Saturday, August 5, 2017

I have something sweet and fragrant on my fingers, I'm not sure what it is or where it might come from (other than the possibility of maple syrup and fake bacon, though that seems improbable). But it's reminding me of the Christmas that I got a wooden strawberry impregnated with Body Shop strawberry fragrance in my stocking, and my sister carried a giant hardback copy of Anne Rice's The Witching Hour across the Atlantic as her Christmas present to me. And now the memory of that compelling, cloying, strong strawberry smell and the sensuous, evocative descriptions of faded New Orleans grandeur and murderous mystery and magic are forever interlinked. The book reminds me of the strawberry, the idea of the smell reminds me of the book.

It's a really good book. She linked her vampire and witch worlds so well, I feel. Anne Rice was such a part of my childhood. I'm glad I had an older sister, and therefore got to read the vampire novels when I was in my early teens, when their romance was oh, so timely and appreciated.


Ms. Moon said...

I loved those Vampire books too. I remember I used to take the fat ones to Cozumel with me and read and read and read them, sitting on the balcony of our little room while my exhausted husband who was working fourteen hour days back then would sleep, finally.
But then she got...well. I don't know. But I quit enjoying them so much. They were magical in the beginning though, weren't they?

Jo said...

Yes, I agree 100% I don't know exactly what she got either, but ... ah well. She gave us a lot. I peeped at her facebook page today, many were clamouring for a HBO series of the Mayfir witches... I'd watch it.