Welcome

*Disclaimer: this is a long one with some totally unnecessary but hopefully charming background information about me. Feel free to skim or skip altogether.*

Hello all (all one? two? zero?),

After a twenty minute-long struggle to decide between "Buck's Books" and "Delph's Shelf," welcome to the former. Delphine is my middle name. I thought Delph's Shelf would be cute, but for some reason I can't shake the feeling that "delph" might mean something I don't think it means. Am I just thinking of "dilf"? Probably. Urban dictionary did not help me. But I also don't want anybody to be confusedly searching for "Dilf's Shelf" when I inevitably become so famous that people all around the world are recommending my blog to their friends. "Hey dude, you like books? Check out Delph's Shelf." I don't know what would happen if someone searched for "Dilf's Shelf." If they somehow were rerouted here, it would be disappointing. And if they found themselves elsewhere, it would probably be higher entertainment value than this blog. Alas, I may never know. 

My interest in blogging began the same way my interest in reading and writing did: watching my mother do it well. I was homeschooled for the first ten years of my academic life by a mother who inspired (and continues to inspire) me every day with her passion for culture. I was growing up before iPad kids were really a threat, but even if that were not the case I would never have been one. Thanks to my mum I was a science girl, a history girl, a horse girl, and a major, major book girl. I really really don't want to liken myself to Rory Gilmore, but you know that archetype that you love to hate, that high school girl with no friends reading Proust and Dickens and Tolstoy for fun and in complete earnest? That was me. I'm less feeble and more likeable than Rory Gilmore, though (I hate to love Gilmore Girls, myself). However, I hated English class because I hated having to pull at threads of my favourite novels and watch them unravel and realize, wow, did I really like this book or was I just not paying attention? However, I found myself to be quite good at it. 

By the time I graduated high school I was reading for fun as much as for learning. I took an interest in History and got two years of a History degree under my belt before my scholarship was withdrawn when I failed to find housing in time to attend third year classes in my university's city. I have not completed a degree. So here's the disclaimer: I am not qualified. In anything. I work a full-time job in financial administration. Reading is one of my only hobbies. I wrote for my high school's newspaper and scored well in high school and first/second year university Humanities. If you're looking for technical opinions from professionals in this industry, you've probably come to the wrong blogspot. I hope you stay anyway, though.

Somewhere in between COVID and COVID, I stopped reading for fun. I was in a relationship for a good chunk of time, and it became my only focus. I don't say that to place blame, it's just part of my lore. Near the end of 2022 I was gazing at the years-untouched books on my shelf, in the throes of depression following another nasty end to a relationship, and made myself sick. But you know that feeling when you just can't read a book you've already purchased - you say you will then you buy a new book and read it and love it so you go find a similar book and you read that one then you decide you're ready for a change of pace so you go on Goodreads and look for books similar to books you've enjoyed in the past and of course none of them are already in your TBR pile, so you go buy a few more? I went to the bookstore. 

The first book I picked up was Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. 2.5/5 stars. I remember loving The Remains of the Day when I read it in high school, but Klara let me down a bit. It wasn't awful, but I did find it quite boring; it didn't have the intended effect of making me want to cry or stroke my chin and nod forlornly at the state of the world. I understand why it has that effect on some people, but it was just lost on me. It was redeemed, though, in being a quick and digestible enough read that I wanted more. So I picked up Never Let Me Go, also by Ishiguro. That one gets a good 4/5 stars. For a long time the story is not at all menacing or really anything but nostalgic, but there was something so unsettling about that book from start to finish. I thought it just wasn't resonating with me, but once I hit a few reveals in the plot I was vindicated. It made my stomach turn, and it did make me cry a little. I'm not sure how well the general reception to this work is - I may be among a small minority who found it so moving. But it didn't matter - the book bug had bitten once again. I don't remember what I started reading after that. But since October 2022 I've been steadily picking up the pace and loving getting back to my roots, if you will. 

I am currently reading The Midnight Library by Matt Haig. I've just come off a thriller/horror binge and will probably be plunging back down that road soon, but this is one of those change of pace books I mentioned earlier. It will probably be my first review, then I'll post a few retroactively. 

If you've read (or even skimmed) this far, thank you. I hope I didn't annoy you too much, and I hope that even if I did you will consider sticking around for my reviews. And if you know me in real life, don't bring this up. I'm still living with the aftershocks of my embarrassing childhood ventures into blogging, which I would link if I could find them. 

Cheers, 

A