Notable Works of Fiction & their Famous Irish Authors

In celebration of St Patrick’s Day I’ve put together this list of famous writers who you may or may not have known hail from Ireland.  The list includes both classic and contemporary works of notable fiction.  Today, wear something green and pick up a book by an Irish author!  Happy St Patrick’s Day!

Gulliver’s Travels (1726) by Jonathan Swift

The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) by Oscar Wilde

Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker

Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce

The Chronicles of Narnia (1949) by C S Lewis

Under the Net (1954) by Iris Murdock

Amongst Women (1990) by John McGahern

Circle of Friends (1990) by Maeve Binchy

Every Dead Thing (1999) by John Connelly

Artemis Fowl (2001) by Eoin Colfer

The Sea (2005) by John Banville

The Gathering (2007) by Anne Enright

Brooklyn (2009) by Colm Toibin

Room (2010) by Emma Donoghue

The Brightest Star in the Sky (2011) by Marian Keyes

Time of the Writer International Writers’ Festival in Durban, SA

http://www.cca.ukzn.ac.za/TIME_of_the_writer.htm

The Land of Painted Caves – Ever Closer!

 

We have been waiting anxiously for this final installation of the Earth’s Children series for a while and I know I’m not alone in this because my first post on Auels’ books is a constant hit.  (Auels’ Earths Children Series Start Getting Excited!)  It seems nobody can wait to see what The Land of Painted Caves will have in store for Ayla and Jondalar.  And so I give you, courtesy of Auel and Booktopia, the cover art and an extract from the novel which is set to be released in March this year.  Enjoy!

 

