Musings Monday is a weekly meme hosted by Jenn at A Daily Rhythm. It can be done by answering one of the following prompts .
I am currently reading...
Up next I think I'll read…
I bought the following book(s) in the past week...
I'm super excited to tell you about (book/author/bookish-news)…
I'm really upset by (book/author/bookish-news)…
I can't wait to get a copy of…
I wish I could read ____, but…
I blogged about ____ this past week….
This Week's Random Question is : What book would you currently recommend to someone? why?
Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden. A must read book for all book lovers. I just recommended and gave my copy of the book to my cousin yesterday. If you want to know why, please read it. I promise that you will be immersed in the story and will forget what's happening around you. A story which will stay in your heart always , story of a Giesha named Sayuri working in Kyoto. It was hard to believe that it was just a historical fiction after finishing it. A beautiful story of a beautiful woman !.
I am currently reading...
A Room With A View by E.M. Foster
A beautiful, classic love story of Lucy Honeychuch and George Emerson set in Florence, Italy. Sharing a snippet from the book below :).
She was correct as usual. He tied the horse to a tree, kicked it to make it stay quiet, dusted the carriage, arranged his hair, remoulded his hat, encouraged his moustache, and in rather less than a quarter of a minute was ready to conduct her. Italians are born knowing the way. It would seem that the whole earth lay before them, not as a map, but as a chess-board, whereon they continually behold the changing pieces as well as the squares. Any one can find places, but the finding of people is a gift from God.
He only stopped once, to pick her some great blue violets. She thanked him with real pleasure. In the company of this common man the world was beautiful and direct. For the first time she felt the influence of Spring. His arm swept the horizon gracefully; violets, like other things, existed in great profusion there; "would she like to see them?"
"Ma buoni uomini."
He bowed. Certainly. Good men first, violets afterwards. They proceeded briskly through the undergrowth, which became thicker and thicker. They were nearing the edge of the promontory, and the view was stealing round them, but the brown network of the bushes shattered it into countless pieces. He was occupied in his cigar, and in holding back the pliant boughs. She was rejoicing in her escape from dullness. Not a step, not a twig, was unimportant to her.
"What is that?"
There was a voice in the wood, in the distance behind them. The voice of Mr. Eager? He shrugged his shoulders. An Italian's ignorance is sometimes more remarkable than his knowledge. She could not make him understand that perhaps they had missed the clergymen. The view was forming at last; she could discern the river, the golden plain, other hills.
"Eccolo!" he exclaimed.
At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.
"Courage!" cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. "Courage and love."
She did not answer. From her feet the ground sloped sharply into view, and violets ran down in rivulets and streams and cataracts, irrigating the hillside with blue, eddying round the tree stems collecting into pools in the hollows, covering the grass with spots of azure foam. But never again were they in such profusion; this terrace was the well-head, the primal source whence beauty gushed out to water the earth.
Standing at its brink, like a swimmer who prepares, was the good man. But he was not the good man that she had expected, and he was alone.
George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her.