Related to: 'Emylia Hall'

Tinder Press

Take Nothing With You

Patrick Gale
Authors:
Patrick Gale

From the bestselling author of A PLACE CALLED WINTER comes a compassionate, compelling new novel of boyhood, coming of age, and the confusions of desire and reality. 'It's delicious, it's dear, it's heart-breaking and very funny' Rachel Joyce'An incredibly beautiful story told with compassion. Nothing is wasted. Each sentence is beautifully crafted' Joanna Cannon1970s Weston-Super-Mare and ten-year-old oddball Eustace, an only child, has life transformed by his mother's quixotic decision to sign him up for cello lessons. Music-making brings release for a boy who is discovering he is an emotional volcano. He laps up lessons from his young teacher, not noticing how her brand of glamour is casting a damaging spell over his frustrated and controlling mother.When he is enrolled in holiday courses in the Scottish borders, lessons in love, rejection and humility are added to daily practice.Drawing in part on his own boyhood, Patrick Gale's new novel explores a collision between childish hero worship and extremely messy adult love lives.

Headline Review

The Wildflowers

Harriet Evans
Authors:
Harriet Evans

'I adored The Wildflowers. A sweeping, epic, moving read' Marian KeyesRICHARD AND JUDY SUMMER BOOK CLUB PICK 2018The new novel by Sunday Times bestseller Harriet Evans is the PERFECT summer holiday read. Turn the page and find yourself in a Dorset beach house, the sun in your eyes and the sand between your toes. This is the home of Tony and Althea Wilde - the Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor of their generation and with a marriage every bit as stormy. A gorgeous, epic tale of tangled family secrets and lies to keep you company on your own beach towel.'A wonderful, engrossing novel, full of the most vivid characters and a truly memorable setting. A triumph' Sophie Kinsella'She reels you in and then you're hooked, right to the last page' Patricia Scanlan'Atmospheric and altogether wonderful' Lesley Pearse'I love it on so many levels, the immense feeling of place, the slow, irresistible sense of being drawn deep into the family and its story, and the strange hovering of menace somewhere in the idyll. Wonderful' Penny Vincenzi'Her characters are finely drawn and as the story hops back and forth from the Second World War to the present day, the reader becomes deeply immersed in this charismatic family's fortunes. The result is that rare and lovely thing, an all-engaging and all-consuming drama' Daily MailTony and Althea Wilde. Glamorous, argumentative ... adulterous to the core. They were my parents, actors known by everyone. They gave our lives love and colour in a house by the sea - the house that sheltered my orphaned father when he was a boy. But the summer Mads arrived changed everything. She too had been abandoned and my father understood why. We Wildflowers took her in. My father was my hero, he gave us a golden childhood, but the past was always going to catch up with him ... it comes for us all, sooner or later. This is my story. I am Cordelia Wilde. A singer without a voice. A daughter without a father. Let me take you inside. Harriet Evans is 'perfect for fans of Jojo Moyes and Maeve Binchy' Best

Headline Review

The Thousand Lights Hotel

Emylia Hall
Authors:
Emylia Hall
Headline Review

The Butterfly Summer

Harriet Evans
Authors:
Harriet Evans

'Heart-stopping and wonderful . . . an epic, sweeping, romantic story told brilliantly' Sophie KinsellaIt begins and ends with Keepsake, the house that holds its shadows too tightly.From Harriet Evans, the author of Richard and Judy Summer Book Club pick The Wildflowers and Sunday Times bestseller A Place For Us, The Butterfly Summer is the IDEAL book to curl up with as the nights draw in. Nina Parr's mother has lied to her for most of her life. But when Nina inherits Keepsake, a long-forgotten house in Cornwall, she pieces together a sad truth that reaches back to the outbreak of war in the 1930s. A must-read for fans of Kate Morton and Santa Montefiore. What magic is this?You follow the hidden creek towards a long-forgotten house.They call it Keepsake, a place full of wonder . . . and danger. Locked inside the crumbling elegance of its walls lies the story of the Butterfly Summer, a story you've been waiting all your life to hear. This house is Nina Parr's birthright. It holds the truth about her family - and a chance to put everything right at last.Harriet Evans. She brings you home.Two things happen when you are a Parr girl: when you are ten, you are told about your future role. The second thing that a Parr girl at some point must learn is harder to tell of.It is a dark work indeed, the business of this house, hidden from the world. READERS LOVE HARRIET EVANS.Praise for The Butterfly Summer:'Loved it' Gill Hornby'A delightfully engrossing read' Red magazine'Moving, gripping, heartbreaking' Kate Williams'Great characters, gorge house, intriguing mystery, what's not to love?!' Lucy Diamond'Multi-layered, heartbreaking and as beautiful as a butterfly wing' Veronica Henry'A crumbling house in Cornwall and a family with lots of secrets are brought to life by the evocativewriting in Harriet Evans' novel The Butterfly Summer' Good Housekeeping'Gorgeous' Stylist'Harriet Evans' writing is just perfect' Linda's Book BagTHE WILDFLOWERS, Harriet Evans's latest breathtaking novel, is available now

