A coffee-table book which I read in chunks before bed. A beautiful book full of stills and sketches from the film, which I love. I wasn't a huge fan of Wes Anderson before the film, but the combination of Anderson and Stefan Zweig produced something wonderful, a lament for that lost, gentle, Habsburg world where civilised people could travel across europe and be at home anywhere. Of course, it's an imagined world, the reality was nothing like that and the anti-semitism, exploitation of the underclass and stultifying bureaucracy are glossed over. Britain Begins was one of those Barry Cunliffe books I could already have read. He's wonderful at telling the story of these islands through the archeological evidence we have, but he is such a prolific writer I'm never quite sure what I have read already. My fault, of course. In the real world I managed to slice open my finger yesterday with the breadknife and spent the afternoon at the NHS Walk-In Centre. I also sat on my glasses and broke the. so that's Valentine's day.
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