The Land of Painted Caves

Chapter 1

The band of travellers walked along the path between the clear sparkling water of Grass River and the black-streaked white limestone cliff,
following the trail that paralleled the right bank. They went single file around the bend where the stone wall jutted out closer to the water’s edge. Ahead a smaller path split off at an angle toward the crossing place, where the fl owing water spread out and became shallower, bubbling around exposed rocks.  Before they reached the fork in the trail, a young woman near the front suddenly stopped, her eyes opening wide as she stood perfectly still, staring ahead. She pointed with her chin, not wanting to move. ‘Look! Over there!’ she said in a hissing whisper of fear. ‘Lions!’
Joharran, the leader, lifted his arm, signalling the band to a halt. Just
beyond the place where the trail diverged, they now saw pale-tawny cave
lions moving around in the grass. The grass was such effective camouflage,
however, that they might not have noticed them until they were much closer,
if it hadn’t been for the sharp eyes of Thefona. The young woman from the
Third Cave had exceptionally good vision, and though she was quite young,
she was noted for her ability to see far and well. Her innate talent had been
recognised early and they had begun training her when she was a small girl;
she was their best lookout.
Near the back of the group, walking in front of three horses, Ayla and
Jondalar looked up to see what was causing the delay. ‘I wonder why we’ve
stopped,’ Jondalar said, a familiar frown of worry wrinkling his forehead.
Ayla observed the leader and the people around him closely, and instinctively moved her hand to shield the warm bundle that she carried in the soft leather blanket tied to her chest. Jonayla had recently nursed and was sleeping, but moved slightly at her mother’s touch. Ayla had an uncanny ability to interpret meaning from body language, learned young when she lived with the Clan. She knew Joharran was alarmed and Thefona was frightened.  Ayla, too, had extraordinarily sharp vision. She could also pick up sounds above the range of normal hearing and feel the deep tones of those that were below. Her sense of smell and taste were also keen, but she had never compared herself with anyone, and didn’t realise how extraordinary her perceptions were. She was born with heightened acuity in all her senses, which no doubt contributed to her survival after losing her parents and everything she knew at five years. Her only training had come from herself. She had developed her natural abilities during the years she studied animals, chiefly carnivores, when she was teaching herself to hunt.
In the stillness, she discerned the faint but familiar rumblings of lions,
detected their distinctive scent on a slight breeze, and noticed that several people in front of the group were gazing ahead. When she looked, she saw something move. Suddenly the cats hidden by the grass seemed to jump into clear focus.  She could make out two young and three or four adult cave lions. As she started moving forward, she reached with one hand for her spear-thrower, fastened to a carrying loop on her belt, and with the other for a spear from the holder hanging on her back.
‘Where are you going?’ Jondalar asked.
She stopped. ‘There are lions up ahead just beyond the split in the trail,’
she said under her breath.
Jondalar turned to look, and noticed movement that he interpreted as lions
now that he knew what to look for. He reached for his weapons as well. ‘You
should stay here with Jonayla. I’ll go.’
Ayla glanced down at her sleeping baby, then looked up at him. ‘You’re
good with the spear-thrower, Jondalar, but there are at least two cubs and
three grown lions, probably more. If the lions think the cubs are in danger and decide to attack, you’ll need help, someone to back you up, and you know I’m better than anyone, except you.’
His brow furrowed again as he paused to think, looking at her. Then he
nodded. ‘All right . . . but stay behind me.’ He detected movement out of the
corner of his eye and glanced back. ‘What about the horses?’
‘They know lions are near. Look at them,’ Ayla said.
Jondalar looked. All three horses, including the new young filly, were
staring ahead, obviously aware of the huge felines. Jondalar frowned again.
‘Will they be all right? Especially little Grey?’
‘They know to stay out of the way of those lions, but I don’t see Wolf,’ Ayla
said. ‘I’d better whistle for him.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Jondalar said, pointing in a different direction. ‘He
must sense something, too. Look at him coming.’
Ayla turned and saw a wolf racing toward her. The canine was a magnificent animal, larger than most, but an injury from a fight with other wolves
that left him with a bent ear gave him a rakish look. She made the special
signal that she used when they hunted together. He knew it meant to stay near and pay close attention to her. They ducked around people as they hurried toward the front, trying not to cause any undue commotion, and to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Joharran said softly when he saw his brother and
Ayla with the wolf quietly appear with their spear-throwers in hand.
‘Do you know how many there are?’ Ayla asked.
‘More than I thought,’ Thefona said, trying to seem calm and not let her
fear show. ‘When I first saw them, I thought there were maybe three or four,
but they are moving around in the grass, and now I think there may be ten or
more. It’s a big pride.’
‘And they are feeling confident,’ Joharran said.
‘How do you know that?’ Thefona asked.
‘They’re ignoring us.’
Jondalar knew his mate was very familiar with the huge felines. ‘Ayla knows
cave lions,’ he said, ‘perhaps we should ask her what she thinks.’ Joharran
nodded in her direction, asking the question silently.
‘Joharran is right. They know we’re here. And they know how many they
are and how many we are,’ Ayla said, then added, ‘They may see us as something like a herd of horses or aurochs and think they may be able to single out a weak one. I think they are new to this region.’
‘What makes you think so?’ Joharran said. He was always surprised at
Ayla’s wealth of knowledge of four-legged hunters, but for some reason it was
also at times like this that he noticed her unusual accent more.
‘They don’t know us, that’s why they’re so confident,’ Ayla continued. ‘If
they were a resident pride that lived around people and had been chased or
hunted a few times, I don’t think they would be so unconcerned.’
‘Well, maybe we should give them something to be concerned about,’
Jondalar said.
Joharran’s brow wrinkled in a way that was so much like his taller though
younger brother’s, it made Ayla want to smile, but it usually showed at a time
when smiling would be inappropriate. ‘Perhaps it would be wiser just to avoid
them,’ the dark-haired leader said.
‘I don’t think so,’ Ayla said, bowing her head and looking down. It was still
difficult for her to disagree with a man in public, especially a leader. Though
she knew it was perfectly acceptable among the Zelandonii – after all, some
leaders were women, including, at one time, Joharran’s and Jondalar’s mother – such behaviour from a woman would not have been tolerated in the Clan, the ones who raised her.
‘Why not?’ Joharran asked, his frown turning into a scowl.
‘Those lions are resting too close to the home of the Third Cave,’ Ayla said
quietly. ‘There will always be lions around, but if they are comfortable here,
they might think of it as a place to return when they want to rest, and would
see any people who come near as prey, especially children or elders. They
could be a danger to the people who live at Two Rivers Rock, and the other
nearby Caves, including the Ninth.’
Joharran took a deep breath, then looked at his fair-haired brother. ‘Your
mate is right, and you as well, Jondalar. Perhaps now is the time to let those
lions know they are not welcome to settle down so close to our homes.’
‘This would be a good time to use spear-throwers so we can hunt from a
safer distance. Several hunters here have been practising,’ Jondalar said. It was for just this sort of thing that he had wanted to come home and show everyone the weapon he had developed. ‘We may not even have to kill one, just injure a couple to teach them to stay away.’
‘Jondalar,’ Ayla said, softly. Now she was getting ready to differ with him, or
at least to make a point that he should consider. She looked down again, then
raised her eyes and looked directly at him. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind to him, but she wanted to be respectful. ‘It’s true that a spear-thrower is a very good weapon. With it, a spear can be thrown from a much greater distance than one thrown by hand, and that makes it safer. But safer is not safe. A wounded animal is unpredictable. And one with the strength and speed of a cave lion, hurt and wild with pain, could do anything. If you decide to use these weapons against those lions, they should not be used to injure, but to kill.’