Headline Review

The Sea Between Us

Emylia Hall
Authors:
Emylia Hall

From the author of the Richard and Judy bookclub pick The Book of Summers comes a captivating, moving novel of love and family which will sweep you away to the beautiful coast of Cornwall.In a remote Cornish cove, on one of the last days of summer, Robyn Swinton is drowning. She is saved - just - by local boy Jago Winters, and it is a moment that will change both of them forever.Over the next seven years, Robyn and Jago's paths lead them in different directions, to city streets and foreign shores. Will the bond forged that day Jago dragged Robyn in from the sea be strong enough to bring them back to one another, or has life already pulled them too far apart?

Headline Review

A Heart Bent Out of Shape

Emylia Hall
Authors:
Emylia Hall
Headline Review

The Book of Summers

Emylia Hall
Authors:
Emylia Hall

Beth Lowe has been sent a parcel. Inside is a letter informing her that her long-estranged mother has died, and a scrapbook Beth has never seen before. Entitled The Book of Summers, it's stuffed with photographs and mementos complied by her mother to record the seven glorious childhood summers Beth spent in rural Hungary. It was a time when she trod the tightrope between separated parents and two very different countries; her bewitching but imperfect Hungarian mother and her gentle, reticent English father; the dazzling house of a Hungarian artist and an empty-feeling cottage in deepest Devon. And it was a time that came to the most brutal of ends the year Beth turned sixteen.Since then, Beth hasn't allowed herself to think about those years of her childhood. But the arrival of The Book of Summers brings the past tumbling back into the present; as vivid, painful and vital as ever.

