I just finished the book I was telling you about yesterday. Twas on the life of King Richard III...something about English history gets me- or maybe it's the skill of the writers. But I reckon he's become one of my favourite historical figures, along with Mary Queen of Scots (back from year 10 history!...I remember I went to her tomb in Wesminster Abbey and felt sad seeing it...), Cleopatra (I own 2-3 huge Cleopatra novels) and Caesar. They're all so tragic...I wonder if they were like that in real life. I also wonder why they're such folkloric hero/villians (usually a combination of the 2) and whether, if in 500 odd years time, say, Princess Diana will have such books written about her in the genre of historical fiction (though some would probably say that that's exactly what the butler's book is!).

Regardless, finishing a book is like saying goodbye to an old friend...there's a wistfulness about it, a bittersweetness, I suppose. The characters were remarkably well drawn and so vivid in my mind's eye, and when you shut the book on them, they are no more. I still have the author's evocation of Yorkist England resonating in my senses...funny that. Has anyone else ever experienced this feeling, or am I sounding weird to all?? Perhaps what also compounds this feeling of wistful bittersweetness is the fact that they actually did exist...anyway, now you all know of my attachments to historical figures! Dammit, I may well go back to university and get an Arts degree yet, GRRRRR.

The weather sucks today- overcast and grey and slightly wet- a great day for reading, but I guess not so great a day for finishing books.