From: Remi
Category: Books
Date: 05 January 2006
My sister got me a fab present, not that she had to, I got her Franz Ferdinand. Fawlty Towers is more her thing. But I already had a copy of her present to me, Stefan Zweig, my hero. So ambled along to exchange books without receipt, prices rubbed out and never been to bookshop either. Quite a gamble, But the man acquiesced and I spent one hour deliberating over which replacements. Not Sartre, he turned down Nobel prize, and I've never found out why. Not Joseph Kessel, he condoned Female Genital Mutilation. I did this for most people. Or they were too unreadable, Montaigne's essays 1000 pages too much for me right now. So settled for Albert Camus, razzle-dazzling Algerian War apologist and non-writer of non-French Algerians, Thomas de Quincey in French (can't find him in English apart from main two) heroin addict, and Spanish grammar from 1896 when they put accents where you don't get them anymore. What a triumvirate of virtue.
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