Lanier Ivester is a “Southern Lady” in the best and most classical sense and a gifted writer in the most articulate and literal sense. She hand-binds books and lives on a farm with peacocks, bees, sheep, and the governor of Ohio’s leg. She loves old books and sells them from her website, LaniersBooks.com, and she’s currently putting the final touches on her first novel, as well as studying literature at Oxford.
I had forgotten how Europe smells, that sweetly acrid bouquet of flowers and cigarette smoke, men’s cologne and diesel fumes. I had forgotten the song of unknown tongues filling the air around me, and Read More ›
Back in 2010, my husband and I attended our first (and the first!) Hutchmoot. It was exciting, and a little surreal, to contemplate a face-to-face gathering of a fellowship that had formerly been confined to my computer screen. Read More ›
In October 1949, a brassy New Yorker named Helene Hanff wrote a letter to a staid London bookseller named Frank Doel.
“I am a poor writer,” she told him, “with an antiquarian taste in books.” Read More ›
An artist friend and I had a long talk a while back about the types of people that make up the human race.
According to him, most people fall into one of two camps: Read More ›
Jennifer Trafton’s much-anticipated Henry and the Chalk Dragon is a romp through the “what ifs” of an imagination run wild. It’s a companion for children feeling self-conscious about Read More ›
In this final installment, I want to say a few words about Lucy Maud’s personal challenges as a writer. Even a casual perusal of her journals reveals the fact that Maud was a creature of intense, sometimes crippling moods. I don’t think anyone could be capable of communicating the full scope of human joys and sorrows like she did without being intimately acquainted with both the heights and the depths. Read More ›
In broad daylight, I like to say that I’ll bet that my barn is haunted. Read More ›
I gave in to a cold a few weeks ago. It had been pursuing me for days, ever since we got home from Hutchmoot, but it finally caught up with me. This meant, among other things, that we did not go to the boat for the weekend, and we did not Read More ›
(I wrote this last December, and while the circumstances are different this year, the sentiments are not. Even so, Come, Lord Jesus.)
I am so sick of death. Read More ›
Here in Part Three, I’d like to take a look at how Montgomery accomplished her magic in very practical ways, and how the rather quotidian components of people, place, and work ethic all added up to some of the most beloved fiction of the twentieth century. Read More ›
Lucy Maud Montgomery wrote 22 novels, 530 short stories, 500 poems, and 30 essays. And by the time of her death in 1942, she was a household name, not just in Canada, but all over the world.
So, how did she do it? Read More ›