A woman, a book, a shop - Persephone

Is it just me or are there more beautiful editions of books in the UK than in the states? It's probably just me, but still, every time I walk into a book store I see at least four or five lust-inducing examples of the craft. And so, even though I really, truly, cannot fit any additional things into my suitcase, I am building up quite the little stacks of books I've bought.

I remembered/discovered that Persephone Books has their headquarters-shop here in London, and in quite a familiar part of town, too, so I wandered over one Saturday and wandered out £30 poorer but three books richer. I will post about the books themselves in due course, but this is a shallow post about surface appearances.

Visually, Persephone Books are "all carefully designed with a clear typeface, a dove-grey jacket, a 'fabric' endpaper and bookmark," to quote from the website. I'll admit that the first time I saw one, I was not impressed. Why can't the pretty fabric be on the outside?! It seems that the publishers decided against this because it would be "messy"; as any bookshelf containing books from many different publishers and editions will be "messy", this reasoning doesn't really go far with me. Nevertheless, after visiting the lovely little shop I am completely in love with this design. Seeing them all stacked up in their uniform covers, with the hint of riotous color just waiting to be revealed... swoon. It's very feminine, even more so than if the books were covered in floral print or something equally cliche. And of course the fabric-print endpapers are beautiful. 

I love the inclusion of a bookmark, too; it makes all the difference. A bookmark stuck into each book is a direct invitation to read the book. As much as I love pretty editions, they can sometimes lean into ornamental territory. The bookmark is wildly enticing.

Somehow my new admiration for these books tugged a whole lot of random things into line, and now I have a genius idea: I want to dress like a Persephone book. You heard. I want to buy fun, colorful printed fabrics and sew little sleeveless blouses and wear them with a grey skirt and cardigan. I've been a more-colors-the-better sort of dresser for the last six years or so, going so far as to ban black and grey from my wardrobe entirely. But now I have a sudden desire for a new direction.

Yes, that's more or less the thing.

As I say, I am actually reading the books I bought, so you will be hearing more about them as I get to them; but now (hopefully) you won't have to read any more gushing about their physical appearance!

"Waiting on" Wednesday: MINDY KALING MINDY KALING

[Oops, forgot the link: there's a meme here by this name, which I sought out basically just so I could gush over this book. Yeah, I'm getting the hang of this "blog" thing.]

Guys, I am super excited for Mindy Kaling's book. I can't explain it. Well, yes I can: Mindy Kaling is hilarious. Any woman who would make Michael Scott say "I like waking up to the smell of bacon -- sue me" is a-okay in my book.

Plus! The title!

Kaling used to write a blog called "Things I Bought That I Love" (which she has now revived on her new website) which was really my first contact with her solo work. As an homage, I would like therefore to offer you today:

Julie's Things That I Bought That I Love: AndesNature Cabernet Crema Antioxidante

So I have to take public transportation to the church I attend, which means that every Sunday I either come charging in late or end up spending a half an hour browsing in the CVS across the street. I'm just paranoid enough to think the employees know that I'm loitering, so I feel the need to wander around a lot, looking thoughtful even though I'm not actually paying any attention to what's on the shelf in front of me. Which is how I ended up in the "Hispanic Care" section this past weekend, which is where I saw this:

This facial moisturizer smells like delicious grape Jolly Ranchers, which is a good thing because if it smelled like wine, you might find yourself in the middle of what can only be called "hijinx". It's got a mousse-y sort of texture, thick and rich but also light and whipped. It sinks in really quickly, which is basically all I ask for when it comes to facial cremes. And it's from Chile! Let's face it, everything is better when it comes from another country.
Get it: in the vaguely racist aisle of Walgreens or CVS.

Wanting: Cookbooks

Oh, cookbooks. I should really not buy cookbooks. Generally, I look through them, find a handful of things that sound good and (most importantly) doable, copy them out into a notebook, and then never glance at them again. But someday I'll have my Very Own Kitchen and they'll look great on a shelf!

I suppose I ought to write about the cookbooks I have and like (or don't) (or maybe that doesn't fit with the rest of the blog), but instead I have picked through my Amazon wish list and chosen a few really promising titles for this list.

The Silver Spoon Pasta.
Vegetables from an Italian Garden.
Who doesn't love Italian food? Phaedon has been translating and publishing cookbooks from around the world, and The Silver Spoon is the Italian entry, supposedly the best-loved standard cookbook in Italian kitchens. Being an American, though, my eye's on the shorter version, Silver Spoon Pasta. I also like the look of this veggie book; I don't know if it's as "authentic" as Silver Spoon, but it goes through the vegetables by seasons. Vegetables are where my imagination tends to run short, so this sort of thing is appealing.

