His voice is so melodious, so low and soothing, it should be accompanied by choral music.
Everyone else looks very British about it, like this is where fun comes to die.
“Given the lovely turn of your figure, it’s quite gratifying you’re not one of those dreadful American girls who subsist entirely on lawn clippings and glacier water,” Charlie says. My mouth is too full of scone to reply.
He has this ability to go still, as if he’s stopped breathing. Like a vampire. Which makes me realize I’m not breathing.
She also holds a fan. Like, an actual fan. Like it’s Gone With The Wind and she’s about to tap someone flirtatiously on the shoulder with it. She drips money like a leaky faucet.
I adored this delightfully crisp and eloquent book; it pleased me and did so in a cleverly amusing and intellectually stimulating manner. I greatly enjoyed the thoughtful and well-chosen quotes and poems that started each chapter, which provided just a little taste of what was to come. Julia Whelan is a master wordsmith with graceful and elegant wordplay. My Oxford Year was written from the first person POV of Ella, an endearing and wholly relatable character that I instantly connected with. I quickly fell into Ella’s vortex and enjoyed hitchhiking in her head and was loath to leave her and her new friends behind. The storylines were unique, relevant, and expertly crafted. Ms. Whelan’s writing was nimble, flawless, lushly detailed, and a felt like a long awaited gift. I will most likely be stalking her listings as long as I have functioning brain cells.