‘She’s right, Jondalar,’ Joharran said.
Jondalar frowned at his brother, then grinned sheepishly. ‘Yes she is, but, as
dangerous as they are, I always hate to kill a cave lion if I don’t have to. They
are so beautiful, so lithe and graceful in the way they move. Cave lions don’t
have much to be afraid of. Their strength gives them confidence.’ He glanced
at Ayla with a glint of pride and love. ‘I always thought Ayla’s Cave Lion
totem was right for her.’ Discomfited by showing his strong inner feelings for
her, a hint of a flush coloured his cheeks. ‘But I do think this is a time when
spear-throwers could be very useful.’
Joharran noticed that most of the travellers had crowded closer. ‘How
many are with us that can use one?’ he asked his brother.
‘Well, there’s you, and me, and Ayla, of course,’ Jondalar said, looking at
the group. ‘Rushemar has been practising a lot and is getting pretty good.
Solaban’s been busy making some ivory handles for tools for some of us and
hasn’t been working at it as much, but he’s got the basics.’
‘I’ve tried a spear-thrower a few times, Joharran. I don’t have one of my own,
and I’m not very good at it,’ Thefona said, ‘but I can throw a spear without one.’
‘Thank you, Thefona, for reminding me,’ Joharran said. ‘Nearly everyone
can handle a spear without a spear-thrower, including women. We shouldn’t
forget that.’ Then he directed his comments to the group at large. ‘We need
to let those lions know that this is not a good place for them. Whoever wants
to go after them, using a spear by hand or with the thrower, come over here.’
Ayla started to loosen her baby’s carrying blanket. ‘Folara, would you watch
Jonayla for me?’ she said, approaching Jondalar’s younger sister, ‘unless you’d rather stay and hunt cave lions.’
‘I’ve gone out on drives, but I never was very good with a spear, and I don’t
seem to be much better with the thrower,’ Folara said. ‘I’ll take Jonayla.’ The
infant was now thoroughly awake, and when the young woman held out her
arms for the baby, she willingly went to her aunt.
‘I’ll help her,’ Proleva said to Ayla. Joharran’s mate also had a baby girl in a
carrying blanket, just a few days older than Jonayla, and an active boy who could count six years to watch out for as well. ‘I think we should take all the children away from here, perhaps back behind the jutting rock, or up to the Third Cave.’
‘That’s a very good idea,’ Joharran said, ‘hunters stay here. The rest of you
go back, but go slowly. No sudden moves. We want those cave lions to think
we are just milling around, like a herd of aurochs. And let’s keep together.
They will probably go after anyone alone.’
Ayla turned back toward the four-legged hunters and saw many lion faces
looking in their direction, very alert. She watched the animals move around,
and began to see some distinguishing characteristics, helping her to count
them. She watched a big female casually turn around – no, a male, she realised when she saw his male parts from the backside. She’d forgotten for a
moment that the males here didn’t have manes. The male cave lions near
her valley to the east, including one that she knew quite well, did have some
hair around the head and neck, but it was sparse. This is a big pride, she
thought, more than two handfuls of counting words, possibly as many as
three, including the young ones.
While she watched, the big lion took a few more steps into the field, then
disappeared into the grass. It was surprising how well the tall thin stalks could hide animals that were so huge.  Though the bones and teeth of cave lions – felines that liked to den in caves, which preserved the bones they left behind – were the same shape as their descendants that would someday roam the distant lands of the continent far to the south, they were more than half again, some nearly twice, as large. In winter they grew a thick winter fur that was so pale, it was almost white, practical concealment in snow for predators who hunted all year long. Their summer coat, though still pale, was more tawny, and some of the cats were still shedding, giving them a rather tattered, mottled look.  Ayla watched the group of mostly women and children break off from the hunters and head back to the cliff they had passed, along with a few young men and women with spears held in readiness whom Joharran had assigned to guard them. Then she noticed that the horses seemed particularly nervous, and thought she should try to calm them. She signalled Wolf to come with her as she walked toward the horses.
Whinney seemed glad to see both her and Wolf when they approached. The
horse had no fear of the big canine predator. She had watched Wolf grow up
from a tiny little ball of fuzzy fur, had helped to raise him. Ayla had a concern, though. She wanted the horses to go back behind the stone wall with the women and children. She could give Whinney many commands with words and signals, but she wasn’t sure how to tell the mare to go with the others and not follow her.  Racer whinnied when she neared; he seemed especially agitated. She greeted the brown stallion affectionately and patted and scratched the young grey filly; then she hugged the sturdy neck of the dun-yellow mare that had been her only friend during the first lonely years after she left the Clan. Whinney leaned against the young woman with her head over Ayla’s shoulder in a familiar position of mutual support. She talked to the mare with a combination of Clan hand signs and words, and animal sounds that she imitated – the special language she had developed with Whinney when she was a foal, before Jondalar taught her to speak his language. Ayla told the mare to go with Folara and Proleva. Whether the horse understood, or just knew that it would be safer for her and her foal, Ayla was glad to see her retreat to the cliff with the other mothers when she pointed her in that direction.
But Racer was nervous and edgy, more so after the mare started walking away.  Even grown, the young stallion was accustomed to following his dam, especially when Ayla and Jondalar were riding together, but this time he did not immediately go with her. He pranced and tossed his head and neighed. Jondalar heard him, looked over at the stallion and the woman, then joined them. The young horse nickered at the man as he approached. With two females in his small ‘herd’, Jondalar wondered if Racer’s protective stallion instincts were beginning to make themselves felt. The man talked to him, stroked and scratched his favourite places to settle him, then told him to go with Whinney and slapped him on the rump. It was enough to get him started in the right direction.
Ayla and Jondalar walked back to the hunters. Joharran and his two closest
friends and advisers, Solaban and Rushemar, were standing together in the
middle of the group that was left. It seemed much smaller now.
‘We’ve been discussing the best way to hunt them,’ Joharran said when the
couple returned. ‘I’m not sure what strategy to use. Should we try to surround them? Or drive them in a certain direction? I will tell you, I know how to hunt for meat: deer, or bison or aurochs, even mammoth. I’ve killed a lion or two that were too close to a camp, with the help of other hunters, but lions are not animals I usually hunt, especially not a whole pride.’
‘Since Ayla knows lions,’ Thefona said, ‘let’s ask her.’
Everyone turned to look at Ayla. Most of them had heard about the injured
lion cub she had taken in and raised until he was full grown. When Jondalar
told them the lion did what she told him the way the wolf did, they believed it.
‘What do you think, Ayla?’ Joharran asked.
‘Do you see how the lions are watching us? It’s the same way we’re looking
at them. They think of themselves as the hunters. It might surprise them to be prey for a change,’ Ayla said, then paused. ‘I think we should stay together in a group and walk toward them, shouting and talking loudly perhaps, and see if they back off. But keep our spears ready, in case one or more come after us before we decide to go after them.’
‘Just approach them head-on?’ Rushemar asked, with a frown.
‘It might work,’ Solaban said. ‘And if we stay together, we can watch out
for each other.’
‘It seems like a good plan, Joharran,’ Jondalar said.
‘I suppose it’s as good as any, and I like the idea of staying together and
watching out for each other,’ the leader said.
‘I’ll go first,’ Jondalar said. He held up his spear, already on his spear-thrower ready to launch. ‘I can get a spear off fast with this.’
