|I do recommend the audio, read by Sir Derek Jacobi|
Thackeray, William Makepeace: I know I read Thackeray in college, specifically Vanity Fair. I remember nothing about it. As mentioned in an earlier post, I have now reached that point in my life where I can reread--and be surprised!--by books I previously read.
Thompson, Victoria writes mystery novels based in 19th century New York City: the Gaslight Series. I can't say I am all that enamored of them, but they are respectable.
Thurber, James: I greatly enjoy Thurber's re-imagined version of Little Red Riding Hood (see below).
Tolkien: I can't say enough good things! I have posted extensively about Tolkien here.
Tolstoy: I tried War & Peace, I really did. Unfortunately, the version I tried was the large print version, which means I made my way (slowly) through 1/4 of the first volume and realized I still had 3/4 plus 6 volumes to go. It was too depressing. I gave up.
Trollope: I made my way through a Trollope for the first A-Z list. My review pretty much sums up everything I can say about Trollope.
Truman, Margaret: I skimmed a few of Margaret Truman's mysteries. They didn't grab me.
Twain, Mark: Or Samuel Clemens. In Folklore, which unfortunately I haven't taught in awhile, I present Twain as the All-American Writer. Despite his Southern/Mid-American roots, he was Stephen King and J.K. Rowlings before those mega-fiction stars came around. Everybody owned him. To be fair, he truly was that remarkable.
Tyler, Anne: I quite like Saint Maybe by Tyler. I recommend it.
"The Little Girl and the Wolf" by James Thurber
One afternoon a big wolf waited in a dark forest for a little girl to come along carrying a basket of food to her grandmother. Finally a little girl did come along and she was carrying a basket of food. "Are you carrying that basket to your grandmother?" asked the wolf. The little girl said yes, she was. So the wolf asked her where her grandmother lived and the little girl told him and he disappeared into the wood.
When the little girl opened the door of her grandmother's house she saw that there was somebody in bed with a nightcap and nightgown on. She had approached no nearer than twenty-five feet from the bed when she saw that it was not her grandmother but the wolf, for even in a nightcap a wolf does not look any more like your grandmother than the Metro-Goldwyn lion looks like Calvin Coolidge. So the little girl took an automatic out of her basket and shot the wolf dead.
(Moral: It is not so easy to fool little girls nowadays as it used to be.)