Picked up Madeline Miller's Song of Achilles at Sam and Eddie's last week and it's giving me pleasurable nostalgia about my trip to Greece earlier this year. Especially that first day in Athens climbing the Acropolis all windblown, stumbling upon the completely deserted woods to the north of the temple, feeling I had slipped back through millennia, and then a late and leisurely lunch at the museum within view of the Parthenon and still swooning.
I'm so glad for that trip--I'm reading now without that pang that previously accompanied any mention of Greece.
(And yes, the Miller really does remind me of those Mary Renaults I used to devour and mid-century Mary Stewart must bear responsibility for my Greece love too.)
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I'm so glad for that trip--I'm reading now without that pang that previously accompanied any mention of Greece.
(And yes, the Miller really does remind me of those Mary Renaults I used to devour and mid-century Mary Stewart must bear responsibility for my Greece love too.)
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