The French Lieutenant's Woman

I think the way John Fowles wrote The French Lieutenant's Woman is beautiful.

Be it the careful wording, the structure of the sentences, or the feelings they provoke, beautiful is the only adjective (that and its many synonyms) that I can think of that would befit them.

Alone on its own, or accompanied by random music, even the most grating, the beauty lie undiminished. This I can attest to, my playlist suddenly jumped to Nate Ruess' Nothing Without Love when I was on the eighth page of the story. Not to say that the song is on its own something I find disagreeable to, if it did it would not have found its way into my playlist, it's just that coupled with mood that the story was making me feel, it is somewhat vile to the ear and rotten to the soul.

Maybe it's the novelty in having read a different sort of writing, as compared to the rather straightforward way the translation of the chinese light novels I have found to grow fond of these past few months are written. Maybe, this I could not deny now, perhaps a further, or finished, reading would prove this to be so, but at the moment this feeling of contentedness is more than enough to sate whatever need for beauty that I have,