I’ve had a yen for melodramatic Douglas Sirk-y entertainments of late, so accordingly I just happily burned through Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. Scored a nice, cracked, loose, hardbound reading copy – burgandy cloth, yellowed pages – pleasure to hold, pleasure to read. Gloomy, doomy, weepy, overwrought, etc, etc.. the tops. So last night I’m putting it away on the bookshelf when I notice double paperback versions of Madam Bovary… hurm? Turns out to be a his n’ hers set – bought separately before my wife and I married and nicely reflective of our aesthetic predilections. Also, just cool seeing Emma Bovary rendered in the prevailing sultry graphic modes of the day.