‘I’m sure you can, but let’s wait until we get closer so we can all feel comfortable with our aim,’ Joharran said.
‘Of course,’ Jondalar said, ‘and Ayla is going to be a backup for me in case
something unexpected happens.’
‘That’s good,’ Joharran said. ‘We all need a partner, someone to be a backup
for the ones who throw first, in case they miss and those lions come at us
instead of running away. The partners can decide who will cast first, but it will cause less confusion if everyone waits for a signal before anyone throws.’
‘What kind of signal?’ Rushemar asked.
Joharran paused, then said, ‘Watch Jondalar. Wait until he throws. That
can be our signal.’
‘I’ll be your partner, Joharran,’ Rushemar volunteered.
The leader nodded.
‘I need a backup,’ Morizan said. He was the son of Manvelar’s mate, Ayla
recalled. ‘I’m not sure how good I am, but I have been working at it.’
‘I can be your partner. I’ve been practising with the spear-thrower.’
Ayla turned at the sound of the feminine voice and saw that it was Folara’s
red-haired friend, Galeya, who had spoken.
Jondalar turned to look, too. That’s one way to get close to the son of a
leader’s mate, he thought, and glanced at Ayla, wondering if she had caught
the implication.
‘I can partner with Thefona, if she would like,’ Solaban said, ‘since I’ll be
using a spear like her, not a spear-thrower.’
The young woman smiled at him, glad to have a more mature and experienced hunter close by.
‘I’ve been practising with a spear-thrower,’ Palidar said. He was a friend of
Tivonan, the apprentice of Willamar, the Trade Master.
‘We can be partners, Palidar,’ Tivonan said, ‘but I can only use a spear.’
‘I haven’t really practised much with that thrower either,’ Palidar said.
Ayla smiled at the young men. As Willamar’s apprentice trader, Tivonan
would no doubt become the Ninth Cave’s next Trade Master. His friend,
Palidar, had come back with Tivonan when he went to visit his Cave on a
short trading mission, and Palidar was the one who had found the place where Wolf had got into the terrible fight with the other wolves, and took her to it.  She thought of him as a good friend.
‘I haven’t done much with that thrower, but I can handle a spear.’
It’s Mejera, the acolyte of Zelandoni of the Third, Ayla said to herself,
remembering that the young woman was with them the first time Ayla went
into the Deep of Fountain Rocks to look for the life force of Jondalar’s younger brother when they tried to help his elan find its way to the spirit world.
‘Everyone has already picked a partner, so I guess we’re left. Not only have
I not practised with the spear-thrower, I have hardly ever seen it used,’ said
Jalodan, Morizan’s cousin, the son of Manvelar’s sister, who was visiting the
Third Cave. He was planning to travel with them to the Summer Meeting to
meet up with his Cave.
That was it. The twelve men and women who were going to hunt a similar
number of lions – animals with greater speed, strength, and ferocity that lived by hunting weaker prey. Ayla began having feelings of doubt and a shiver of fear gave her a chill. She rubbed her arms and felt an eruption of bumps. How could twelve frail humans even think of attacking a pride of lions? She caught sight of the other carnivore, the one she knew, and signalled the animal to stay with her, thinking, twelve people – and Wolf.
‘All right, let’s go,’ Joharran said, ‘but keep together.’
The twelve hunters from the Third Cave and the Ninth Cave of the
Zelandonii started out together walking directly toward the pride of massive
felines. They were armed with spears, tipped with sharpened flint, or bone or
ivory sanded to a smooth, round sharp point. Some had spear-throwers that
could propel a spear much farther and with more power and speed than one
thrown by hand, but lions had been killed with just spears before. This might
be a test of Jondalar’s weapon, but it would test the courage of the ones who
were hunting even more.
‘Go away!’ Ayla shouted as they started out. ‘We don’t want you here!’
Several others picked up the refrain, with variations, shouting and yelling
at the animals as they approached, telling them to go away.
At first the cats, young and old, just watched them come. Then some began
to move around, back into the grass that hid them so well, and out again, as
though they weren’t sure what to do. The ones who retreated with cubs
returned without them.
‘They don’t seem to know what to make of us,’ Thefona said from the
middle of the advancing hunters, feeling a little more secure than when they
started, but when the big male suddenly snarled at them, everyone jumped
with a start, and stopped in their tracks.
‘This is not the time to stop,’ Joharran said, forging ahead.
They started out again, their formation a little more ragged at first, but they
pulled together again as they continued on. All the lions started moving around, some turning their backs and disappearing into the tall grass, but the big male snarled again, then rumbled the beginning of a roar as he stood his ground.  Several of the other big cats were arrayed behind him. Ayla was picking up the scent of fear from the human hunters; she was sure the lions were, too. She was afraid herself, but fear was something that people could overcome.
‘I think we’d better get ready,’ Jondalar said. ‘That male doesn’t look happy,
and he has reinforcements.’
‘Can’t you get him from here?’ Ayla asked. She heard the series of grunts
that was usually a precursor to a lion’s roar.
‘Probably,’ Jondalar said, ‘but I’d rather be closer, so I can be more sure of
my aim.’
‘And I’m not sure how good my aim would be from this distance. We do
need to be closer,’ Joharran said, continuing to march forward.
The people bunched together and kept going, still shouting, though Ayla
thought their sound was more tentative as they drew closer. The cave lions
became still and seemed tense as they watched the approach of the strange
herd that didn’t behave like prey animals.
Then, suddenly, everything happened at once.
The big male lion roared, a staggering, deafening sound, especially from
such close range. He started toward them at a run. As he closed in, poised to
spring, Jondalar hurled his spear at him.
Ayla had been watching the female on his right. About the time that Jondalar
made his cast, the lioness bounded forward running, then vaulted to pounce.
Ayla pulled back and took aim. She felt the back of the spear-thrower with
the spear mounted on it rise up almost without her knowing it as she hurled
her spear. It was so natural for her, it didn’t feel like a deliberate move. She
and Jondalar had used the weapon during their entire year-long Journey back to the Zelandonii and she was so skilled, it was second nature.
The lioness soared into her leap, but Ayla’s spear met her more than
halfway. It found its mark from beneath the big cat, and lodged firmly in her
throat in a sudden fatal slash. Blood spurted out as the lioness collapsed to
the ground.
The woman quickly grabbed another spear from her holder, and slapped it
down on her spear-thrower, looking around to see what else was happening.
She saw Joharran’s spear fly, and a heartbeat later another spear followed. She noticed that Rushemar was in the stance of one who had just thrown a spear.  She saw another large female lion fall. A second spear found the beast before she landed. Another lioness was still coming. Ayla cast a spear, and saw that someone else had, too, just a moment before her.
She reached for another spear, making sure it was seated right – that the
point, which was affixed to a short length of tapering shaft made to detach
from the main spear shaft, was firmly in place and the hole in the butt of the
long spear shaft was engaging the hook at the back of the spear-thrower. Then she looked around again. The huge male was down, but moving, bleeding but not dead. Her female was also bleeding, but not moving.
The lions were disappearing into the grass as fast as they could, at least one
leaving a trail of blood. The human hunters were gathering themselves
together, looking around and beginning to smile at each other.
‘I think we did it,’ Palidar said, a huge grin starting.
He had barely got the words out when Wolf’s menacing growl caught Ayla’s
attention. The wolf bounded away from the human hunters with Ayla on his
heels. The heavily bleeding male lion was up and coming at them again. With a roar, he sprang toward them. Ayla could almost feel his anger, and she didn’t really blame him.
Just as Wolf reached the lion and leaped up to attack, keeping himself
between Ayla and the big cat, she flung her spear as hard as she could. Her eye caught another one hurled at the same time. They landed almost simultaneously with an audible thunk, and thunk. Both the lion and the wolf crumpled in a heap. Ayla gasped when she saw them fall, swathed in blood, afraid that Wolf was hurt.

