aplaceofdreams
A diary of rereading the Gemma Doyle Trilogy
For good stories, it seems, never lose their magic.
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For good stories, it seems, never lose their magic.
… is what Gemma says after her father told his family the tiger story for the gazillionth time in a momentary state of magic induced domestic bliss.
Shoutout to Libba Bray for the meta of it all.
Because it is also the reason why I am rereading the Gemma Doyle trilogy for the gazillionth (=tenth) time right now. No other piece of media, actually no other thing or person or story, has had such an embarrassingly enormous influence on me. These books have shaped my personality, my interests, and even my career path. Yes it is extremely ridiculous. God I love them so much.
Usually, I read the books according to the seasons they’re set in. Usually, I am too embarrassed by my interests to proclaim them in any public fashion. But the 10th anniversary calls for something special. I’ve decided to read the books consecutively in one chunk without larger breaks - something I’d always wanted to do but my anal fixation to stick to the season correspondence had kept me from. And to heal and transform my Pippaesque escapist, compulsively daydreaming, reality loathing and neglecting tendencies, I’ll try to marry my beloved fictional world and all the self indulgent musings that come with it to the real world via this reread diary. Probably no one will read this and I’ll just have brought the fictional world into a limbic void. We’ll see what shall be born from it.
So here’s to the books that have broken my heart and mended it and broken and mended it countless of times. Here’s to the books through whose filter I see the world. Here’s to books that took the yearning in my heart and made it a home.
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