Hello and Happy Birthday! Not to me... I still have a few more days BEFORE doom.
Today is Ms Austen's day!
The other day, when we met to celebrate our Austen friendship, one of the girls teased me saying that in 200 years lovely women could be gathering to talk about my books. We all laughed and laughed. And here we are, thousands and thousands around the globe celbrating Darcys, Tilneys, Bennets, Woodwards... Austens. We're all a bit better because one day, her father allowed her to write and encouraged her to publish. Am I too sentimental? Forgive me, the world is about to crumple around me!
Imagine turning 238 looking this good?
Ms Austen has been enchanting people not only with her own books but the books she inspires all around. I've listed some of my favorite and today's 40th page is one of them.
in which we read Sense and Sensibility with Allegra
page 40
"... I forced my silver ring onto his finger. It caught at the knuckle, but I pushed it down. He said how touched he was. He swore he’d never take it off, and then he tried to take it off and he couldn’t. His finger began to swell and turn odd colours. We went to the restroom of the pub and tried to soap it loose, but it was too late, the finger far too swollen. We asked for butter and got it, but that didn’t work either. His face was now turning an odd colour as well, sort of a fishy white. You know how pale the Irish are; they never go outdoors there. We went back to the hostel and I tried to take his mind off it by fucking him, but this was only a temporary diversion. His finger was round as a sausage and he couldn’t bend it anymore. So we went looking for a taxi to take us to a hospital. By now it was about three in the morning; the streets were dark, cold, and silent. We walked several blocks, and he was actually starting to whine, like a dog. When we did finally find a ride, the driver spoke no English. I made siren sounds and pointed, again and again, to the finger. I pantomimed a stethoscope. When you picture this, you have to picture me very drunk. I don’t know what the driver thought initially, but he did get it at last, and then the hospital turned out to be less than a block away. He coasted forward and let us out. He was saying something as he drove off. We couldn’t understand it, but we could guess. The hospital was closed, but there was an intercom and we spoke on it to someone else who didn’t speak English. He begged us to be intelligible and then gave up and buzzed us in. All the hallways were dark, and we walked down several until we saw some lights in a waiting room. I used to have dreams like that, dark hallways, echoing footsteps. Labyrinths that twisted and circled, with the directions printed on the walls in some alien alphabet. I mean I had the dreams before this happened, and I still have them sometimes: I’m lost in a foreign city; people talk, but I can’t understand them.
So we followed the light and found a doctor, and he spoke English, which was a bit of luck, really. We explained about the ring and he stared at us. “You’re in internal medicine,” he said. “I’m a heart surgeon.” I was prepared to go back to the hostel rather than put up with such embarrassment, but then it wasn’t my finger. (Though it was my ring.) But Conor— that was his name—was not leaving. “It hurts more than I can say,” he said. Which is sort of a koan, if you think about it..."
Disclaimer: 40 pages 40 is my way to come to terms with celebrate my upcoming 40th birthday. By promoting 40 awesome books I like in no way I intend to dupe the original authors. If you, as me, like what you read, buy them!
All 40 books can be found on the right side bar. ►
All images found on Google. Kudos to the original poster.
oi, Chove muito lá fora, o Rio está quase submerso. Só faltam os escafandristas
Sr Noé é nosso melhor candidato a prefeito.
Todo ano é isso: Dezembro de dias horrivelmente quentes e pés d´água. Mas estamos vivendo um BIG FOOT d´água. Ontem estava quente-tipo-suando-no-óculos-escuro, então calaro que ia chover... mas choveu por mais de 12hs... A cidade não aguenta isso, não... Adriana Calcanhoto canta tão bonitinho... Nóis num gosta mermo...
Sabe como é, chuva a gente fica deprê. Então, que venha a fofa Ms Morland! A página 40 de hoje: Ms Jane Austen e sua aventura gótica, com um gostinho de Tilney. (Yummy.)
"A mente de Catherine se tranquilizou muito com esta informação, ainda que algo de preocupação permanecesse, o que suscitou a seguinte pergunta, totalmente inocente em si mesma, embora bem incômoda ao cavalheiro: “Mas, senhor Tilney, por que você está menos generoso que sua irmã? Se ela sentia tanta confiança em minhas boas intenções, e pôde supor que tudo fosse apenas um erro, por que você está tão disposto a tomar como ofensa?”
“Eu! Tomar como ofensa!”
“Ah, estou certa pelo seu olhar, quando chegou à cabine, de que você estava bravo”.
“Eu, bravo? Eu não tinha direito”.
