In my life so far, I have read books in too great a number for me to judge, and over the years, my tastes have evolved (as with films, music, …). I have enjoyed many books, adored some, abhorred a couple (some of which I was forced to keep on reading for school), and it seemed to be firmly established that the books that most captured my imagination were Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials.
But today, something strange happened: I had tears in my eyes upon reading the ending of another book, a newly discovered gem of literature.
Tears in my eyes! When faced with writing, the only time this has happened to me was while writing certain sections of the Arpia novel.
I must conclude that this book, which I found hard to set aside, has conquered my heart.
Its title? Scaramouche, by Rafael Sabatini (an Italian gentleman who wrote in English).
Its content? The tale of a young man who goes from the robe (lawyer) to the buskin (actor) to the sword (maître d’armes) around the period of the Révolution française.
Go read it. Now.