Never Let Me Go

I'm all tucked up in bed, meaning to be asleep a good half-hour ago, but my sleepytime doesn't seem to be doing to trick. Lately, my inspiration for dressing myself comes from a curious place. Not that movies are a strange place to look at for that sort of thing, but I always feel a little bit silly taking inspiration from sad movies. Nevertheless, life is now about thick tights, little dresses, too-big cardigans and some variant of wellington rain boot.

The movie is Never Let Me Go, and after seeing the trailer, my interest was piqued, and so I trotted myself off to the bookstore for my own copy of the novel. When the movie came out, I went to see it with Kim and then again today (with Kim again, as she is a lovely friend and also awesome). I've been obsessively re-reading the book since then, and honestly thinking about little else (if you haven't seen it, I urge you to both do so and read the book first).

I'm not entirely sure how to describe it. It's one of probably two movies that, for me, almost surpasses the book (an unfair statement--comparing books and movies is one of the most useless endeavors of all time, since how on earth are they ever comparable to begin with?). It fills me up until I feel I might be obliterated, and I can't bear it as the days go by and the spell of it starts to ebb away.



But besides all of that, I love the careful assemblage of outfits that happen in the movie. It's somewhere between utilitarian, throwing on what makes you warm or easy to walk in, and the heartbreaking care taken when there are only a handful of things to wear. It also makes me want that thick bang across the forehead, but alas, there is nothing that looks quite so terrible on me as a blunt bang.

My boots are in the mail and I think I have a few acceptable sweaters to toss on in the remaining weeks of fall.