“Bem, ninguém teria pensado que você não tinha direito se vissem seu rosto”. Ele replicou ao pedir a ela que lhe desse lugar, e conversaram sobre a peça.
Ele permaneceu com elas por algum tempo e foi somente agradável com Catherine, para que ela se contentasse, quando fosse embora. Antes de se despedirem, porém, concordaram que o passeio programado deveria ocorrer o mais rápido possível. E, deixando de lado a tristeza por ele deixar sua cabine, ela foi, no geral, deixada como uma das mais felizes criaturas no mundo. Enquanto conversavam, ela observou, com alguma surpresa, que John Thorpe, que nunca ficava na mesma parte da casa por dez minutos, estava ocupado em conversar com o general Tilney, e ela sentiu algo mais do que surpresa quando pensou que pudesse ser objeto da atenção e do assunto deles. O que eles poderiam ter a dizer sobre ela? Ela temeu que o general Tilney não gostasse de sua aparência. Ela descobriu que isso estava implícito no fato de ele evitar que visse sua filha, em vez de adiar sua própria caminhada por poucos minutos. “Como o senhor Thorpe conhece seu pai?”, foi sua ansiosa pergunta, enquanto ela os apontava ao seu companheiro. Ele nada sabia sobre isso; mas seu pai, como todo militar, tinha muitos relacionamentos.
Quando a diversão terminou, Thorpe foi ajudá-las a sair. Catherine foi o objeto imediato de seu galanteio e, enquanto aguardavam na recepção por um assento, ele evitou a pergunta que viajou do coração até a ponta da língua dela, ao questionar, de modo cauteloso, que ela o viu falar com o general Tilney: “Ele é um ótimo senhor, pela minha alma! Robusto, ativo, parece ser tão jovem quanto seu filho. Tenho muita consideração por ele, eu lhe asseguro. Um cavalheiro e um bom tipo de gente como nunca existiu”.
“Mas como você veio a conhecê-lo?”
“Conhecê-lo! Há bem poucas pessoas na cidade que não conheço. Sempre o encontro em Bedford e o reconheci novamente assim que ele entrou na sala de bilhar. Um dos melhores jogadores que temos, a propósito. E tivemos pouco contato juntos, embora eu quase o temesse, no início. As chances eram de cinco a quatro contra mim, e se eu não tivesse feito uma das melhores tacadas talvez já feitas neste mundo – pois acertei exatamente sua bola, mas eu não poderia fazer você compreender sem uma mesa – eu teria sido derrotado. Um sujeito muito bom. Tão rico quanto um judeu. Gostaria de jantar com ele. Ouso dizer que ele dá ótimos jantares. Mas sobre o que você acha que estávamos falando? De você. Sim, pelos céus! E o general acha que você é a melhor garota em Bath”.
“Oh! Besteira! Como você pode dizer isso?”
“E o que você acha que eu disse?” – abaixando sua voz – “muito bem, general, eu disse; estou de acordo com você”.
Aqui, Catherine, que estava muito menos satisfeita com sua admiração do que com a do general Tilney, não lamentou ser chamada pelo senhor Allen.
Thorpe, porém, iria somente vê-la em sua cadeira e, até que ela entrasse, continuou com o mesmo tipo de delicada bajulação, apesar de ela lhe pedir que parasse.
Era muito prazeroso saber que o general Tilney a admirava, ao invés de detestá-la, e ela alegremente pensou que não havia ninguém mais na família a quem ela devesse temer encontrar.
A noite fez mais, muito mais, por ela do que esperava. "
---
E assim começa a aventura...
Não sei se você já curtiu HOT RIO CHICK no Facebook, mas se não perdeu vários posts de trabalhos manuais para dias chuvosos quando falta saco, como hj. Vou dar uma colher de chá e postar aqui o MOLDE DE ESTAMPAR CANECA da Abadia, ok?
basta levar numa loja de estampa de camisas/caneca, ou imprimir em transfer você mesmo.
hi, it rains cats, dogs and elephants here in Rio.
That's Mr Noah, my neighboor.
It's a recurrent problem, a carioca summer trait: awfully hot days = showers in the late afternoon/early evening. As yesterday was hotter-than-possible-to-endure, we were expecting rain but... it's puring non-stop since 10pm last night! And... Rio can't deal with 12hs raining... As the cute song says, Cariocas don't like rain... We get gloomy...
Ah, well. Gloomy it is. Welcome dear sweet Ms Morland! Today's 40th page: Ms Austen's gothical fun (and a touch of Tilney. Yummy.)
