I just started reading...

The Pursuit of Love & Love in a Cold Climate, by Nancy Mitford. I'm not terribly far in yet, but it's already made me laugh out loud multiple times (I'm talking a real laugh. Not a giggle.) and her writing style/wit/verbiage reminds me distinctly of a more scandalous Louisa May Alcott. And THAT, my dear bibliophiles, is a huge compliment.

Oh! And I discovered today that lady Mitford also wrote a book about Madame De Pomadour. I will be purchasing that gem forthwith.


"But I think she would have been happy with Fabrice," I said. "He was the great love of her life, you know."

"Oh, duckling," said my mother, sadly. "One always thinks that. Every, every time."