Posted by Emylia Hall, Author

An Eventful Year, a Slamming End

2012 was eventful in all of the right ways. Over the years I’ve been to plenty of literary festivals on the coat tails of my husband Bobby (one half of the comic book duo The Etherington Brothers), always happy in my role as WAG. In 2012 however, I was hitting the road for the first time as an author in my own right. I knew I enjoyed the lanyards, the green room snacks, the linen jacket spotting, but the actual ‘appearing’ part? I seem sociable, I think I probably am, but I also love the solitary side of being a writer; disappearing into my own head, communing, for hours on end, with no one except the people I’m making up. Talking to a crowd of strangers isn’t necessarily the most natural fit with such a cloistered pursuit but it is part of the job of and, happily, I’ve discovered that I really like it. At the Edinburgh Festival I shared a stage with the brilliant Norwegian author Karl Ove Knausgaard (the New York Times dubbed him a ‘bad boy of European letters’ and I got to feel rock and roll by association). Then there was Appledore, a pretty-as-pie spot on the North Devon coast, for a ‘New Voices’ panel with another Richard & Judy book club author Shelley Harris, and Carol Rifka Brunt. A lovely evening of Q&A at Rossiter Books of Ross-on-Wye, one of the nicest indies I’ve ever visited. The Portsmouth Bookfest for an all-Headline panel, where fellow newbie Morgan McCarthy and I got to line up with Adele Parks and Emily Barr. The inaugural Penarth Book Festival, with my mum in the audience (and under strict ‘pipe down’ instructions). And to end the year, Book Slam Bristol, the Big Daddy and Founding Father of what’s still being called the ‘new wave’ of live literature events. My first Book Slam experience was in 2009, for the launch of Patrick Neate’s Jerusalem. Patrick was my tutor on an Arvon course the year before, and he founded Book Slam to ‘support a diverse reading culture and stand against what is, for us all, an increasingly monolithic cultural life.’ That evening at The Tabernacle, Roger Robinson read his poetry, Soweto Kinch played sax, and Patrick read from his new novel. I’d never before been to an event that so winningly mixed live literature and music; it was very cool. Book Slam’s monthly nights have been running for nearly a decade now, and the list of alumni is crazy-stellar, as well as supporting new, deserve-to-be-heard voices. The second Book Slam short story anthology, Too Much Too Young, was published a little over a month ago and features brand new stories from the likes of David Nicholls, Marina Lewycka, Jackie Kay, Chris Cleave, and, somehow, me. The collection was celebrated with three launch parties at venues across London, and a first ever event in Bristol at the cool art space of Spike Island. I read from my story, Me and Bobby McGee, along with fellow anthology authors Salena Godden and Nikesh Shukla, while guitarist Robin Allender brought the music. For all the events of the summer, I’d never done anything quite like this. It didn’t help at all to think of the Book Slam I’d attended the week before, how completely charming and brilliant Jackie Kay was at the mic, or how swept away we’d all been by the whirlwind poetry of Luke Wright. Later, I was certainly glad that Salena Godden, whose Stage Presence is in capitals and underscored, and Nikesh, who’d also doubled as our winsome compere, came on after me. But I did my bit, read from my story, and had a ball. Standing up there, I realised there’s something magical about telling a story to a roomful of people, and a privilege to have them listen; there’s a sense of togetherness, we’re bound just as tightly as anybody wants, and a charged stillness descends. I’ve employed these next words of Raymond Carver before and while he’s talking about short stories it feels true of the live literature experience too. It’s certainly been mine, whether on the stage or in the audience. ‘…Our hearts or our intellects will have been moved off the peg just a little from where they were before. Our body temperature will have gone up, or down, by a degree. Then, breathing evenly and steadily once more, we’ll collect ourselves, writers and readers alike, get up, “created of warm blood and nerves”, as a Chekhov characters puts it, and go on to the next thing: Life. Always life.”

by Emylia Hall

From a mother to her son

Dear son The first line of one of my favourite books goes like this… If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it. Well, Calvin Jack Etherington, this is your mother speaking, and I do feel like going into it… I've a few years yet before you can tell me I'm embarrassing you.

Posted by Mary-Anne Harrington, Editorial

Blog: Summer Reads

Though the sun may only now be peeking through the clouds, we at Tinder Press have been counting down to summer, or at least the publication of Maggie O’Farrell’s INSTRUCTIONS FOR HEATWAVE, for many weeks now. But which are the summer reads that have made us the readers we are today – we asked our team to tell us more about the books that spell ‘summer’ to them.

THE SWISS SKETCHBOOK

Follow Emylia Hall as she adds beautiful pieces of artwork to her blog to mark the publication of 'A Heart Bent Out of Shape'.

Festive giveaway: A Heart Bent Out of Shape

Escape the winter cold with an exclusive festive giveaway of signed copies of Emylia Hall's new novel and Hotel Chocolat goodies – the perfect reading package

Posted by Richard Roper, Editorial

Blog: Musical Mystery Tour

We all have that moment at one time or another when a piece of music comes on in the background and you have to stop what you're doing and just listen. This is a regular occurrence for me on Friday afternoons as fellow Headliner Bríd launches into a rendition of an eighties classic and I stop what I'm doing and wonder why cats are fighting with dentists' drills in the office.

Posted by Leah Woodburn, Editorial

Blog: A Taste of Christmas from our authors

Peace on earth and good will to men is all very well, but everyone knows what Christmas is really about: eating and drinking to excess. In preparation for the big day, we in the Headline office have been taking the task of expanding our stomachs very seriously and have spent the last few weeks limbering up with a steady intake of quality streets and mince pies, and maybe even a spot of sherry too.

Posted by Ben Willis, Publicity

Blog: Headline Goes To Edinburgh

The Headline Edinburgh Team had no less than FOUR objectives when we planned our trip to the Edinburgh International Book Festival this year: support our awesome authors during their packed-out events; hijack anyone and everyone even marginally famous; glug Irn Bru from a litre glass bottle down a poorly lit side street (pictured); and blast out awesome/ful renditions of One Direction songs at full volume in an overcrowded karaoke booth with people you've only very recently met. And it is with great pride that I can whole-heartedly confirm that we achieved ALL of our goals.

