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Very old blog post from 2005 - posted originally on one of my other semi-forgotten weblogs.

In the early years of the century weblog writers circulated amongst themselves what were known as ‘memes’ - essentially questionnaires or surveys on various subjects, the following of which concerned books. The questions and my answers, posted on one an early weblog, were as follows:

How many books do you own?

Far too many. Hundreds. maybe thousands. They lurk, they shuffle, they sit on dark shelves silently and laugh on open shelves out loud. They reside in boxes stuffed away in back rooms. They probably dance with each other at night, covers akimbo, leaves all a-splay. They come out occasionally to be read. Most times, they are on their best behaviour. I love them. But sometimes I threaten to sell them when their stories become too loud, too raucous, like ghosts of the past having a party. They stop immediately, but I think they do not take me seriously and start regaling each other once again when I am asleep. You can't have too many books. The problem is the more you read, the less you know.

What was the last book you bought?

The Beatrix Potter boxed set. Parents of children should get over buying Beatrix Potter merchandising and read the actual books to them. Her language is unsurpassed. Today's children will need a dictionary. Provide them with one.

What is the book you last read?

Farewell, My Lovely. - Raymond Chandler. Chandler is my favourite writer. I just can't understand his plot intricacies. BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO! His writing shines like a bunch of diamonds thrown into a dirty stream. The diamonds are his writing and the dirty stream is the plot. It's just there and it doesn't get in the way because you can just reach right down and touch those precious jewels.

Five books that mean a lot to you.

Too hard. Hundreds of books mean a lot to me. Raymond Chandler's eight tight masterpieces. Ivan Southall's children's disaster novels that frightened me. Mavis Thorpe Clarke similarly. Joan Lindsay. A. A. Milne. E. B. White. V. S. Naipaul. C. J. Dennis. E. M. Forster. R. L. Stevenson. C. P. Snow. Hey, this is turning into a game - authors you love that are commonly known by two initials and a surname. J. R. R. Tolkien. OK, game over, Mister Three Initials Big-Shot Author.
Actually, one of my favourite authors had a first name the same as his surname. Can you guess? He may not be the best ever writer, but the question is five books that mean a lot to me. Oh dear, I haven't listed any, only authors.

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End of old post from 2005. (The author in the last paragraph was Jerome K. Jerome, guessed correctly by one of the commenters of the time of which, in the early days of weblogs, there were many.) The posts had a somewhat over-exuberant whimsical tone reflecting the fact that writers were generally luxuriating in the fact that everyone was reading everyone else's posts. Then no-one had time to read blogs, except for a few loyal readers, of which I retain a handful. Thanks for staying with me.

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New favourite authors update: in recent years writers reaching my 'favourites' list, if you'll forgive the patroning tone, include Jessamyn West, Martin Boyd, James Dickey and of course John Updike; and others who will come to mind at 4am tomorrow morning.

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