There was once a time when books were happy and sweet, when romances were conveyed with a mere clasping of hands, when you knew exactly who the heroine would marry. This was a fun time.
See, I love old books. I just finished Dear Enemy by Jean Webster, which was a sequel to her bestselling novel Daddy-Long-Legs, about an orphan being sent to college by an anonymous patron. It is generally shelved in the young adult section these days but it was written for and enjoyed by adults (and does include a romance between a 21 year old girl and a 35 year old man). Theodore Roosevelt was excited to meet her and Daddy-Long-Legs has never been out of print.
Both of these books can be read for free on Project Gutenberg and there's a free audio version of Daddy-Long-Legs on Librivox.
It's not that I dislike modern books, though contemporary fiction gets fairly ridiculous at times, but I love old books. I don't mind that they're predictable, most books are, after all, they're just so sweet and fun and uplifting.
Pogo stitching progresses. I'm sore and tired and just want to lose myself in something. Women's World Cup semi-finals tomorrow at least. Should be good!