Carolyn Turgeon

Carolyn Turgeon was born in Michigan and grew up in Illinois, Texas, Michigan and Pennsylvania. After graduating from Penn State, she earned a Master's in Comparative Literature from UCLA, and spent several years in New York working as a writer and editor. Godmother: The Secret Cinderella Story was her previous novel. She now lives in Pennsylvania, where she bellydances and plays the accordion. She loves old movies, burlesque shows, and drinking pink cocktails at the Algonquin Hotel.

Posted by Sam Eades, Publicity

Blog: Snow Day

Despite the temperamental nature of the Great British weather, it doesn’t snow that often in summer. However, on Thursday 30th August there was an Alaskan chill in the air as snow clouds began to gather above 338 Euston Road.

The Headliners' Verdict...

Blog: The Man Booker Prize 2012

Bringing Up the Bodies by Hilary Mantel It was love at first sight. Our romance started this summer in Wolf Hall, where Thomas Cromwell and I were first acquainted. At first I was unsure of him: he grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, had a penchant for loose women and was quick to swing a sword around. However, after a brief spell abroad Cromwell reinvented himself, and I swiftly fell head over heels for the most complex fictional character I have ever come across. He is man of contradictions, conflicting passions and sometimes less than altruistic motives. In Bringing Up the Bodies, we see a darker side of Cromwell but he is just as compelling to watch in action. He has achieved the ultimate position of power, but at what price, and how long will he sit at Henry VIII’s side? Mantel’s series is dazzling, noisy, crowded, rich, bloody and brilliant. The fact that my review has basically consisted of me banging on about her main character as if he were a real person is testament to her skill as a storyteller – and her ability to breathe new life into a historical period which has been much represented. I will be cheering on for her and Cromwell come Booker Night. Bring it! Sam Eades, Publicity Umbrella by Will Self Will Self’s first novel is a paragraph-free stream-of-consciousness affair, with a perplexing smattering of italics. Challenging – yes. And I like a challenge. The problem is – and perhaps this is some self-indulgent weakness on my part as a reader – I’m the sort that likes to be rewarded for it, too. I love Ulysses. Perhaps I didn’t discover this until I read it through for the second time, when I began to appreciate its rhythms, its many personalities, its celebration of the complex, surreal, heterogeneous nature of human experience. And I loved it because of its audaciousness: breaking new literary ground, becoming, of course, a byword for Modernist experimentation in form. And I think that was my beef with Umbrella. I hesitate to say that all fiction must have a point, but, in a sense, perhaps it should. It should, in some way, contribute to or challenge our understanding of ourselves and of the world in which we live. And I’m afraid I didn’t feel that Umbrella was making any such contribution. It felt, instead, like a kind of literary historical re-enactment. Joyce was smashing preconceptions of what a novel should be, putting up two fingers to the form that had, in one way of another, persisted for several centuries. Will Self, meanwhile, is aping Joyce – a writer who did the same thing, only far better, almost a century ago. Lucy Foley, Editorial Swimming Home by Deborah Levy Coming in at under 200 pages, this is the skinniest book on the shortlist, but one that packs a significant punch. It’s the story of some family friends whose villa holiday in the South of France is disturbed when they find a naked woman swimming in the pool. It turns out to be an unstable young woman called Kitty, who believes she has a special connection to a member of the party, Joe, a famous poet. Levy is brilliant on atmosphere and from the moment Kitty emerges from that pool, you sense that any equilibrium that existed between the characters assembled at this villa has been irreversibly disturbed, to be replaced by an uneasiness that pervades the entire novel. Levy’s writing is super sharp and taut; every sentence is charged and every scene is loaded. The end result is massively compelling and hugely unsettling; this is a novel that leaves a strange taste in your mouth, in the very best way. Leah Woodburn, Editorial The Lighthouse by Alison Moore ‘The Honeymoon was dreadful – they had delayed fights and lost luggage, twin beds and upset stomachs, bad weather and arguments.’ A bleak tale of a man’s continual attempts to explain the tragedy of his past – from his mother’s abandonment to his wife leaving him after yet another betrayal. The protagonist, Futh, leaves for Germany in an attempt to escape his demons. But by stumbling into the paths of an unhappily married couple running the hotel in Hallhaus, his fate is sealed as soon as he unwittingly adds to their misery. Alison Moore’s skill is to keep the tension high in what is an otherwise immensely depressing story. Richard Roper, Editorial The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng This novel was a pleasure to read. Tan Twan Eng’s writing style is so calming, despite at times describing the horrors of life in a slave labour camp for our protagonist, Teoh Yun Ling. She is a fascinating character, soul survivor of a prisoner-of-war camp who becomes a judge, prosecuting war criminals and terrorists both to seek justice for the tortures she endured and to find out more information about the camp. The novel is split between the present day, where she has recently retired and is reconnecting with old friends in Malaya and 1951, when she first starts out as prosecutor and is forced to face her demons and seek out Aritomo, ‘a man who had been the gardener of the Emperor of Japan’ to ask him to build a garden for her sister who did not survive the camp. Both characters are unapologetic of their feelings and beliefs regarding the hostilities but Aritomo agrees to teach Yun Ling the art of Japanese gardening so she can build the garden herself. It is full of cultural and historical complexities that do echo other books that I’ve read but there are some fascinating concepts unearthed, which I absolutely relished. Laura Skerritt, Creative and Marketing Narcopolis by Jeet Thayil I’d heard good things about this unusual, opium-soaked tome, and was pleased to find it as eccentric, vibrant and narcotically stimulating as I’d been led to expect. I’ve always been intrigued by portraits of drug addiction (Melvin Burgess’ Junk, anyone?!), and Thayil paints a disturbing but charged portrait of a group of people enslaved by opium, and their slow descent into hallucinatory madness. And through the opium smoke is an evocation of the chaotic city of Bombay and the quirky, diverse people who populate it. I’d recommend this for anyone who wants something different – or a reading experience which is the literary equivalent to meandering through an opium-induced dreamworld. Emily Kitchin, Editorial

