I'm currently re-reading I Capture the Castle...

...and while I'd remembered loving it—how could I not, as it's so very, very loveable?—I'd forgotten just how funny it is:

"Anyway, how is it he can discuss literature with her and not with me? I'm always trying to talk to him about books, but he never lets me."

I blame father for lots of things but not for that — because it really is agony to talk to her about books. When I was longing for a calm discussion of Tolstoy's War and Peace, she said "Ah, it's the overlapping dimensions that are so wonderful. I tried to paint it once, on a circular canvas" — and then she couldn't remember who Natasha was.

I adore Topaz.

And I love how much genuine warmth and affection is in the descriptions in the family, even through all of the squabbling.

Previously:  I Capture the Castle.

Previously: I Capture the Castle (cont'd).