Category Archives: Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap

A Sad Cautionary Tail–er, Tale…..

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Be as careful of the books you read, as of the company you keep; for your habits and character will be as much influenced by the former as by the latter. –Paxton Hood

This guest blog was written by some of Wendy’s close friends, who appeal to all of you out there for help.

You all know that Wendy and Jack rescue cats in their bookstore. And most of you who read the blog regularly or keep up with Tales of the Lonesome Pine/Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap on Facebook will know that they recently passed 100 cat adoptions from their fine facility.

Yes. Huzzah. In fact, they are now up to 108, because last week brought an unprecedented six adoptions. Double huzzah.

But amidst the celebration we who love them must pause to consider the wisdom of the quotation above–and that all that time spent with the feline population has had an effect on Wendy. As her friends, we are …. concerned. Wendy has always been a big crocheter, so when she turned her needle art to the purpose of paying for feral and foster spays and neuters, we thought it an excellent plan.

Now, we’re not so sure….. see for yourself.

wendy cat scarf

We just worry that maybe, somewhere, things have gotten the wee bit out of hand? What can we do to help her?

The Monday Book: WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE by Shirley Jackson

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WeHaveAlwaysLivedInTheCastle“A pretty sight, a lady with a book.” –Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

The problem with being a big reader in school is that by the time you get to classes where the teacher is passing out big books (or even big concept stories) you’ve seen that theme/archetype/trope/chestnut already in something else.

Our high school English teacher made us read “The Lottery,” by Shirley Jackson, for Halloween. Lame. And old hat. Ursula LeGuin in “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” or even Tam Lin and the sacrifice to Hell were better deals.

So when I picked up Jackson’s Castle, I wasn’t expecting much.

That’s how the best things happen.

Aside from first learning of the wonderful name MerriCat for Mary Katherine, this is the book that teaches many writers about untrustworthy narrators. The story is basically two sisters, MerriCat and Constance, living alone in an old house, young girls, and slowly but surely you come to find out why. And then everything goes to Hell on the point of a knife, but it’s a good ride. Here’s another quote, just to give you an idea:

“My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.”

Yeah, she’s a beaut, that Merricat. Jackson’s writing style is so cheerfully prosaic as she pushes out lines of such blood-curdling creepiness, you think, “Who WRITES like this?” For instance, when MerriCat idly comments: “I wonder if I could eat a child if I had the chance.’ ‘I doubt if I could cook one,’ said Constance.”

If you want a post-Halloween scare, read this atmospheric, quirky, Poe-as-a-woman-with-a-semblance-of-feminine-understanding masterpiece.

If you read it before bed, you might want to leave the light on. And stop taking sugar in your tea.

Why this book this week: I read this book years ago, and picked it up again when some bookseller friends and I were discussing online what we were currently reading.