrity, and value. It ended by saying that they value the costumer alot. "alot". I've dealt with this word a lot in teaching over the years. "a lot" is TWO words, not one, yet many people insist on combining it.

I stared at the sign, and wondered whether it would be an easy maneuver to pull the "lot" away from the "a". The two guys were deep in the discussion on tie rods, and I had the time to do this, and saw a need, obviously. I headed over to the sign, but immediately encountered much difficulty in trying to slide the "lot" away from the "a". I tried to force it, it nudged a bit. The proprietor said to me, "Can I help you? Is there a problem?" I without thinking said, "I'm trying to slide the "lot" away from the "a". Then I quickly realized just how oddly strange my retort must have sounded. I wheeled around to face the two men who were now watching me with intense, concerned looks. I stammered a bit saying that "a lot" is two words, not one. That there's no such word as alot. Then I realized to my added embarrassment that that statement is not true, and I said, "Well, allot IS a word, but its spelled a l l o t, and means to give out, or to...ah, but this a lot...a lot is two words. I was just fixing..." The customer with crinkled brow piped up and asked me, "Are you an English teacher?" I sighed, calmed down and said weakly "yes". They kind of shook their heads, and went back to the tie rod debate. I thought that amazing. This odd behaviour is easily explained by the fact that I'm an English teacher. "English teachers, they do that sort of thing." But when the costumer had left, and I was still trying to nudge the "a" away from the "lot" , the proprietor smiled and said that he would fix the sign later. And I did get my car fixed.

Hey, I'm a granddad! We have a beautiful, beautiful grandson. Sometimes in life absolutely wonderful things will happen. This is definitely one of those times.

Oh, sorry, I didn't talk about books this post. But I will in the next. I would like to take the top ten books sold this month and explain why I won't bother to read them. That should make lot of people upset.

Monday, October 18, 2010


I've been reading many non-fiction books lately. I find the Fiction/Novel output to be seriously lacking these days. Perhaps it's just my age, or dashed expectations, but I find novels written today on the whole to be disingenuous, predictable, or just plan bad. However, non-fiction seems to have leapt to soaring heights. And that's good---for me. Sometimes, the real, true story is often more amazing than what is made up. It all depends of course on the author: his/her writing style, the subject being explained and discussed, the approach the author takes with this subject, and always the truth---or near-truth--- of the reporting. Non-fiction writers are never afraid to say that they or anyone else does not know for certain, and that's fine.

So the books I've read over the past three months are: 13 THINGS THAT DON'T MAKE SENSE (THE MOST BAFFLING SCIENTIFIC MYSTERIES OF OUR TIME)by Michael Brooks. this is a delightful little book exploring the many anomalies in science as well as in life itself. What is amazing about this life and with science that tries to explain it, is that whenever anything is almost totally covered and understood there is always some part that is still a puzzlement. And that goes along with just about everything. How many times have you heard doctors or scientists say that something works but they really don't understand why? Or something happens, they can predict it, but they're not sure why it happens. These are the kinds of things Brooks takes on. His writing is quite natural, easy to follow, and personable. It's a good book, quite amazing really. An example: Did you know that life itself is an anomaly? They can break down life to all its components from atoms, molecules, and chemicals, but they don't understand what it is that animates it all into a breathing, thinking being. Interesting.

WAR by Sebastian Junger. Junger is the author of THE PERFECT STORM, a wonderful book made into an excellent movie a few years ago. In WAR Junger follows a single platoon based at a remote outpost in eastern Afghanistan. It's a disturbing book chronicling the lives of very young men in a hellish place. He tells how they wake up from a disturbed sleep, have coffee, grab their rifles and return fire at the hills where fighters are practising their skills shooting at the Americans. Unbelievable. These are just young men on both sides fighting a senseless and stupid war. It's a very powerful book.

THE TIGER by John Vaillant. John Vaillant also wrote THE GOLDEN SPRUCE which won the Governor General's Award for Non-Fiction---a great book. In this book he takes on the Siberian Tiger in north east Russia. It's an amazing book about a region---the Primorye---in eastern Russia where not many people from the West know about, and the rapid decline of the Siberian tiger in that region. The tiger is being killed by poachers in staggering numbers. But it also is a story of a hunt for one particular tiger who has targeted humans, and who shows such cunning and obsession that the scientists had to revisit this species to see if it is as intelligent as it appears to be. Vaillant's writing is smooth and enjoyable although he tends to over-dramatize certain situations, and drag impending climaxes out for effect. It's sometimes annoying.