"“Catherine, you must go,” said James. “But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other sisters? I dare say either of them would like to go.” “Thank ye,” cried Thorpe, “but I did not come to Bath to drive my sisters about, and look like a fool. No, if you do not go, d... me if I do. I only go for the sake of driving you.” “That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure.” But her words were lost on Thorpe, who had turned abruptly away. The three others still continued together, walking in a most uncomfortable manner to poor Catherine; sometimes not a word was said, sometimes she was again attacked with supplications or reproaches, and her arm was still linked within Isabella’s, though their hearts were at war. At one moment she was softened, at another irritated; always distressed, but always steady. “I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine,” said James; “you were not used to be so hard to persuade; you once were the kindest, best-tempered of my sisters.” “I hope I am not less so now,” she replied, very feelingly; “but indeed I cannot go. If I am wrong, I am doing what I believe to be right.” “I suspect,” said Isabella, in a low voice, “there is no great struggle.” Catherine’s heart swelled; she drew away her arm, and Isabella made no opposition. Thus passed a long ten minutes, till they were again joined by Thorpe, who, coming to them with a gayer look, said, “Well, I have settled the matter, and now we may all go tomorrow with a safe conscience. I have been to Miss Tilney, and made your excuses.” “You have not!” cried Catherine. “I have, upon my soul. Left her this moment. Told her you had sent me to say that, having just recollected a prior engagement of going to Clifton with us tomorrow, you could not have the pleasure of walking with her till Tuesday. She said very well, Tuesday was just as convenient to her; so there is an end of all our difficulties. A pretty good thought of mine – hey?” Isabella’s countenance was once more all smiles and good humour, and James too looked happy again. “A most heavenly thought indeed! Now, my sweet Catherine, all our distresses are over; you are honourably acquitted, and we shall have a most delightful party.” “This will not do,” said Catherine; “I cannot submit to this. I must run after Miss Tilney directly and set her right.” Isabella, however, caught hold of one hand, Thorpe of the other, and remonstrances poured in from all three. Even James was quite angry. When everything was settled, when Miss Tilney herself said that Tuesday would suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, quite absurd, to make any further objection. “I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no business to invent any such message. If I had thought it right to put it off, I could have spoken to Miss Tilney myself. This is only doing it in a ruder way; and how do I know that Mr. Thorpe has – He may be mistaken again perhaps; he led me into one act of rudeness by his mistake on Friday. Let me go, Mr. Thorpe; Isabella, do not hold me.” Thorpe told her it would be in vain to go after the Tilneys; they were turning the corner into Brock Street, when he had overtaken them, and were at home by this time. “Then I will go after them,” said Catherine; “wherever they are I will go after them. It does not signify talking. If I could not be persuaded into doing what I thought wrong, I never will be tricked into it.” And with these words she broke away and hurried off. Thorpe would have darted after her, but Morland withheld him. “Let her go, let her go, if she will go. She is as obstinate as...” Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a proper one. Away walked Catherine in great agitation, as fast as the crowd would permit her, fearful of being pursued, yet determined to persevere. As she walked, she reflected on what had passed. It was painful to her to disappoint and displease them, particularly to displease her brother; but she could not repent her resistance. "
---
Poor Miss Morland... in the hands of evil Thorpes...
Never fear, Tilney is here.
(or close by)
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Disclaimer: 40 pages 40 is my way to come to terms with celebrate my upcoming 40th birthday. By promoting 40 awesome books I like in no way I intend to dupe the original authors. If you, as me, like what you read, buy them!
All 40 books can be found on the right side bar. ►
All images found on Google. Kudos to the original poster.
Hi there! Darcyland is grooving here for me. 45 days in Europe with Mr. Darcy is under revision and I must say it's lovely. And... I've just finished reading Austenland.
My Darcy friends want to discuss the book before the movie comes out here in Rio and so, we're all reading it. My opinion in one sentence?
If you think your obssession with Mr. Darcy is a problem, Austenland is not a safe place for you.
Why? Because he lives there...
Let me make myself clear: the book is engaging, a page turner even but... from page five you know how it will end. You may say that for a Pride and Prejudice afficionado as myself, predictability IS NOT an issue. It's not. But something in Austenland made me uncomfortable. For starters, I can't understand why someone would pay to live a romance. It sounds like the call girl business only immature andgullible. Because when one hires a call girl/boy, sex is the main service provided - Anais/Charlotte from my 'Image and Likeness' would snort derisevely in my face - but in this case, the guests in Austenland hire romance regency style.