Posted by John Wordsworth, Editorial

Blog: Stephen Lloyd Jones Q&A

The Hobbit, chatting wardrobes with C S Lewis, nineteenth century Hungarian hairstyles… Enter the mind of Stephen Lloyd Jones, author of the highly anticipated THE STRING DIARIES.

Posted by Myke Cole, author

Blog: Reflections on New York Comic Con

You might want to sit down for this one, it’s going to come as a bit of a shock. I hate to be the guy who pulls the rug out from under you, who shatters the tender illusion under which you’ve lived your entire life until now. The Internet didn’t always exist. No, I’m serious. There was a time when people didn’t have the means to communicate instantly, to answer nearly any question, to check in on the hilarious antics of anyone’s cat, at any time, anywhere in the world. It was a dark time. Marriages collapsed as the lack of Wikipedia meant that couples couldn’t resolve arguments with the click of a mouse. People starved to death, lost on unfamiliar roads, without their iPhone’s maps feature to guide them to civilization. Cats rode Roombas, dashed into paper bags, cuddled up beside dogs without anyone to witness their heart-breakingly cute hilarity. I’ve been called a tough guy because I’ve been to war, but I think the real testament to my durability was that I lived through this Dark Age. It was especially tough on nerds. We thrive on minutiae, esoteric cultural touchstones that are precious to us precisely because they are so rare. It’s hard to find a guy who can identify all the different types of Storm Trooper armor (and yes, that includes the Emperor’s Royal Guard) at a glance, who can tell you the THAC0 for a 3rd level Thief without having to look it up. When we meet those who can, we bond with them, reveling in a sense of cultural identity which I am assuming is the cousin to how Masai feel when they celebrate a warrior killing yet another lion. With a spear. By himself. Anyway, with no Internet, it was harder to find one another, especially when reaching out to the wrong person could get you mercilessly teased, or worse, smacked around and stuffed in a locker. To facilitate the location and bonding process, we nerds were drawn to gatherings known as “cons.” (And no, they didn’t involve tricking kindly old ladies out of their life savings). Generally held in hotels, these gatherings allowed a few hundred of us to bond in safety, reveling in our tribal songs (filking) and interpretive dances (LARPing). It also doubled as pretty much the only place on earth any of us would ever have a chance in hell of kissing a member of the opposite sex. I lived for cons. My life was one interminable stretch of time between them, each a crucible I had to get through until the next long weekend among my own. They all had cool names playing on their root word: Lunacon, Balticon, Confusion, Boskone. Okay, so that last one kind of fell down on the job, but you get the idea. They were always put on by fans, run by volunteers, usually operating at a loss. Science Fiction and Fantasy is one of the few genres where the majority of the pros come up through fandom, and cons were peppered liberally with authors, editors and literary agents, all doing their business networking in a morass of joy that gave them a uniform expression of I-can’t-believe-I-make-money-doing-this. It was at cons that my burgeoning interest in the genre became a professional ambition. I met my agent at Philcon, sat in the lobby until 3AM talking about everything other than writing. I first met my editor and her assistant at a con. Fast forward a-number-of-years-I-am-uncomortable-stating-because-I-am-really-really-old. A perfect storm of genre successes in popular culture (a string of outstanding superhero flicks, Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies, a surge in adult acceptance of video games, which are almost always