THE WAVE, by Susan Casey. I'm reading this now, and have reached to halfway point. I'm enjoying the realizations of the mysteries of the ocean, and the waves. Again, scientists are unsure why there is certain Rogue Waves or Freak Waves going on in the ocean, but they are there and many ships every year are going to the bottom because of them. Interesting. The only thing I really don't like about this book is the amount of time she spends on Surfing and surfers. I don't think that this is necessary, for me anyway. Also her writing is very plain, and sometimes awkward. But it is a very interesting and well researched book.

HITCH 22 by Christopher Hitchens. I'm not into biographies, autobiographies, or memoirs. I'm really not interested in other people's lives, I'm barely interested in my own. So, even though it is so well written, and thought provoking, I found myself dreading to get back to it. I do like Hitchens though. I'll get back to him in a later post.

My wife is reading THE GIRL WHO KICKED THE HORNET'S NEST, by Stieg Larsson. She won't tell me anything about it, even though she knows I liked the movie so much and am now interested. We are going to watch the second movie next weekend. Cool.

I'll be back soon. Busy weeks ahead. Keep reading.

Monday, September 20, 2010


This is a bee story; it goes like this...ahem. On a beautiful, sunny July morning, I made my way to the old barn in the backyard. Oh, by the way, I love my barn. It's old now---like me---and is imploding in on itself(like me, too), boards are discoloured and rotten around the base and in certain areas of the backside wall. It stinks also(unlike me), but it has a nice country stink which is pleasing to the discerning nose. I like my old barn a lot. My wife says that the old barn has to go, and will be replaced in the Spring. I guess she's right: the old barn ain't what it once was...then neither are we all, I guess.
Anyway, I opened the creaky door to the old barn---it protests every morning when it has to behave like a barn. Sad. The night before I threw in a rather large quantity of rope---really good rope--- which is now right in front of the opened door. Oh, by the way, I actually found that rope on the beach a few months ago while out one early morning for a stroll in the sand. I think it came from the fishing boats. They lose a lot of paraphernalia while endeavouring to catch a fish. This is very good quality rope of high value and cost, I'm sure. I carried it the whole length of the beach to my car, and shoved it in the trunk. Now it's in the barn next to the other 5pieces of rope I found the past years. Anybody want some rope? My wife asks me why I need so much rope? I tell her that you never know when you will need enough rope to hang yourself or rope a cow. It's a good answer because "need" is ambiguous. I will be going to the beach this week; maybe I'll find some more rope, hope so.
Anyway...where was I?... oh, yes. This rope which I actually needed just yesterday was in a heap on the floor in front of the now opened door of the old barn.---you with me? I leaned down to pick it up and wind it in a circle....oh, by the way, not many people know how to do this: wind rope in a circle, I've found. I learned how to do this from my mom who would always ask me to wind the clothes line up when she finished drying them---the clothes, I mean.
Ah, I leaned down to pick up the rope when I heard a buzzing sound. It was a frantic buzzing sound; a buzzing sound of distress, of panic. I looked over to the corner of the front door where I believed this angst-ridden sound was emanating and I saw a bee, a big bee, who seemed to be caught in a webby, dirty, entanglement and was trying really hard to get free. I put my hand down and with a couple of sweeps cleared all that nasty stuff away. The bee flew a bit to the front of the barn and dropped down on the cement block. Once there she (the bee) seemed to be pruning herself and giving her wings a few revs. She was coming out of shock, I think. I was winding the rope---which I can do quite well, by the way, and watching her go through her system checks. She was there quite a while. I wondered if she was all right.
Then this bee flew up and around the yard in a full circle, and headed back to me. She seemed to be OK, all systems good. I stood watching her coming closer to me, closer and closer. I didn't move, and she stopped and hovered right in front of my face---just for a few seconds. She was hanging in mid-air just a few inches from my nose. We were eye ball to eye ball yet I couldn't see her eyes because my aging eyes are not that good lately. Then she turned and flew over the house and was gone.

