Reading more of Saki and loving it. I'd forgotten what a gem of a writer he was. He actually has a very interesting way of crafting his stories too. They are all hinged on a moral, wrapped inside an instance and a plot twist that highlights it. He must have really sat and thought a lot to be able to come up with such multiple settings. V cool. Digging out my older books and man, feels great to just find so many good ones. I'm glad I've collected books. The only things I've ever indulged and splurged on haha. Growing out of my tomboy phase came with an added wardrobe and the accompanying paraphernalia, but I'm not as fond of all that as I am of my books tbh. That feels nice. 

When I read stuff like this: 

"You are not to go into the gooseberry garden," said the aunt, changing the subject.

 "Why not?" demanded Nicholas.

     "Because you are in disgrace," said the aunt loftily.

     Nicholas did not admit the flawlessness of the reasoning; he felt perfectly capable of being in disgrace and in a gooseberry garden at the same moment. His face took on an expression of considerable obstinacy. It was clear to his aunt that he was determined to get into the gooseberry garden, "only," as she remarked to herself, "because I have told him he is not to."

... I realise how much of my writing styles and preferences are influenced by authors like him. I have a huuuge amount of love for wordplay and mildly absurdist comedic situations. Hehe. 

Also, gooseberries yuckky. So gross they taste 🤢 

~

What an utter joy this paragraph is:

Nicholas made one or two sorties into the front garden, wriggling his way with obvious stealth of purpose towards one or other of the doors, but never able for a moment to evade the aunt's watchful eye. As a matter of fact, he had no intention of trying to get into the gooseberry garden, but it was extremely convenient for him that his aunt should believe that he had; it was a belief that would keep her on selfimposed sentry-duty for the greater part of the aftemoon. Having thoroughly confirmed and fortified her suspicions, Nicholas slipped back into the house and rapidly put into execution a plan of action that had long germinated in his brain. By standing on a chair in the library one could reach a shelf on which reposed a fat, important-looking key. The key was as important as it looked; it was the instrument which kept the mysteries of the lumber-room secure from unauthorized intrusion, which opened a way only for aunts and such-like privileged persons. Nicholas had not had much experience of the art of fitting keys into keyholes and turning locks, but for some days past he had practised with the key of the schoolroom door; he did not believe in trusting too much to luck and accident. The key turned stiffly in the lock, but it turned. The door opened, and Nicholas was in an unknown land, compared with which the gooseberry garden was a stale delight, a mere material pleasure.

~

Maaaaan... Writing like this is such a lost artform it makes me sad. Barely anyone would read it and even chuckle at words like sorties and the beauty of the craft here fuck. Books like these will never sell now. Lmao. And these are the kind of things I wish to write haha. Well, fuck it. I'm gonna write for me cuz I like to write and I'd love to caress words and make them say what I mean but with a teeny tiny twinkle of mischief. 

All hail obscurity, a thing I must be gunning for but who fucking cares. One life, let's go.