The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy
read by Michael Page
I’m pretty sure I read The Scarlet Pimpernel once. I think. I’m not sure how much of my mediocre memory is me and how much of it is my ability to repress anything at will (developed by child Clare, who you should always picture as a wombat with awful bangs and a perpetual scowl), but the fact remains: there are great, big, honking holes in my reading record. Given how much effort I’ve been putting into maintaining my reading record since coming of age, I really wish I’d written down more. All I remember about this possible reading of The Scarlet Pimpernel is rolling my eyes at Marguerite for not realizing who the Scarlet Pimpernel was. Oh, adolescence. That’s half the reason I do this feature, you know; to revisit texts I read while clearly out of my mind.
The Literary Omnivore 