 

http://www.booktopia.com.au/the-land-of-painted-caves/prod9780340824252.html

Happy New Years!

Source: The Telegraph 31 December 2010

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/picturegalleries/picturesoftheday/8233288/Pictures-of-the-day-31-December-2010.html

A Christmas Reading List

Christmas is upon us and with it holidays and downtime.  For the readers out there, this is a time for reading.  We don’t often get this much time to sit down and relax with a good book so I’ve put together a list of 20 books to read over the festive season.  In no particular order, you’ll find books of all genres; some thrillers, crime novels, romance, spiritual stories, classics and some funny stuff.  Oh, and two nonfiction novels too.  This list is for adult readers so take a look and enjoy.  If you manage to read any of these or have read them already, leave us a comment with your thoughts.  You’ll notice I’ve included 4 offerings from Richard Paul Evans on this list and the reason is because they are said to be beautiful novels with powerful messages -  I plan to read those 4 this Christmas.

 

 A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

London 1843 few know any leisure, and Christmas has all but been forgotten…Enter Charles Dickens and his "Ghostly little book," in which he invents the modern concept of Christmas Spirit and offers one of the world s most adapted and imitated stories. We know Ebenezer Scrooge, Tiny Tim, and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, not only as fictional characters, but also as icons of the true meaning of Christmas in a world still plagued with avarice and cynicism. (GoodReads)

Bridget Jones’ Diary by Helen Fielding

Helen Fielding’s devastatingly self-aware, laugh-out-loud account of a year in  the life of a thirty-something Singleton launched a genre and transcended the pages of fiction to become a cultural icon. (GoodReads)

 

