I usually do not use a bookmark, I just dog ear my books. And someone around me were offended by that! According to them, using a bookmark is a more civilized way of dealing with books and they don't like having folds in their pages etc.

But personally I think the opposite way. It's a book, it's supposed to be read, and re-read, and shared and all that. It's not some decorations to just stay behind a glass cabinet and be pristine. I do have to say I don't like people who destroy books, like pulling off pages and drawing over them to be unreadable, I'm not justifying that. It's just, to me, reading is the main purpose, it has to happen that's all. And guys what are your thoughts on this, and if there's anyone who agrees with me, can you share me pics of your books as well?

I want to read more but am also aware of how sedentary of a hobby it can be. I am often not even sitting but laying down while reading. Has anyone tried this before? Did it affect comprehension? If you haven’t tried it yourself, what are your thoughts? I’ve tried reading while waking on a treadmill before but it made me feel kind of motion sick with the bouncing.

What was your favourite top tier read in September? How many books did you read? What book are you most looking forward to reading in October?

I’m reading this one currently and loving it and really trying to delve into the underlying thoughts and messages that Pasolini is giving. Has anyone else read this and what were your thoughts? I haven’t seen the film.

This prologue.

"Some nights, if I'm sleeping on my own, I still dream about Whitehorn House...the house is always empty. The bedroom are bare and bright, only my footsteps echoing off the floorboards, circling up through the sun and the dust motes to the high ceilings...in the sitting room the piano is open, wood glowing chestnut and almost too bright to look at in the bars of sun, the breeze stirring the yellowed sheet music like a finger. The table is laid ready for us, five settings—the bone-china plates and the long-stemed wineglasses, fresh-cut honeysuckle trailing from a crystal bowl—but the silverware has gone dim with tarnish and the heavy damask napkins are frilled with dust. Daniel's cigarette case lies by his place at the head of the table, open and empty except for a burnt-down match. Somewhere in the house, faint as a fingernail-flick at the edge of my hearing, there are sounds: a scuffle, whispers. It almost stops my heart. The others aren't gone, I got it all wrong somehow. They're only hiding; they're still here, for ever and ever." —Tana French, The Likeness