I thought it odd. I went in to tell my wife.

After I explained the whole scene without too much embellishment, she said this:

WIFE: So, what are you thinking? Why are you telling me this? What did you think happened?

Bernie: Well, it looked to me... well, it seemed...well, what do you think?
W: You're thinking he, this bee, thanked you, aren't you?
B: It sure seemed like that.
W: He didn't thank you, Bernie. He an insect, not a human. He doesn't know "thank you".
B: Worker bees are females. It's a she. She thanked me.
W: He was...SHE was probably deciding whether to sting you or not. (laughs)
B: How do you know that she wasn't thanking me? We don't know these things, you know.
W: OK, maybe he...
B: she
W: she was thanking you, but you don't know for sure. So, I wouldn't tell people that he..she.. this bee actually said "thank You". OK? Just don't tell people that. OK?
B: Why?
W: I just don't want people to think my husband talks to bees. (laughs)
B: OK. But you know what? She's probably telling her hive sisters all about me right now.
W: Oh, good lord.

I had a couple of books about bees that you should read, but I think I already mentioned them in a former post. Remember, bees are our friends. They're also fun to watch, and if they get really close to you, tell them I said hello.

Next: Tiger book

Friday, September 10, 2010


Way back, I think it was 1969, there was a rumor circulatting about that Paul McCartney of the super fab group The Beatles was dead. As fervent fans of the Beatles, along with being young and stupid, my friends and I took this news seriously.
We decided to gather all the evidence provided by our close inspection of album covers (You have to realize that the Internet was not available), and extra-close, discriminate interpretation of all the Beatles songs and solve this thing once and for all. It was an arduous task to be sure.
We all gathered together (there were 5 of us) in a house available at the time, and settled down for a full evening---and late night/early morning, if necessary--- of intense concentration and deductive reasoning which would ultimately lead to a truthful conclusion on this most important matter. We then would share this hard-won item of interest to the world---for a price, of course. We fortified ourselves with bottles of booze of various strengths, and other eye-opening "stuff". We deemed these necessary---nay, essential--- accouterments for our sojourn through Beatlemania in our quest for truth.

It WAS an noble endeavour indeed.

We started with ABBEY ROAD. The infamous cover shot of Paul in bare feet and out of step with the other Beatles. We played the entire album many times, all the time imbibing whatever was near and taking scratchy notes. We brained-stormed afterwards, coming out with actually surprising insights into the "true" meaning of certain lyrics and sounds. It was all very clever. There were times when we were quite sure we had it! but it would later fall apart for overlooked, obvious facts. The more we drank and other things, the deeper we dug into this now widening chasm of innuendos and sly hidden clues. It became exhilarating yet very tiring.

By 2AM half of us were asleep, the other half diligently soldiering on. We had actually gotten nowhere. The most enthused of us(a hyper-active person) came to the dubious conclusion that Paul's father didn't exist! That one took a while to process. It occurred to us after some time that if Paul's father didn't exist, than Paul didn't exist. WOW! That one would take us on an even deeper, scarier path. But I had had it and threw in the towel, as they say, and eased my way home. I had had enough of this nonsense.

We were to meet again in round 2 in five days, but it so happened that Paul addressed this vicious rumor publicly saying in effect that he's fine, living and breathing in Scotland right now. I received a call from our hyper-active friend who laughed at the announcement saying that it was not Paul who gave it, and that everything about this public announcement was false. He went into all the things he saw and slyly perceived telling him that Paul is really dead despite the article. I began to wonder just how close this is to madness.

The Paul's Dead thing was all a hoax. We know that now.

I told this story(all true) to underline the fact that conspiracy theories are usually baseless, and in a sense, inane. They take on a life of their own, and become bigger than the actual subject itself. Our brain has the aptitude and ability to read between the lines and see hidden connections. It's one of our innate and wonderful abilities. But when the subject is bogus, these so-called connections are all wrong, misleading, and at times silly, other times dangerous.

There's a whole slew of Conspiracy Theories on the Net, and people, especially young people, are wasting not only their time but their youth chasing these ridiculous scenarios. Sometimes things are what they are.