The Christmas Train by David Baldacci

Disillusioned journalist Tom Langdon must get from Washington D.C. to L.A in  time for Christmas. Forced to travel by train, he begins a journey of rude awakenings, thrilling adventures and holiday magic. He has no idea that the locomotives pulling him across America will actually take him into the rugged terrain of his own heart, as he rediscovers people’s essential goodness and someone very special he believed he had lost. The Christmas Train is filled with memorable characters who have packed their bags with as much wisdom as mischief…and shows how we doget second chances to fulfill our deepest hopes and dreams, especially during this season of miracles. (GoodReads)

 

A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote

First published in 1956, this much sought-after autobiographical recollection of Truman Capote’s rural Alabama boyhood has become a modern-day classic. We are proud to be reprinting this warm and delicately illustrated edition of A Christmas Memory—"a tiny gem of a holiday story" (School Library Journal, starred review). Seven-year-old Buddy inaugurates the Christmas season by crying out to his cousin, Miss Sook Falk: "It’s fruitcake weather!" Thus begins an unforgettable portrait of an odd but enduring friendship between two innocent souls—one young and one old—and the memories they share of beloved holiday rituals.  (GoodReads)

 

There’s Something about Christmas by Debbie Macomber

Bestselling author Debbie Macomber (who won a Quill Award for Best Romance with 44 Cranberry Point) delight her many fans with an annual Christmas romantic comedy. This time, she delivers not only love and laughter but also fruitcake.  Macomber’s sweet romance pits Emma Collins, a young reporter, against pilot Oliver Hamilton. Yes, he’s attractive; yes, she’s attracted; but Emma has issues. She is estranged from her father, she doesn’t trust men, and Christmas is just another day to go to the movies alone. A coveted feature assignment takes her by plane to interview the three finalists in a national fruitcake contest. By the time the article is finished, Emma has learned more than a little about life and love from each woman — and, with Oliver’s help, she has rediscovered the joy of Christmas. (Bakers, take note: Recipes for the winning fruitcakes are included — applesauce, chocolate, and a special no-bake version!) (GoodReads)

 

How The Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss

"The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!/Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason." Dr. Seuss’s small-hearted Grinch ranks with Scrooge when it comes to the crankiest, scowling holiday grumps of all time. For 53 years, the Grinch has lived in a cave on the side of a mountain, looming above the Whos in Whoville. Noisy holiday preparations & infernal singing by the happy little citizens below annoy him to no end. He decides the frivolous merriment must stop. His "wonderful, awful" idea is to don a Santa outfit, strap heavy antlers on his poor, quivering dog Max, construct a makeshift sleigh, head down to Whoville & strip the chafingly cheerful Whos of their Yuletide glee forever.  Looking disturbingly out of place in his makeshift get-up, the Grinch slithers down chimneys with empty bags, stealing presents, food, even logs from humble fires. He takes the ramshackle sleigh to Mt. Crumpit to dump it, anticipating the sobs of the Whos when they wake up to discover the Christmas trappings have disappeared. Imagine the their dismay when they discover the evil-doings of Grinch in his anti-Santa guise. But what is that sound? It’s not sobbing, but singing! Children simultaneously adore & fear this triumphant, twisted testimonial to the undaunted cheerfulness of the Whos, the transcendent nature of joy, & of course, the growth potential of a heart that’s two sizes too small. This holiday classic is perfect for reading aloud to your favorite little Whos. (GoodReads)

 

Skipping Christmas by John Grisham

Imagine a year without Christmas. No crowded malls, no corny office parties, no fruitcakes, no unwanted presents. That’s just what Luther and Nora Krank have in mind when they decide that, just this once, they’ll skip the holiday altogether. Theirs will be the only house on Hemlock Street without a rooftop Frosty; they won’t be hosting their annual Christmas Eve bash; they aren’t even going to have a tree. They won’t need one, because come December 25 they’re setting sail on a Caribbean cruise. But, as this weary couple is about to discover, skipping Christmas brings enormous consequences–and isn’t half as easy as they’d imagined.
A classic tale for modern times, Skipping Christmas offers a hilarious look at the chaos and frenzy that have become part of our holiday tradition. (GoodReads)

 

The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore

‘Twas the night (okay, more like the week) before Christmas, and all through the tiny community of Pine Cove, California, people are busy buying, wrapping, packing, and generally getting into the holiday spirit.  But not everybody is feeling the joy. Little Joshua Barker is in desperate need of a holiday miracle. No, he’s not on his deathbed; no, his dog hasn’t run away from home. But Josh is sure that he saw Santa take a shovel to the head, and now the seven-year-old has only one prayer: Please, Santa, come back from the dead.  But hold on! There’s an angel waiting in the wings. (Wings, get it?) It’s none other than the Archangel Raziel come to Earth seeking a small child with a wish that needs granting. Unfortunately, our angel’s not sporting the brightest halo in the bunch, and before you can say "Kris Kringle," he’s botched his sacred mission and sent the residents of Pine Cove headlong into Christmas chaos, culminating in the most hilarious and horrifying holiday party the town has ever seen.  Move over, Charles Dickens — it’s Christopher Moore time. (GoodReads)

 

The Autobiography of Santa Claus by Jeff Guinn

It all started when Jeff Guinn was assigned to write a piece full of little-known facts about Christmas for his paper, The Fort Worth Star-Telegram. A few months later, he received a call from a gentleman who told him that he showed the story to an important friend who didn’t think much of it. And who might that be? asked Jeff. The next thing he knew, he was whisked off to the North Pole to meet with this "very important friend," and the rest is, well, as they say, history.  An enchanting holiday treasure, The Autobiography of Santa Claus combines solid historical fact with legend to deliver the definitive story of Santa Claus. And who better to lead us through seventeen centuries of Christmas magic than good ol’ Saint Nick himself? Families will delight in each chapter of this new Christmas classic-one per each cold December night leading up to Christmas! (GoodReads)

