#i love christelle and the books became so dear to me

[alasy]

From now on, I declare The Mirror Visitor is a trilogy. There's no fourth book, trust me. Just enjoy the first three and move on <3

[feelingsmixed]

Best books 2024

I started writing this at the end of last year but was distracted by other things. Now however, I’m sick and stuck at home so here it comes. 2024 was a year of many (great) reads. I had a hard time narrowing down the list, so here are the 10 best books I read in the past year in no particular order.

Om udregning af rumfang [On the calculation of volume] I-V – Solvej Balle

2024 was the year I started reading and became obsessed with Solvej Balle’s septology about a woman who gets stuck in the 18th of November which she relives again and again and again. I’ve had a hard time finding a way to convince people to read it because the plot sounds really boring but it’s such a great exploration of time, love and human relationships (and it also made me scared to wake up and being stuck in time).

Kære fuckhoved [Dear dickhead] – Virginie Despentes

Despentes’ book is a modern epistolary novel. It is about Rebecca, an actress who has been famous for her beauty and wild lifestyle who approaching middle-age, experience decreasing attention from film makers and the public, and Oscar, a younger author. They don’t know each other but Oscar makes an Instagram post where he insults Rebecca’s looks which prompts her to write him an angry e-mail. Thus starts an e-mail correspondence between the two in which they slowly, through discussions, disagreements and everyday reflections, become friends. It’s a novel both about MeToo and Covid and despite how annoying that sounds, it is not. I’ve described the book as utopian because it insists on the possibility of reconciliation and of people’s ability to change.

Deep purple – Christel Wiinblad

This strange book is a mixture of prose and poetry which revolves around the suicide of her younger brother but also about her childhood and various relationships. Reading it was an almost trance-like experience, I couldn’t really shake off afterwards. It also led me to this touching interview (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsWqpQVn0cA) with her about an earlier poetry collection she wrote about him where he plays with his band at the end.

The wren, the wren – Anne Enright

An author I’ve been really happy to discover this year is Anne Enright. Her novels are simultaneously incredibly funny and incredibly touching. This one, about a woman in her early twenties, her mother, and their relationship to the mother’s father who was a famous Irish poet, made me laugh several times and at the same time manages to depict family relations in all their complexity.

On women – Susan Sontag

Based on my politics and taste in literature, I should be a Sontag-fan, but I have never read that much by her except from the first volume of her diaries and some excerpts of her writing on photography. This collection of some of her essays and interviews on women and feminism which I picked up in a bookstore in Porto turned me into one. I really admire the way she manages to be argumentative and nuanced and reflective at the same time. I think everyone should read the essay On the double standard of aging. After reading that, I decided to stop being a girl and start being a woman (I don’t know whether I managed to do this in practice...).

Baumgartner – Paul Auster

I have a soft spot for widows, in particular widowed men: I once cried hysterically for half an hour after watching a documentary about a weekend course for recently widowed people to learn how to live by themselves. The last book Paul Auster, who I’ve never read anything else by, wrote before he died which is about a widowed professor likewise made me cry with a scene in which he wakes up and briefly forgets that his wife has passed. However, it is not primarily a sad book: it is both about the love he experienced with his wife, but also the possibility to LOVE and EXPERIENCE JOY again and again. Almost a feel-good novel...

Hvis du bankede på min dør [If you knocked on my door] – Patrizia Cavilli

I don’t read a lot of poetry, but I read this in a dreamy state – it reminded me of Adrienne Rich or Audre Lorde’s poetry, with its descriptions of everyday situations and city flats interior mixed with love and politics, although as one poem states “my poems won’t change the world”.

Minor detail – Adania Shibli

The scandal around the withdrawal of the Frankfurt bookfair prize to Shibli for this book has in some way overshadowed the book itself but, in a way, these events reflect its themes. In the book, a Palestinian woman reads about the rape and murder of Bedouin Palestinian woman by Israeli soldiers in 1949 which happened on the same date as her birthday. Because of this “minor detail” she decides to visit an Israeli archive to investigate the incident, which due to various circumstances related to the occupation becomes rather difficult. I went to a talk with Shibli where she said that in the book, she wanted to explore the normalization of the act of killing, and to see historical archives as a gathering of narratives from a specific perspective, rather than an objective recollection of history.

