The Posh Paw Blog

What books do you want to read?

There’s a leaning tower of books on the corner of my desk. No, really — it leans. I keep expecting it to whisper “Jenga” before toppling over dramatically during a particularly assertive hair flip. It’s a stack that started with intention and quickly spiraled into ambition, denial, and a fair bit of delusion.

Some people collect stamps. I collect possibilities.

At the top? Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I’ve read it before, of course — but that was ages ago, before I understood how much of life is smoke and mirrors, and how love can be both sanctuary and theatre. I want to revisit it now, as someone older, sharper, and less easily hypnotised by brooding men with emotional storage issues.

Then there’s The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Everyone and their cat has read it, and I — in true Luce fashion — resisted purely out of spite. But lately, I’ve been craving stories about beautiful people doing terrible things in tweed. I feel like it’ll either change my life or leave me with a burning desire to host a dinner party with candlelight and questionable intentions.

Next: Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker. Because sometimes I want my literature like I want my gin — dry, intelligent, and just a little bit tragic.

And tucked in there? A worn copy of On the Road, which I’ve owned since university but never actually opened. Maybe this year I will. Maybe I won’t. Maybe it’ll continue to serve as a coaster for my tea.

Because here’s the thing — my TBR pile isn’t just about books. It’s about imagined lives. It’s the version of myself who reads Russian classics in cafés and quotes obscure poetry at brunch (as one does, obviously). It’s my quiet rebellion against scroll culture. It’s hope — bound and printed.

So no, I haven’t read them all. Yet. But they’re there. Waiting. Watching. Judging me slightly.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ps. Currently hiding from my to-be-read pile under a blanket and two oat cookies.

Stay fabulous,
Luce 💋