 

Hogfather by Terry Pratchett

This year the Auditors, who want people to stop believing in things that aren’t real, have hired an assassin to eliminate the Hogfather. (You know him: red robe, white beard, says, "Ho, ho, ho!") Their evil plot will destroy the Discworld unless someone covers for him. So someone does. Well, at least Death tries. He wears the costume and rides the sleigh drawn by four jolly pigs: Gouger, Tusker, Rooter, and Snouter. He even comes down chimneys. But as fans of other Pratchett stories about Death (Mort, Reaper Man, and Soul Music) know, he takes things literally. He gives children whatever they wish for and appears in person at Crumley’s in The Maul.  Fans will welcome back Susan, Death of Rats (the Grim Squeaker), Albert, and the wizardly faculty of Unseen University, and revel in new personalities like Bilious, the "oh god of Hangovers." But you needn’t have read Pratchett before to laugh uproariously and think seriously about the meanings of Christmas. (GoodReads)

 

Hercule Poirot’s Christmas by Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie’s seasonal mystery thriller, reissued with a striking new cover designed to appeal to the latest generation of Agatha Christie fans and book lovers. It is Christmas Eve. The Lee family reunion is shattered by a deafening crash of furniture, followed by a high-pitched wailing scream. Upstairs, the tyrannical Simeon Lee lies dead in a pool of blood, his throat slashed. But when Hercule Poirot, who is staying in the village with a friend for Christmas, offers to assist, he finds an atmosphere not of mourning but of mutual suspicion. It seems everyone had their own reason to hate the old man! (GoodReads)

 

Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher

Rosamunde Pilcher’s novel, despite its chilly setting, will warm the hearts of her growing army of loyal fans. Winter Solstice has all the familiar trademarks of a Pilcher saga, spun in her inimitable, homey, beguiling style. The story is told, chapter by chapter, from the perspectives of an eclectic array of characters. Former actress Elfrida–not very good by her own admission–leaves London for a geriatric bolthole in the country where she meets retired schoolmaster and organist, Oscar. Meanwhile, Carrie (Elfrida’s second cousin), returns to London from Austria where she had a brilliant career in the tourist industry, only to find her niece, 14-year-old Lucy, sadly neglected by her selfish mother and equally spoiled grandmother. Finally, handsome Sam is recalled from New York by his company chairman to revive an ailing Scottish textile mill.  As one character after another must learn to live with their losses, they find themselves collectively spirited northwards, from Sussex to Scotland, by way of Cornwall. And, as events unfurl, slowly, surely, but inevitably, those in need find solace in unexpected places. While her characterizations are generally carefully crafted and entirely rounded, Pilcher’s greatest strengths lie in her natural, easy narratives of everyday life and her thoroughly researched and captivating descriptions of scenery and surroundings. (GoodReads)

 

The Gift by Richard Paul Evans

There is no hurt so great that love cannot heal it. Nathan Hurst hated Christmas. For the rest of the world it was a day of joy and celebration; for Nathan it was simply a reminder of the event that destroyed his childhood until a snowstorm, a cancelled flight, and an unexpected meeting with a young mother and her very special son would show him that Christmas is indeed the season of miracles.  From the beloved author of the international bestseller The Christmas Box comes another timeless story of faith, hope, and healing. (GoodReads)

 

Finding Noel by Richard Paul Evans

Finding Noel is about how people come into our lives for a reason. It is a love story about Macy and Mark, two young people from different worlds. (GoodReads)

 

 

The Christmas Box by Richard Paul Evans

This inspiring holiday tale tells the touching story of a widow and the young  family who moves in with her, and the ways in which they discover together the first gift of Christmas and what the holiday is really all about. Written by the author as a token of affection for his daughters, The Christmas Box has captured the hearts and minds of over a million readers. (GoodReads)

The Christmas List by Richard Paul Evans

Like his 2008 bestseller The Christmas Box, Richard Paul Evans’s novel exudes true holiday spirit. Evans got the idea for the fiction while watching a local theater production of Dickens’s Christmas Carol. Almost instantly, Evans realized that is the story he wanted to write: the transformation of a present-day Scrooge into a caring human being. The list in the title isn’t a conventional reminder for gifts; it’s a roster of the people whom protagonist James Kier has most wronged. Unabashedly heartfelt and sentimental, The Christmas List has all the best elements of a redemptive Yuletide tale. (GoodReads)

 

Mr. Ives’ Christmas by Oscar Hijuelos

Hijuelos’ novel tells the story of Mr. Ives, who was adopted from a foundling’s home as a child. When we first meet him in the 1950s, Mr. Ives is very much a product of his time. He has a successful career in advertising, a wife and two children, and believes he is on his way to pursuing the typical American dream. But the dream is shattered when his son Robert, who is studying for the priesthood, is killed violently at Christmas. Overwhelmed by grief and threatened by a loss of faith in humankind, Mr. Ives begins to question the very foundations of his life. Part love story—of a man for his wife, for his children, for God—and part meditation on how a person can find spiritual peace in the midst of crisis,Mr. Ives’ Christmas is a beautifully written, tender and passionate story of a man trying to put his life in perspective. In the expert hands of Oscar Hijuelos, the novel speaks eloquently to the most basic and fulfilling aspects of life for all of us. (GoodReads)

