This post is NOT about Emily the annoying five-year-old who sat behind me on a four and a half hour flight from Vancouver. I will never write a post about Annoying Emily. Yes, you have to wear your seatbelt, I don’t care if you don’t like dinner, eat it anyway, and stop kicking that lady’s seat. There, Emily’s Mum, problem solved. Grow a spine.
While I’ve been home, I’ve been glued to the TV every afternoon for “Emily of New Moon”. It’s a nicely made Canadian drama, based on the books of L.M. Montgomery, but it has a weird, twisty paranormal side that creeps up and breathes in your ear. It also has Sheila McCarthy playing Aunt Laura, and she gives me the willies in a very delightful way. Her IRL husband died recently – I can’t remember his name, but he was apparently very big in Stratford, and played her evil sometime-husband, Ian Bowles in the series.
I must admit, I am a fan of Ms. Montgomery’s books. My mum had all of the “Anne” books from her own childhood in New Zealand. Interesting, in that that was her first experience of Canada. I understand that for many years the books were also very popular in Japan. Anyway, I quickly devoured them, and then got the “Emily” books out of the library, but they didn’t appeal to me as a child, and so I have yet to read them.
This is a good thing, Martha! Often when I get very seriously involved with an author, they have either been dead for years, or die and stop writing books as a result! Arthur Conan Doyle – dead. Ellis Peters – dead. Margaret Lawrence – dead. So to find that I have yet to enjoy everything a favourite dead author has to offer is seriously wonderful.
So, someone please look after Alexander McCall Smith – please make sure he is wrapped up warmly, taking vitamins, and watching his cholesterol intake. Amen.