Picture Credit: USA Today
I write this sitting in bed to work. (We call it “doing a Churchill.) I’m not usually given to such self-indulgence, but I had a bad cold last week and somehow, during the recovery my brain kicked into relaxation mode.
This week, between writing and remedying things I’ve forgotten to do while I was writing I’ve watched a lot of TV: I haven’t finished Line of Duty yet, because I watch that with my husband and he has more self-control than me. But I have binged an entire series of Bridgerton and started reading book 2 because I wanted to know what happens to the rest of the family.
I don’t want to dismiss Julia Quinn, the author. She wasn’t intending to write a literary masterpiece. The books are straightforward romances. However, they make me realise the brilliance of the production and the things Netflix can achieve with their resources. I could never have imagined those gorgeous settings, costumes or cast (even Mrs Bridgerton, the mum, is beautiful) just from the prose. The screen-writer has created story arcs for the whole family and brought out themes for a modern-day audience that just aren’t there in the books. I might have made different decisions myself (if anyone had wanted to throw a big budget at me) but it’s all very impressive.
There’s no wholesome moral here: sometimes reading isn’t as good as watching a screen; throwing money at things can sometimes make better art. It won’t stop me enjoying book 2 with all those visuals in my head.