It is said to be a bible of book lover. I just don't get it. Though I do share the passion for books with Helene Hanff, touched by the relationship between the reserved English gentleman and the witty extrovert American woman, moved by the affections and generosity across the ocean and times.
There's already plenty of reviews on this book and movie, I have no intention to add more except for the very private thought evoked by the trivial details.
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In one of her letters, she complained to Frank his failure to get her wanted book in time, which resulted that she had to write margin notes in library books that don't belong to her. At that moment, something flashed in from the back of my mind. You once mentioned to me the punishment to a little boy for his doodles in library books, well, you might think my silence was uncaring, what you didn't know was that I was ashamed at your words of my selfish behaviors too. Sometimes I did exactly the same thing. I usually like to read the second-hand books just because I can spot previous readers' notes somewhere surprisingly. It seems to add some personal flavor into the lifeless book, which convert the book to a sort of dialogue and no longer be a monologue. I wanted to protest for him and myself, but I didn't. Because I knew it was a vandalism, because I cautiously avoided self-justification, because I wanted to be good in your eyes, because I hoped to match your standards...
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There's a difference between the book and movie. In movie, Helene finally made it. Standing in the empty bookstore, looking through the memory, she whispered to Frank:"I'm here, finally..." In book, she simply appealed to her friend:"If you happen to pass by 84, Charing Cross Road, Kiss it for me? I owe it so much."
" My beloved, I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."
I relive my dreams, I close my eyes and wonder if everything is as hollow as it feels...
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