 

The Pioneer Woman Cooks, by Ree Drummond.
The King Arthur Flour Baker's Companion.
The Pioneer Woman's blog and the King Arthur website are two of my favorite online sources for recipes, which is probably why I want both their cookbooks but haven't actually bought either of them. (Oops. Yes, I'm part of the problem.) Both Ree Drummond and the good people at King Arthur are real cheerleaders; they provide lots of step-by-step photos, suggest substitutions, describe techniques, and generally make you feel like you can do it too. Plus King Arthur has a drool-worthy baker's catalog.

At Elizabeth David's Table.
Elizabeth David is maybe like the Julia Childs of Britain, in that she's very famous for introducing foreign cooking in a way that ordinary people could grasp. At least, that's my impression. This is maybe not so much a book I would cook from, but something that would be interesting and educational.

Ratio: The Simple Codes behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking, by Michael Ruhlman.
The Flavor Bible, by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.
I consider myself able to cook in that I can and do produce edible, tasty food on a regular basis, and I can read and follow a recipe. Being able to cook without a recipe, though, is what separates the chefs from the cooks. I don't have any ambition of appearing on the Food Network or writing a cookbook, but just as it's nicer to be able to speak a language beyond your phrasebook, it would be nicer to have a little more fluency with flavors and ingredients. I don't know how much I could learn from these two books, practically speaking, but I think they'd make for interesting reading and maybe I could pick up a tip or two.

Perfect One-Dish Dinners, by Pam Anderson.
I love "one dish". How satisfying is it to have your whole dinner in one dish? The answer is very, both physically and emotionally. I saw a recipe from this book on a blog with step-by-step photos, and I'm quite sure that there are many good things to eat in here for me.

The Pure Joy of Monastery Cooking, by Br. Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette.
This guy is a monk, and look how awesome his name is! End of story. Ok, so there's more to it than that. I checked out Twelve Months of Monastery Soups from the library, and ended up writing out about 10 recipes that sounded good, which is a really high ratio for me. I am a meat eater, but not all that frequently, so I appreciate having good meatless recipes around. And: monk.


Mmmm. I think I'll have to start making dinner now, but more importantly I suppose I need to print out this list and run it by the library. If I spend all my money on cookbooks, I'll never have a nice kitchen to display them in! That's called having grown-up priorities, kids.

Wanting: Books about Writing Letters

Are there people who don't like handwritten letters, at least in theory? I can't imagine it, but there are people who like Kim Kardashian enough to make her popular so it takes all kinds I guess. (Terrifying side note: my dad knows who Kim Kardashian is and can identify her by sight without prompting.)

I certainly like sending and receiving paper mail. In fact, this summer I joined the Letter Writers Alliance and am quite committed to doing my part to keep the snail-mail-love flowing. I'm toying with the idea of requesting real mail for my birthday in December, but that kind of solicitation is usually reserved to children with cancer and third grade classrooms, so I'm not sure. Anyhow, here are some mail-themed books I've had my eye on lately.

The Art of the Personal Letter, by Margaret Shepherd.
I have Shepherd's The Art of the Handwritten Note, and it's fantastic, so even if this one is a retread I'd still love it. The writing and advice in Handwritten Note are funny and lively and completely practical. For example: "Do not write with a pencil or use blue-lined school paper, especially not notebook paper with holes punched in it. That's like going out dressed only in your underpants." Point taken.

For the Love of Writing Letters, by Samara O'Shea.
I might just want this for the cover design (yum). But the blurb promises funny personal stories with an emphasis on "letter writing in the 21st century" so it sounds promising even beyond that.

Script & Scribble, by Kitty Burns Florey.
This one purports to be both a history of handwriting (or I should say, a history of the social value of handwriting) and a case for why handwriting still matters. Both of those elements could end up being treated shallowly and polemically and thus make the whole book annoying, but it's an interesting enough subject that I'd be willing to give it a try. Fact: I'm slightly proud of my handwriting although it's objectively terrible. This is partly due to my inability to spell.

Good Mail Day, by Jennie Henchcliff.
Ah, mail art. The internet is home to (photos of) many impressive examples of the form, and it's easy to imagine how cool it would be to see such things in your mailbox. That said, it tends toward the cluttery, which is really not my thing and would annoy me if I were a postal worker. Plus I have zero artistic talent, and, to coin a phrase, if you don't send mail art you really have no business receiving it. So this book seems like a good way to sort of admire from a distance, and maybe pick up a few tips to help jazz up your (my) sad vanilla envelopes.

Epistolatory Practices: Letter Writing in America before Telecommunications, by William Merrill Decker.
Posting It: The Victorian Revolution in Letter Writing, by Catherine J. Golden.
Bam! A transatlantic historical double-whammy! Because at some point you have to stop generalizing about "how it used to be" and find out something concrete. Note that both of these were published by academic presses, which is just how I likes it.

In Tearing Haste: Letters between Deborah Devonshire and Patrick Leigh Fermor
Finally, some real letters. What could be better or more inspiring than reading a real correspondence between interesting people? There are plenty of published collections of letters out there but this one looks especially promising to me.

 And that is my imaginary shelf of books about letters and letter-writing. Any suggestions?