sees George, and the magical novel unfolds as a story of deeply felt, unrequited longing&#8212ateenage ghost George and her family clash with the villagers several times throughout the novel. Did you sympathize with one group over the other? What grievances did you feel were justified? Do you think a resolution could have been reached?

That morning, I had gone into the garden to try my hand at swatting fruit from the branches of one of the taller trees, and after that to sneak up on the starlings and howl, which would send them into the air together like a single giant bird. I had it all planned out and was not prepared, not prepared at all, to come across unfamiliar, uninvited lovers.Speaking of plots, if you like stories where there isn’t that clear a narrative direction, where it really is just about characters living, then this would be one for you.

a teenage ghost watches over george sand, her children, and her lover, chopin, in a monastery on top of the hill. she falls in love with the woman (george), and clings to their lives. she interacts with them now and again, but is always watching. as she tells us about these peculiar people, she also relays to us the story of her short life over 400 years prior. I will also say that the whole "sapphic love story" aspect of this is barely in the novel, so I wouldn't get your hopes up about that.) (Oh, and the ending was so clumsy and anticlimactic; it felt like it undermined what was already a very shaky story to begin with.)This reading group guide for BRIEFLY, A DELICIOUS LIFE includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book. A novel of tremulous beauty, sly wit and deep understanding, Briefly, A Delicious Life is an addictive, sunlit delight." fourteen-year-old Blanca dies in a hilltop monastery in Mallorca. Nearly four hundred years later, when An entrancing and singular exploration of a fascinating historical footnote and a queer life after death."

Many thanks to Pan Macmillan, Picador, Nell Stevens, and NetGalley for this ARC in exchange for an honest review** winning writer: a playful and daring tale about a teenage ghost who falls in love with the writer George SandsFor cost savings, you can change your plan at any time online in the “Settings & Account” section. If you’d like to retain your premium access and save 20%, you can opt to pay annually at the end of the trial. Stevens, Nell (2018). Mrs Gaskell and me: two women, two love stories, two centuries apart. London: Picador. ISBN 9781509868216. (Published in United States as The Victorian and the romantic: a memoir, a love story, and a friendship across time) The image of a ghost giving herself outfits (sic) to match her author crush is so ridiculously fangirlish to me that Blanca fails to be a convincing historical fiction narrator, even one that’s been haunting the island for hundreds of years. As things grow more difficult in Mallorca, George becomes exhausted. She wonders, “What am I to make of life?” reminding Blanca of her own struggle to rationalize her existence after death. How does each character make sense of these existential questions? This novel follows a cast of historical characters as seen through the eyes of Blanca, a ghost who is haunting the Valldemossa town in the Mallorcan countryside. Simultaneously, we watch the stories of George Sand Frederic Chopin and Blanca unfold in a poetic prose that conveys an ever present sense of intimacy. This is a book more about sensations and feelings rather than a central conflict therefore it might be not for everyone's taste, but in my opinion this is a beautiful piece of literature nonetheless.

I gave myself outfits, too: the kind George wore, trousers, shirts, sturdy shoes. I gave myself a swagger as I walked into the room where George was sitting and said, Hello, darling. And George would look up and see me (See me! The thrill!) and say, Hello, you, and we would find that we were speaking the same language.”George Sand reads too contemporary a portrait, feverishly imagined by said 14 yo fangirl in a time when the Internets and fandom forums for, I don’t know, “fantasies [of] having sex with George” were… not a thing. And don’t get me started on Chopin!

Nell Stevens

Chopin began to play. It was something he had begun working on in previous days: a dappled sunlight opening, a break in the clouds, a tentative ray touching the horizon. But the A-flat was running through it now, at first barely noticeable beneath the right hand’s melody, and then louder, increasingly insistent. It became the saddest sound I had ever heard: perhaps you are happy, the music said, and the A-flat, but what about this – this – this. I understood by then that Chopin’s music was the best of him. It was where his loveliness resided. All his better impulses, his tenderness and sadness were there, in safekeeping away from his body, unhampered by the sharp edges of pain and illness, crankiness and frustration and irritability.