It's a crying shame, but I haven't read a bit of fiction for fun in simply ages.
Well, I hadn't, I should say. Because, thank heaven, the other day I tore through this book with a bleary-eyed intensity I haven't felt in a long time.
I'd not heard of this book or its' author, and went in with only my sister's earnest recommendation. Frankly, I have no idea why it was so good, but it was so good. Very cinematic, as ma soeur said.
Perhaps partially because I hadn't just read a good book for fun in such a long time, I gloried in this little tale. From what I understand, it's based on a real folktale from up north somewheres. Interesting how this type of story is found in so many cultures. It felt familiar, like putting on an old glove - Cupid and Psyche, the Beauty and the Beast. But then you sort of looked at the glove and found that it was made of some strange new material. Polar bear fur in this case, I guess.
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