Probably for the first time in my life. Though, in my own defense, I didn’t know it was there when I bought it. ;o)
The Thirteenth Tale is one of those stories within a story, where the frame and the content reflect on one another and (you know inevitably) they will entwine.
Sort of a love-letter to Story and reading at times, its beginning especially reminded me of Inkheart. In that story the protagonist’s father is a book doctor (rebinding, restoring old books) in this, the protagonist’s father owns a used-book shop, and makes his living on 6 or so transactions a year, involving rare books and their collectors.
Both protagonists are female and well read; they enjoy reading almost as a religion, drawing strength and security from familiar tomes. Also, they both have mothers that are alive but absent. Not through abandoning or divorce but other circumstances that result in the protagonists’ being unusually (though not inappropriately) close to their fathers.
I told Jay about five pages into this one that it was the same story by a different author. But it isn’t, quite. The style of this one (Thirteen) is quite elaborate and is loaded unashamedly with metaphor and simile, but (in contrast to some other books I’ve read: Inkheart and The Goose Girl come to mind) they don’t draw attention to themselves (very much) so I can enjoy their originality more without thinking to much about how clever the author is trying to be.
It has been such fun having a novel to read. I’ve missed it. It just seems like there’s so many stinkers out there I’m reluctant to invest my time without knowing more. But then, sometimes, knowing more takes the sharpest edge of the fun off. That is, known books are familiar friends, but they don’t make you tense from excitement or not-knowing. At least… I guess it depends how often (or recently) you’ve read them.
I am enjoying this book. About a third of the way through.
Interestingly enough, I started another book after I picked Thirteen up (a new book from Sunday School). Created to be His Help Meet, by Debi Pearl. It has been just as fascinating, though in an entirely different way.