Menneskeslægten [The Human Race] – Robert Antelme

Some years ago, I read Marguerite Duras’ La douleur which mesmerized me and which I talked about non-stop to anyone who’d listen. La douleur is about the end of the second World War and how Duras is waiting in liberated Paris for her husband who has been interned in a concentration camp to return. During his absence, she has been active in the resistance movement and has fallen in love with another man. The Human Race, written by Antelme, her husband, documents his time in Nazi captivation. I have a hard time formulating my feelings about it. In many ways, it was horrible to read: the treatment by the SS, the constant lack of food, the deaths, and the ubiquitous lice. But Antelme writes about it in such an unsentimental way – even the descriptions of the small acts of kindness between prisoners and the way he avoids thinking about Duras back in Paris.

Franzas bog – Ingeborg Bachman

A large part of this book revolves around a long train journey and fittingly, I read it on a long train journey. Franza flees her abusive psychiatrist husband and joins her brother Martin, who studies archeology, to an excavation in Egypt. While the book is somehow unfinished (Bachman died before she finished writing it), it manages to weave together oppression of women, colonialism and World War II trauma in a strange, feverish narrative. What I liked most though, I think, is the depiction of the relationship between the two siblings which now that I think about it has some similarities to Wiinblad’s Deep Purple.

I don’t have many intentions for my reading in 2025 except that I should try to read unread books I own before buying new ones, and that I should maybe give male authors more of a chance this year – I think I want to read more Paul Auster for example.

[onlyfreds]

TRP Prologue - Welcome to the Story of Y/N L/N

Summary: To others, being princess is living the dream. To Y/N, it’s a living nightmare. But, that was until the day that she received the letter that changed her life and met the people who love her for her true self.

Warning/s: use of the word “damn”

Series Masterlist

Anybody else would think that being the first-born Princess is literally living the dream.

Let me tell you, it’s not.

“Y/N, put down the book and head downstairs for the Family portrait.” My mother, Queen Ahnica, snapped as she entered my room.

I sighed, placing a bookmark on the page I was currently reading, “Do we honestly have to do this mother? We already did this last year.”

She glared at me, “Do you always have to ask? Now stop this nonsense and give them a smile when we get down. We don’t want the press giving a bad image, don’t we?”

I mentally rolled my eyes as I followed her out of the room, “Yes mother.”

We headed down to the lounge where the royal photographer, my father (King Michael), and my younger sister (Princess Christel) were waiting for us.

I sat down beside my sister, who gave me a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on top of mine.

“Don’t worry.” She reassured, “This’ll all be over in a minute.”

And boy did that minute feel like an hour.

When we had finished, Clark, our chief of staff approached us.

“Your highnesses,” he greeted, giving a small bow, “There is someone wanting to see you.”

My mother and father exchanged a confused look, before we followed Clark into the guest lounge.

Standing there was a middle-aged woman, her hair in a tight bun and a stern but gentle look on her face.

“Good day Mr. and Mrs. L/N, or should I say your highnesses.” She said, giving a curtsy,

My father smiled, “Good day Ma’am. What assistance could we offer you?”

The woman chuckled, “My name is McGonagall and I’m just here to give your daughter, Princess Y/N, a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, “Me?”

My sister looked at me excitedly.

The woman nodded, handing me an envelope with the words, Princess Y/N L/N, Montenaro Palace.

Christel nudged my shoulder, “Go on, open it.” She encouraged.

I opened it and pulled out the letter inside.

Dear Mr/Ms. L/N,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I looked up again at the woman, my parents were both stunned into silence, “Am I really going to learn magic?”

McGongall nodded, “Indeed dear, and at the best wizarding school Britain has to offer.”

“But magic isn’t real.” My mother interjected.

McGonagall brought out a thin, stick and with a small wave of her hand, bubbles erupted from it. She then pointed to a teacup on a nearby table, turning it into a teapot.

“So magic is real?” Christel asked in awe.

McGonagall nodded, “It is.”

I turned to my parents as I gave them a pleading look, “Please mum, dad. Can I go.”

My parents exchanged a silent argument before my father said, “You may go. But if this is some sort of scam. You will regret dragging my daughter into this.”

The woman nodded, “You will regret nothing your highness.”

She then turned to me, “I’ll be meeting up with you next week to get your school supplies.”

As soon as she left, my mother turned to my father, “How could you let her? She’s ten! She should be attending finishing school, not some sort of magic school with a bunch of idiots!”

My father sighed, “We’ve taught her everything that she could be taught in finishing school ever since she was five. She’ll be fine.”

--

When September first rolled around, McGonagall brought me to King’s Cross Station and she had instructed me how to board on to Platform 9 and 3/4. Thankfully, I was able to leave before my parents realized that I was wearing “normal” clothes. Because if they did, I would’ve received a full lecture about maintaining an image for the press.