Of course I relieve the regency romance in Mr. Darcy and Lizzy's offhand courtship over and over, reading and writing their story incessantly. I love their love but I never saw myself as Lizzy. In my head, I'm always someone from the outside witnessing it click between then. In Austenland, a guest could say: I want to be Elizabeth Bennet. Or I want to be Catherine Morland, or Anne Elliot. And then, bam! A dashing British actor would materialize as Mr Darcy
, Mr. Tilney
or Captain Wentworth
and play the part with her. Theater? Yes, theater! I get that. But... how can I put this?... It gave me the idea of being a loser proposition for losers. If one likes a book soooo much to the point of choosing to reenact it, she is related to the book. And then, she pays someone to fall in love with her, no, she pays someone to reenact the story she loves so much making her feel like the heroine. If she relates to the story so much, wouldn't it be heartwrenching? It's not real after all... Throughout the book I kept hoping for a twist like......work at Austenland. Sorry, mild spoilers but... Nope, nada, zip. It didn't happen... One thing I hated: the innumerous references to both the BBC series and the 2005 movie. The heroine is obssessed by Firth's Darcy but does she need to find him playing pool in his waist coast? Does he need to say 'Your hands are cold.' when they have a moment? I didn't like it. Nah... tacky. One thing I loved: the banter between Lizzy and Darcy Jane and Nobley. Deliciously Austeny, tallyho!
The book is lovely, engaging, good humored but... blergh.
Maybe I consider myself a loser as humungous as Jane Erstwhile.
Yeah, that's probably it.
Let me close this post with a token from Mr Darcy judge
, it always lifts my spirits.
bj
disclaimer: Images from Google, Austenland is worth the reading and everything else is mine.
Yeah, anything bellow 20°C in Rio de Janeiro is Arctic weather! We are filled with the HOLY SPIRIT these days with the city packed with World Youth Pilgrims. It's sooo amazing to see grinning Catholics wandering around my neighborhood. I'm youth in the heart and in age until next December (the horror, the horror!) and I'm dying of envy for not being amongst them, but I have a baby boy, work, blah, blah, blah. So... TV for me... But, I was Downtown in the crowd waiting Pope Francisco pass in the batmobile, oops, popemobile with my son. Amen!
'Eu não trago nem ouro nem prata, só trago o que me deram de mais valioso: Jesus Cristo.'
Besides being a proud Carioca Catholic, I have another reason for being glad. My new vignette was published at my Darcy Friends' JAFF site, oficially starting
'45 days in Europe with Mr. Darcy'.
I'm still writing it - 3/4 done - and now they are arriving in Germany. I search and surf, travel and love with Mr Darcy and Lizzy while writing.
Guess where we are now?... Marillion!
A city? Somewhere in Coruscant? In Westeros? No... Better!
KAYLEIGH
Do you remember chalk hearts melting on a playground wall Do you remember dawn escapes from moon washed college halls Do you remember the cherry blossom in the market square Do you remember I thought it was confetti in our hair By the way didn't I break your heart? Please excuse me, I never meant to break your heart So sorry, I never meant to break your heart But you broke mine
Kayleigh is it too late to say I'm sorry? And Kayleigh could we get it together again? I just can't go on pretending that it came to a natural end Kayleigh, oh I never thought I'd miss you And Kayleigh I thought that we'd always be friends We said our love would last forever So how did it come to this bitter end?
Do you remember barefoot on the lawn with shooting stars Do you remember loving on the floor in Belsize Park Do you remember dancing in stilettoes in the snow Do you remember you never understood I had to go By the way, didn't I break your heart Please excuse me, I never meant to break your heart So sorry, I never meant to break your heart But you broke mine
Kayleigh I just wanna say I'm sorry But Kayleigh I'm too scared to pick up the phone To hear you've found another lover to patch up our broken home Kayleigh I'm still trying to write that love song Kayleigh it's more important to me now you're gone Maybe it will prove that we were right Or ever prove that I was wrong
What the fluffMarillion has to do with Pride and Prejudice?
Have I gonne coo-coo or Kayleigh is A LOT LIKE Mr D's FAMOUR LETTER???
luv, luv, luv, luuuv... I won't hesitate no more, I cannot wait.. I'm yours!
You just have to wait and see, I mean, read!
Oh, Mr. T... Don't give me that look... I know you will be Mr D in AUSTENLAND!...
Disclaimer: Google, Jane Austen, Vatican, JMJ, me. You know...
Teremos um encontro da Jane Austen Sociedade do Brasil na Livraria da Travessa do Shopping Leblon. Todos e todas são bemvindos!