SF/F based), and some literary successes (Harry Potter, Twilight, Eragon) helped propel Science Fiction and Fantasy into the mainstream. At the same time, the pervasiveness of the Internet began to erode the old fan-run con culture. When you can find thousands of like-minded people at the click of a mouse, why bother traveling hundreds of miles to spend a weekend at an expensive hotel? The shared vocabulary was online. Everything, from role-playing games to fan-fiction, was available in an instant. Those who accuse Internet addicts of isolation are fools. The Internet is a fundamentally social phenomenon. It is a new way that people form bonds. Cons began to gray. The panels became repetitive, the programming staff focusing more and more on holding on to their salad days, while the genre moved on without them. I don’t know when it first happened, but somewhere along the way, someone perked up and noticed that the con culture was still being applied to a small subsection of society, but revolved around a genre that was now immensely popular. The appeal was broad enough that people were willing to spend a lot of money for their articles of faith: action figures, specialized t-shirts, special edition DVDs, oceans and oceans of books. Boom. The for-profit con was born. There are comic cons all over the country now. It seems like every major city has one. While the old fan-run cons attract hundreds, these pull in tens of thousands, packing the largest venues of major cities so full that it takes an attendee 20 minutes to walk 20 feet. They transcend genre now, have become pop culture celebrations, pulling in film, television and gaming executives hawking wares from straight comedy to mainstream drama, with nary a superhero in sight. And there’s still more money to be made, with venue after venue springing up to meet demand. Wizard World, Dragon Con, the Sci-Fi Weekender. There’s a tribal petulance for those of us who were there first, who saw the birth of the con and grew up in the bosom of its larval state. This new age of mega cons makes us want to shake our fists and call the beautiful people thronging the halls of the Javitts Center Johnny-Come-Latelys (and if one more model unilaterally declares herself “Queen of the Nerds,” I will go ballistic). They are, after all, the people who took our lunch money, who wouldn’t date us. Walk through Williamsburg, Brooklyn and you’re bound to see a guy who has never played D&D in his life sporting a “THIS IS HOW I ROLL” T-shirt, emblazoned with a 20-sided die. But we go, of course. Comic Con is a focal point of my year, the happiest long weekend of the annual cycle. And that’s because I remembered something from my early days as a writer. When my best friend hit it huge as a professional genre writer before I did, I made the conscious decision not to be jealous. A rising tide lifts all boats, I told myself, and it was true. His success didn’t hinder mine in the least. In fact, it helped me when my turn came. The same is true here. I was drawn to cons of hundreds for the same reason folks are drawn to cons of hundreds of thousands: Because the genre is amazing, because a thing shared is so much more wonderful than a thing enjoyed privately. Because nothing in life can beat the simple animal pleasure of turning to a stranger and saying “That is so awesome!” and having them smile knowingly and say “it really is!” It is a brief moment where we are not alone. As I walk through New York Comic Con (or rather, as I ride the shoulders of my enormous colleague Sam Sykes to avoid getting trampled by the horde), I see the legions of fans thronging the aisles. In junior high school, most of these people likely wouldn’t have been my friends. But they are now. A rising tide lifts all boats. Man, it just keeps going up and up, year after year. And the view from here is glorious.