The Shakespeare Conspiracy claims that Shakespeare did not write all those plays. The people who follow this will say that since Shakespeare was just an actor and director and farmer with a public school education, it was impossible for him to write all those exquisite poems, plays, and to have such insight into human nature. They insist that they were written by a nobleman who went to Oxford and was present in Queen Elizabeth 1 court.

James Shapiro( my favourite Shakespeare scholar) in his book CONTESTED WILL takes this on, and does so in grand fashion, I would say. I can't see how anyone who believes this nonsense would feel the same after reading this book. But people believe what they want to believe and discard the rest, I suppose. I don't really want to go into all the details of this conspiracy for risk of boring everyone, but it can be said that there is enough overwhelming evidence to support Shakespeare as the true author of these wonderful plays. It should end there.
As a teacher for most of my life, I can comment on the education aspect of this conspiracy. It's a known fact that it is never the really bright student who sits up front and answers all the questions that goes on the greatness. It's the gangly boy(or girl) down the back of the room, looking out the window, slightly bored, and a mind that's far away in the courts of Henry V.

Shakespeare DID write the plays, the rest is nonsense.

Next: Summer mystery 1. This is a good one. I'm just trying to connect a book to it in order to stay within the perimeters of this blog. I promise this entry will be very soon. Really, I promise.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


Summertime for me always seems to offer up certain strange, mysterious occurrences; odd sightings; baffling natural behaviours; and downright spooky events. I'm sure there's a logical scientific explanation....but, still. A good buddy of mine says it's because in the summer we are closer to nature than anytime throughout the year. And nature sometimes puzzles us. Yes, that could be so, or just maybe this reality of ours is not that solid as we think it is. Maybe the ancients are right to say that our reality is an illusion. However, we will leave that for our philosophers.

On a rather hot summer's day just last week, my wife and I harvested our string beans, and picked out two tomatoes off our thriving plants. We had dinner with these fresh vegetables mixed in a salad. Later that day when it cooled off we walked across the road and picked two liters of blueberries of which a portion was made into an excellent blueberry cake that evening. Life is good. Cape Breton is a great place to live.

Two nights before this bountiful day was a rough one, to be sure. The North East wind was blowing up a gale, and the rain was extremely heavy. I was heading for bed around 12 o'clock that night wondering if the house is going to hold and the rain to stay out. I heard an airplane overhead. It sounded like it was very low heading for the airport. I stopped and foolishly looked up to the ceiling wondering who could be out in a plane at this hour and in this weather. It actually bothered me. The next day there was a news announcement that a small plane was lost over the ocean, and that SAR were sending helicopters to look for debris. I couldn't get it out of my mind.

That day when my wife and I were picking string beans and blueberries, the Search and Rescue helicopters were flying overhead raking the shore line looking for some sign of the missing plane. The whole experience that day was a reminder of how everything that's wonderful and wholesome can be tinged with tragedy.

I don't know if you have ever seen Bruegel's ICARUS: a painting of the middle ages where farmers and other workers are going about their day's labours not aware that Icarus has just fallen from the sky and is now drowning. The great poet Auden used this in a poem about how people do not notice human suffering unless it directly effects them. I thought of that often that day. But---and this is interesting--- everybody you talked to in those days were saddened and puzzled about this tragedy. It certainly didn't go unnoticed. People were really concerned, saddened and worried. Perhaps Auden is not right about this.

More about the mystical summer later.

Books my wife and I read and are reading over the summer are: tada--- CONTESTED WILL (about Shakespeare) by (my favourite scholar) James Shapiro. I loved that book, but was angry with some of its contents. My next Blog is on this. WAR by Sebastian Junger. An excellent book on the war in Afghanistan---more of that later. I picked up HITCH 22 by Christopher Hitchens. I haven't read this yet, but am looking forward to it. He's a wonderful writer and intellectual. My daughter gave me BEATRICE & VIRGIL by Yann Martel. I said I wasn't going to read this, but now I will. She(my daughter) liked it a lot and I value her opinion. My wife is reading THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO by Stieg Larsson. She like it a lot and intents to read the other two books out by him. These books are blockbusters, sold everywhere.
She is also now reading WUTHERING HEIGHTS by Emily Bronte. I love this book; I'm sure she'll enjoy it.

Next: Shakespeare conspiracy