Love is blind

I liked this, but maybe it should go in Romantic Fiction? It seems to be a love story of sorts.

After Martin was so enthralled over The Greek Gods our last super

I had to read this line a number of times before I understood it. I would change the 'over' to 'by' and maybe not capitalize the 'the' and 'The Greek Gods'

Apart from that, I loved it a lot. I'm sorry if this review wasn't very helpful, but I really did enjoy it loads.

You know how I wrote that, I imagined I was you. Not literally, but in the way you speak. thanks for teh review

First on it this is where I can do my best reviews.

My first point, I believe however odd for you this should be in romantic fiction, I don't know where I get that idea from.


Nice title, nice writing style, its so wonderfully complicated, i love it. However at points its making me feel very self conscious, who are you basing this main character on?


[i]Mary is sitting on a single bed, reading a book. The room is small and appears smaller by a thick lining of book cases, housing a range of difficult literature in varyingly (comma) large volumes. A pair of glasses with no lenses sits on the bed side table next to a flickering lamp.

After Martin was so enthralled over (by instead of over?) The Greek Gods our last super (supper), I knew it would be positively criminal if I did not find out more. Appearing a ‘goldfish’ is the last thing that I want to occur; gulping the air blankly as though it might feed me the answer – No, I have already finished “The Guide to Greek Gods” and am currently commencing Volume Two of the collection. I can now proudly differentiate my Apollo from my Hermes and my Eros from (my) Pan; adequately equipped for a splendidly stimulating evening.
Our last date was a positively glowing success. The evening had been arranged through a mutual friend, and I was filled with nerves as to how the potential suitor would be. However, I was not disappointed. I knew it was him from the moment he entered, the epitome of my type, as Marianna had promised, (semi colon?) although I do recall a slight raise of the eyebrows (I would make it singular, eyebrow) when I described, with no untouched detail, what my sort was. With a beautifully sleek head and a glistening eyebrow, I must admit to sighing appreciatively as he approached, and again as he outstretched a hand; blissfully callused from a manual trade. “The name’s Mar’in” he introduced as he endeavoured (endeavored) to sit and I smiled knowingly before commencing conversation. First history then politics, I trilled with unbound exuberance over the topical subjects, whilst ensuring to leave him the adequate time to reply;
“What do you think of current political environment?”
“I...”
“It’s quite invigorating isn’t it?”
“Well...”
“Never seen anything like it”
“Rea...?”
“And I studied politics at A Level”
We had covered media and international relations by dessert (change this line around a little, it's confusing); a profound achievement I had never quite managed to reach before on a date. Martin was listening so intently that his eyes began to latch onto objects; the salt, the menu, the cutlery, the waitress (this made me smile)– as though he had to look elsewhere to listen at optimum level. However, once we had exhausted The Situation in Gaza, I found myself at a loss. All other possibilities of topics fluttered away, rendering me speechless and, ultimately (I'm not sure if ultimately fits here, unbelievably?), helpless. A pained silence commenced, until, defeated, I shrugged “I like your tattoo” as my final words.
Admittedly, unusual, before this point, the evening was not, for I have dated many “Martin”s, and the conversation, with its slight uplift, remains stiffly the same. However, at the utterance of this simplistic compliment, Martin looked at his tattoo; cupid holding an arrow whilst balancing niftily on his bicep, looked back at me and suddenly bound into a grin. And from that point on...a different kind of conversation commenced which continued long after coffee. A second date was arranged. Martin and his tattoo of Eros waited for me until my taxi showed.
Looking back on it now, I feel quite bewildered. For it would seem that, despite our topically conversational (topical conversation) excursion, the purest enjoyment of the evening stemmed from a comment most artless in nature. I find this concept most muddling to comprehend, for as I survey my countless collection of classics, I fail to recall any speak of the magnificence of simplicity.

The room has been stripped of its many book shelves. A long forgotten window, previously hidden by books, has been reawakened and allows sunlight to shine into the room. Two light novels lie on the bedside table, next to a vase of colourful flowers. Mary is standing by the window, looking out.

My second meeting with Martin was something quite different. I decided against memorising Volume Two of the Greek collection. In fact, I tried my best to erase my knowledge of Volume One. For it occurred to me that, despite the many answers the collection undoubtedly possessed: they were not the true solution to what I really wanted. It came to me that the only knowledge I truly desired was not the intellectual, the details of Hermes and Pan, but the trivial - (colon?) Martin’s birthday, whether he had any pets...
And so I arrived at our second date unarmed with knowledge, feeling strangely vulnerable as I sat down at the table. An emergency trip to the library was tempting (comma) but I suppressed the urge, (no need for a comma) and as he appeared, with his tattoo and wonderfully uneven smile (hello twilight), I knew, at once, that I had made the right choice. We talked throughout the evening about the littlest things; his birthday was on the 23rd November (November 23rd would be more formal) and he had a pet bulldog called Terror who was “A bi’ rough around the edges, bu’ a good pup at heart.”
I found that my previous intellectual walls had melted away through the course of the evening, and even when we ordered dessert; (no need for semi colon) “The Colossal”, (semi colon here instead) which turned out to be ice cream, sparklers, balloons... and Martin had only said “Not bad eh?”, I felt a great torrent of warmth, not the urge to amend. “Not bad at all” I replied, squeezing his arm and watching his tattoo of Cupid and his arrow throb.[/quote]

Nice, completely different to your other work. Judging by the amount of howevers in that I am feeling kind of insulted. Still I prefer it to your other work, but am not sure how you an continue this particular piece, but please prove me wrong.