To be honest, jeans and a shirt were a lot more comfortable than a corset and a gown.

At first, I thought it was absurd. But after seeing the serious look on her face, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt and run into the barrier in between Platforms 9 and 10.

I closed my eyes, braced myself for impact. But a cold chill came over me before I heard the chatter of a lively crowd, I opened my eyes, seeing a red and black train with a sign that said, Hogwarts Express.

A hopped onto the train, looking for a spare compartment. I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me as the princess, and I wish they wouldn’t.

I found a compartment that was occupied by two identical looking gingers.

I gently knocked on the compartment door, sliding it open a bit before asking, “Excuse me, but is it okay if I sat here? Everywhere else was full.”

One of them nodded, “Of course you may. I’m George by the way.” He said, offering his hand with I shook, giving him a small smile.

He then nodded to the boy sitting opposite of him, “That’s my twin brother, Fred.”

Fred stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, “Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks heat up as Fred was snapped out of his trance by George laughing.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized, grinning sheepishly.

I giggled, “It’s fine.”

The three of us bonded over the train ride and became fast friends.

Despite the fact that Fred and George were identical twins, I had absolutely no trouble telling them apart, though something about Fred made my heart race a bit faster and the butterflies to rise up to my stomach.

--

It’s been three years since I first met the twins. I was now in my fourth year at Hogwarts.

Before I headed down to the Great Hall for Lunch, I adjusted the necklace I was wearing.

Once I arrived, I immediately slipped into the seat between the twins.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice, looking up from her book, “Where did you get that?”

I looked at her, slightly confused, “Where did I get what?”

“That necklace.”

I looked down and realized that I wasn’t able to hide my necklace in my blouse properly.

“My mum gave it to me.” I managed to stutter out.

“Why? What’s wrong with her necklace?” Ginny asked, “It seems alright to me.”

Everyone in our group was watching me and Hermione, obviously interested in the exchange.

“Well, it’s not just any necklace.” Hermione stated, “There’s only one necklace like that.”

Fred chuckled, “Hermione, I’m sure that necklace is one of billions.”

“No.” She insisted, “There is only one necklace like that and it belongs to the first-born princess of Montenaro.”

She stared at me intently, I could almost see the gears turning in her brain. Besides, she was called the “brightest witch of her age” for a reason.

“Oh Godric!” She gasped and I knew she had come to her conclusion, “What was your last name again?” She asked.

I sighed, “L/N.”

“How did I not notice it before?” She said, most likely to herself, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Hermione, not all of us are geniuses here. So, mind catching us up on what exactly makes sense?” Harry joked.

“The reason why Y/N has that necklace, even though it’s super rare, is because she is the first-born princess of Montenaro. She’s part of the L/N family, she’s basically royalty.” Hermione explained excitedly.

The group looked at me for confirmation.

“Is it true love?” Fred asked softly, “You’re a princess?”

I nodded, letting out a quiet, “yes.”

Everyone was dead silent; you would have thought that someone had just dropped dead in front of us.

Angelina was the first one to break the silence, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I sighed, “I didn’t want you guys to treat me differently. Because when your royalty and others see you, all people can think about is: she’s the princess, she’s next in line for the throne. And being princess, I’m never free. Every decision is made for me, every word, every moved has to be supervised because there’s always some sort of protocol that’s against it. You guys love me and care about me not because I’m the princess. But because you see the real me. You don’t see me as ‘Princess Y/N’, you guys see me as just Y/N.”

I felt Fred hold my hand under the table as I continued, “Here, I am able to be myself, without having to worry about the damn rules or the press. That’s why I spend every holiday I could at the Burrow. Because I like being free. Because I’ve felt more at home there that when I’ve spent a portion of my life at the palace. That’s why I kept my identity a secret. I feared that when you guys learned the truth, you would treat me differently.”

Fred and George encased me in a “Weasley twin hug” as the former kissed the top of my head.

“We’ll always love you darling.” He whispered, “Whether you’re royalty or not.”

I smiled, “Really? You’re not mad that I kept all of this a secret?”

George chuckled, “Of course we’re not.”

“Fred’s right. To us, your being a princess is just a title, but what matters is the side of Y/N that you want to show us.” Ginny added.

I laughed as all of them wrapped me in a group hug, “What did I do to deserve friends like you guys.”

Fred laughed, running a hand through my hair, “What did we do to deserve being friends with an actual princess?”

“Way to ruin the moment, Freddie!”

“Did you have to bring it up now?”

The rest of the group chimed as they playfully scolded Fred.

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