 

The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry

O. Henry’s most famous short story, "The Gift of the Magi" has a universal  appeal that extends beyond the Christmas season. Set in New York at the turn of the century, the story centers on a young couple and the sacrifices each must make in order to buy the other a gift. (GoodReads)

 

On Strike for Christmas by Sheila Roberts

At Christmas time, it seems as though a woman’s work is never done. Trimming the tree, mailing the cards, schlepping to the mall, the endless wrapping—bah humbug! So this year, Joy and Laura and the rest of their knitting group decide to go on strike. If their husbands and families want a nice holiday—filled with parties, decorations, and presents—well, they’ll just have to do it themselves. The boycott soon takes on a life of its own when a reporter picks up the story and more women join in. But as Christmas Day approaches, Joy, Laura, and their husbands confront larger issues in their marriages and discover that a little holiday magic is exactly what they need to come together.  Sheila Roberts gives the best gift of all in this funny, heartwarming novel that touches the very core of Christmas spirit. (GoodReads)

 

Christmas: A Candid History by Bruce David Forbey

Written for everyone who loves and is simultaneously driven crazy by the holiday season, Christmas: A Candid History provides an enlightening, entertaining perspective on how the annual Yuletide celebration got to be what it is today. In a fascinating, concise tour through history, the book tells the story of Christmas–from its pre-Christian roots, through the birth of Jesus, to the holiday’s spread across Europe into the Americas and beyond, and to its mind-boggling transformation through modern consumerism. Packed with intriguing stories, based on research into myriad sources, full of insights, the book explores the historical origins of traditions including Santa, the reindeer, gift giving, the Christmas tree, Christmas songs and movies, and more. The book also offers some provocative ideas for reclaiming the joy and meaning of this beloved, yet often frustrating, season amid the pressures of our fast-paced consumer culture. (GoodReads)

 

Happy Reading!  If there’s a really good Christmas book missing from the list add your recommendation in the comments.

Join Lilolia’s Community on BlogFrog

If you love Lilolia and all its content then I recommend you join me on BlogFrog.  BlogFrog is the spot for people who enjoy a certain blog to come together and connect.  It’s one thing to check out all the new stuff on the Lilolia blog but on BlogFrog we offer the opportunity to do something a little different – link up with all Lilolia readers and discuss what’s hot and what’s not and really anything you want.  If you wanted to get more involved with Lilolia and talk a bit more about books, reading and writing then go on over and join the BlogFrog Lilolia Community.  Once you’ve joined the Lilolia Community you’ll be able to get regular updates for Lilolia posts, link up with other readers, make friends, find new blogs, chat or participate in more serious discussions…the choice is yours. 

Lilolia’s first discussion topic is already up in the forum; Celebrity Publishing Deals:

It is nothing new.  We’ve watched as celebrities who achieve fame, by doing nothing really, scoop up all the big publishing deals.  We’ve watched their biographies and novels line bookshop shelves while other, probably better novels, are pushed off to the side – out of sight.  Worse still, many new and talented authors are not getting the publishing deals they deserve because a famous person has decided to ‘tell all’ or take a crack at novel writing.

What do you think about this?  Do celebrity books deserve to be where they are?  Do you think there should be some kind of change, and, if so, how can we change things?  Whatever you think or want to share – feel free!

 

I hope to see you all on www.theblogfrog.com/lilolia very soon.  Let the discussion begin!

Care2 Make a Difference?

We all want to lend a helping hand for the causes that are dear to our hearts whether they’re humanitarian, environmental or political in nature.  We also recognise that we could do so much more than we are already doing – from home.

Care2 Make a Difference is an incredible website dedicated to people who want to do as much as they can within their everyday lives.  You register to join the community then you can help in at least 3 important ways; sign petitions, do the daily action and free click to donate.  Another fantastic feature is the Butterfly Rewards which you get for interacting and can then redeem for good causes.  I earned 250 Butterfly Rewards the other day and redeemed them to offset 5 pounds of carbon!  Even if you don’t want to get involved just yet you can still head over to the website and help spread awareness – take a look at what issues people are currently fighting and how you can spread the word to others in a position to help.  There’s a lot of information available on Care2 showing us how we can live greener, healthier and most importantly more sustainable lives.

Care2 Make a Difference allows you to interact on the website in 4 categories; Causes & News, Healthy & Green Living, Take Action and Community & Fun.  Essentially it provides you with means to arm yourselves: get informed, make changes to your own life, take action on others’ behalves and last but not least connect and share with others in the community.

I urge any and all of you with an internet connection to head over to Care2 and make a difference!  If you know people without internet invite them to take action from your connection.

I know to some it may seem worthless or ineffective but many voices always have more of an impact than one.  We all need to get involved at this stage – we all need to lend our voices to the causes that matter because turning a blind eye and simple ignorance got us into this mess in the first place.

Here are two pertinent quotes from Albert Eistein:

We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.

To raise new questions, new possibilities, to regard old problems from a new angle, requires creative imagination and marks real advance in science.

Albert Einstein