Hello, my dears. I'm very aware that I haven't had anything to share with you from F. Scott Fitzgerald recently, and this is because I haven't managed to read anything in the last little while. If you read my post yesterday, however, you will have heard how a workshop in drama prompted me to rediscover how much I adore Anne of Green Gables, and I thought it would be lovely to share with you a passage that I have always loved from it.
In all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged. The walls were as white, the pincshion as hard, the chairs as stiffly and yellowly upright as ever. Yet the whole character of the room was altered. It was full of a new vital, pulsing personality that seemed to pervade it and to be quite independent of schoolgirl books and dresses and ribbons, and even of the cracked blue jub full of apple blossoms on the table. It was as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of its vivid occupant had taken a visible although immaterial form and had tapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow and moonshine.
A Good Imagination Gone Wrong, Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery, published in 1925.
It's beautiful, isn't it? It's incredibly simple but very sincere, and very vibrant, quite like the room that it so gorgeously describes. L. M. Montgomery is to me very much like Anne herself, weaving wonderful thoughts together to delight us with at every corner. Isn't it so very feminine and magical?