Pleasure of Ruins

Today was a significant day in book acquisitions, seeing as I purchased the most beautiful book ever. And you know I am not prone to hyperbole. The book is Pleasure of Ruins by Rose Macaulay, "photographically interpreted" by Roloff Beny. And it's absolutely stunning. I came across it in December whilst shelf-reading the large book section at the library and I immediately fell in love. I even carted it home over the holidays, even though it's very heavy and hurt my back to carry. But I wanted to read this book, fall under the spell cast by the prose and the photos. And I loved it. And then a few months back, a copy appeared in the window of this very strange and slightly gross bookshop on my way to school. I looked longingly every time I walked by, but was too afraid of the feral shopmaster to approach (he has one of those white beards that have turned yellow). But Stu went in other day and got the price, and it wasn't bad. So braved the smell of wee and bought it tonight. The book itself does not smell like wee, thanks be to god. The dust jacket it slightly battered, and the edges of the pages are yellow, but still, I am the very proud owner of the most beautiful book I've ever seen.