Showing posts from July, 2013

Mrs. Poe by Lynn Cullen: A Review

I read an early ARC and an uncorrected proof of Mrs. Poe provided by the author’s publishing house Gallery Books and the author, Lynn Cullen.   I must also say that in this uncorrected proof I found no grammatical errors or even typos. Seriously, this never happens! Also, you will find a link to the author's website at the end of my review. So, look out for it!   A writer and his demons. A woman and her desires. A wife and her revenge . . . New York, 1845.   Mrs. Poe “The Raven” is all the literary rage—the success of which a struggling poet like Frances Osgood can only dream. As a mother trying to support two children after her husband’s betrayal, Frances jumps at the opportunity to meet the mysterious Poe, if only to help her career. Although not a fan of his writing, Frances is overwhelmed by his magnetic presence—and the surprising revelation that he admires her work. What follows is a flirtation, then a seduction, then an illicit love affair. But when Edgar’s fr

Anne Thackeray Ritchie and photographs of Julia Margaret Cameron and Lionel Tennyson

I never do this but I've bought two books/biographies about the life of Anne Thackeray Ritchie. She lived from (9 June 1837 – 26 February 1919). She was the daughter of William Makepeace Thackeray. She was a novelist, essayist, and memoirist. She and her father knew The Tennyson's very well throughout his life amongst others.  Well, my books arrived earlier today and one in particular contained some beautiful photographs that I've never seen before. One of Julia Margaret Cameron and one of Lionel Tennyson, son of Alfred Tennyson looking quite Dickensian. I just had to share these few photos with you all.   Julia Maragaret Cameron's house, Dimbola in 1871 I have never seen this photograph of Julia Margaret Cameron playing her Erridge Piano, 1863, by Oscar Gustave Rejlander.    Son of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Lionel Tennyson, no year provided but looking rather Dickensian. I just love this photograph!   Lionel Tennyson's widow, Eleanor, photogra

Come into the Garden, Maud or is it Mary? Mary Seton Fraser Tytler Watts (1849–1938)

Come into the Garden, Maud Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron (1809–92) C OME into the garden, Maud,   For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud,   I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,   And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves,   And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves   On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves,   To faint in his light, and to die. All night have the roses heard   The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d   To the dancers dancing in tune; Till silence fell with the waking bird,   And a hush with the setting moon. I said