Vamos jogar conversa fora (adoro!) falando sobre o livro 'A Abadia de Northanger' que foi publicado após o falecimento de Jane Austen apesar de ter sido escrito18 anos antes.
esse é o filme de 2007 com roteiro do Andew Davis que
também adaptou Orgulho e Preconceito de Colin Firth
Para ler o livro (curtinho) basta baixar aqui (JA já está em domínio público). Obrigada Free-eBooks.net.
É
uma delícia acompanhar o flerte de Tilney e Catherine, e ver a heróina -
que nada tinha de heroína - viajar na maionese dos romances góticos.
TRECHO CAP 3 '... As duas (Catherine e sua vizinha que a levou a Bath, Sra.Allen) fizeram sua aparição nos Salões Baixos e, aqui, o destino foi mais favorável ànossa heroína. O mestre de cerimônias a apresentou a um jovem muito cavalheiro para parceiro.Seu nome era Tilney. Ele parecia ter 24, 25 anos, era bem alto, tinha feições agradáveis, olhosmuito inteligentes e lívidos e, se não era muito bonito, estava perto disso. Sua abordagem eraboa, e Catherine se sentiu com muita sorte. Havia pouco tempo livre para falar enquantodançavam, mas quando se sentaram para o chá, ela o descobriu tão agradável quanto acreditavaque
ele fosse. Ele conversava com fluência e espírito, e havia uma malícia e
uma graça em seus modos que chamavam atenção, embora dificilmente
fossem compreendidas por ela. Depois deconversar por algum tempo sobre aqueles assuntos que surgiram naturalmente dos objetos aoredor deles, ele subitamente se dirigiu a ela com – “Até então fui muito negligente, madame,quanto
às atenções apropriadas a um parceiro; ainda não lhe perguntei há
quanto tempo está em Bath; se já esteve aqui antes; se já foi aos Salões
Superiores, ao teatro e ao concerto; e se gostoudo
lugar. Fui muito negligente – mas, está disposta a me satisfazer com
tais detalhes? Se estiver, começarei imediatamente”. "Não precisa se dar
ao trabalho, senhor”. “Nenhum trabalho, eu lhe asseguro, madame”.
Então, usando seus traços para construirum
sorriso pronto, e artificialmente suavizando sua voz, ele acrescentou,
com um ar afetado, “Está há muito tempo em Bath, madame?” “Cerca de uma
semana, senhor”, replicou Catherine, tentando não rir. “Sério?”,
perguntou com falsa surpresa. “Por que a surpresa, senhor?” “Sim, é
verdade! Por que...?”, ele disse em seu tom natural. “Mas, alguma emoção
deveriaser provocada por sua resposta, e a
surpresa é a mais facilmente aceitável, e não menos racional que
qualquer outra. Agora, prossigamos. Nunca esteve aqui antes, madame?” “Nunca, senhor”. “Ora! Você já honrou os Salões Superiores?” “Sim
senhor, estive lá na última segunda-feira”. “Já foi ao teatro?” “Sim,
senhor, estive na peça de terça-feira”. “Ao concerto?” “Sim senhor, na
quarta-feira”. “E você está gostando de Bath, como um todo?” “Sim, gosto
muito”. “Agora devo sorrir falsamente, e então poderemos ser racionais
novamente”. Catherinevirou sua cabeça, sem saber se poderia se aventurar a rir. “Vejo o que você pensa de mim”, eledisse,
gravemente – “Deverei ser nada além de uma triste figura em seu diário,
amanhã”. “Meu diário?!” “Sim, sei exatamente o que você dirá:
Sexta-feira, fui aos Salões Inferiores. Vesti meuroupão
de seda enfeitado de ramos com detalhes azuis, sapatos pretos lisos que
pareceram cair muito bem, mas fui estranhamente incomodada por um homem
pouco genial e esquisito, que mefez dançar com
ele e me agoniou com suas besteiras”. “Na verdade, não devo dizer tais
coisas”. “Devo lhe dizer o que você diria?” “Se quiser”. “Dancei com um
jovem muito agradável, apresentado pelo senhor King. Conversei muitocom ele e me pareceu ser um gênio dos mais extraordinários. Espero que eu conheça mais dele.Isso, madame, é o que desejo que escreva”. “ Mas, talvez, eu não tenha diário algum”.'
Não é uma delícia?
JJ Field como Henry Tilney... Yummy!
Um romance dentro de um romance, como diz o lindinho Craig do lindinho filme 'O clube de leitura de Jane Austen'.
O quê Jane faria?
Ela iria para o Shopping Leblon passar a tarde de domingo cazamigas!
?
.
, 
or 
and play the part with her.
, it always lifts my spirits.
