Oxford reader

Vera Brittain

2011-11-20T21:57:00.003Z

Amongst the thousands of Alumna Somerville has produced since its inception, there can be seen a steady stream of writers who have gone on to win fame and inspire generations of readers.

It is, perhaps, worth remarking upon the fact that very few of them have chosen to portray the college in their fictional work. Dorothy L Sayers is well known for creating a thinly veiled Somerville in her ‘Gaudy Night’, but Vera Brittain also used the college in her first novel ‘The Dark Tide.’

During the war, Somerville’s buildings had been requisitioned by the War office and its students found themselves removed to a small corner of Oriel – although mat students (Brittain included) chose to suspend their studies in favour of assisting the war effort by nursing or other full time occupations. The return to post war Oxford was a shock to those who had been away, and tested by the experiences thrust upon them.

College life, with its formalities, must have seemed archaic and the world of The Dark Tide uses its first section to cast a piercing light on the lives of the returning post war undergraduates. There is a caustic tone to Brittain’s portrayal of college life; the students gathering in very cliquey sets, behaving in a way that does not reflect the empowerment that women achieved through the war, and Virginia (a character who reflects much of who Vera Brittain was at that time) finds it hard to accept their attitude, and eschews ‘fitting in’ in favour of hard work.

In a modern world, which is used to criticism and satire, it will perhaps surprise the reader to learn how much controversy the novel created. The powers that be, who recognised themselves in the pages of Brittain’s novel, did not find the portrayal flattering and were so outraged that they declared the book to be banned from the college. I am inclined to think that were an alumnae to fictionalise the college now (perhaps a humorous take on when we started admitting men) the reaction would be far more measured. Times have, of course, changed greatly, and perhaps the work was seen as belittling the achievements of women who had only so recently won the right to be awarded the degree for which they had studied.

Even at this early stage in her career, Vera Brittain clearly had a lot to say about the forces which drive a woman to make the choices that will shape her life. ‘The Dark Tide’s’ central characters are polar opposites who are eventually united by their share in a mistake that affects both their lives.

Brittain’s prose is not particularly poetic, choosing instead to tell the story in what might seem (to a modern reader) to be an unsympathetic tone. The First World War had a great effect on Brittain, as is evidenced in her other works and the direction her life took from then on, and it is plain that this effect is at work on her writing here.

I’m reluctant to end on a bleak note, and happily Vera Brittain’s own history gives us a ray of sunshine. However unhappy the novel is and whatever the opinion of her college, the book must have given some a glimpse of the real woman behind it, for – as Vera herself explains – her first ever fan mail was from a man who, after a year or so of courtship, became her husband. The rest, as they say, is history!

Painting with words

2011-11-18T22:02:00.005Z

Knowing I was going to write about ‘An Equal Stillness’ as I read it, there were naturally all kinds of opening lines forming in my mind as I turned the pages, How surprised I was to find them all chased away by the simple act of reading one sentence and finding all my preconceptions about the narrative voice shattered. Not who I was expecting at all!

Which, I suppose, serves very well to emphasise the point I had intended starting with: that with a supposed seven plot lines available to a writer, it is difficult to find something fresh and captivating. That Francesca Kay manages it is clear.

To write fictional biography about well known people is a technique I admire, but to do it with a totally imagined character is intriguing and compelling. Jennet Mallow is a painter and so into the form of words there comes a need to describe her paintings – that art form one turns to when language fails in its evocable power.

It’s a quiet book, somehow almost sensuous in its descriptions: the life and work of a woman laid out, with all its imperfections, failures, successes and small moments spread out. I rarely listen to music as I read, fearing a distraction from an overloud, or wordy, piece; but this book seemed to demand a classical accompaniment: the notes seeping into my appreciation of the words and helping me see the paintings that were described. The melding of these art forms just seemed to be right on this occasion.

It’s a wonderful novel: one that will haunt with its themes of love and loss, even as we strive to imagine the paintings that are the central point of the work. Understated is the word that springs to mind when trying to describe the feeling of the novel. There are no big explosions of emotion, and that is surprising – particularly for a first novel. Francesca Kay seems to have found her voice from the outset and draws her readers into this small, but creative, world she has created.

Remembrance through song

2011-11-14T18:12:00.002Z

I've been pondering which poem to use for Remembrance weekend, and was having a difficult time choosing, and then I heard this song:

So happy remembrance weekend everyone.

Courage in the face of adversity

2011-10-18T19:40:00.004+01:00

I never buy the weekend papers, but if I'm ever in a coffee shop or other places that leaves them lying about for people to pick at should the mood take them, I will always make a bee line for the Times Magazine.

For there is one particular article within it's pages which never fails to inspire and move me, because it is the ongoing tale of one woman's courage and her triumph (however small) over a tragic accident that has shaped her life, perhaps forever.

Melanie Reid is a columnist with a difference. Over a year ago now, she fell from a horse and broke her neck and back, sustaining terrible spinal damage. I have no idea what she wrote about before this happened, but now her weekly article details her struggle to overcome the damage. There is no forced cheerfulness to her writing. If she's had a terrible week, then by god you know about it; if she is frustrated by the system or by what is happening in the outside world, then she does not shy away from revealing her feelings. Equally, though, she shares the small triumphs and the happy family times that she experiences.

This past Saturday's piece (15th October 2011) was one of the triumphant ones. There is movement to report - tiny, but significant - and her tone is upbeat throughout the article, even though the message she gives on the pace of this improvement is bleak to a reader. 'The received wisdom' (she writes) 'on nerve regrowth is that, if you're going to get any - and not everyone will - it will happen at a rate of about one millimetre a day. Which is about one inch per month. Which puts my feet at least five years away from my neck.'

That's staggering. And the fact she keeps on writing through all the pitfalls and setbacks is equally so.

My one regret is that with the Times requiring a subscription for its website, I can't go and look up all the back issues I have missed. I hope, one day, that someone will think to collate them into a book, for they really are inspirational, and not something people should miss. Now, if all the copies of the magazine disappear from the coffee shops of Oxford, I'll know why!

Midnight in Paris

2011-10-16T19:21:00.003+01:00

Woody Allen has always been something of an enigma to me - in fact sometimes he seems like a riddle wrapped in an enigma. His films are an acquired taste, and sometimes appear to have no discernible plot, but there is always the direction of his camera which draws the eye and pulls one into the film regardless of whether or not Allen has anything to say. It is rare in this era of blockbusters to find someone who makes films purely for the love he has of the process.

Allen has always been regarded as the portrayer of New York, with his works being love letters to that city. Now, with his latest film 'Midnight in Paris' he appears to have transferred his affections and sets about showing his audience how truly beautiful the capital city of France is - especially in the rain.

This is a film with a message which doesn't truly present itself until almost the end. At first you are simply presented with an American couple about to be married, the man a Hollywood script writer with desires to be a 'proper' writer. Here he is, in this beautiful and inspiring city only to find himself stifled by his fiancee and her pedantic friend (played brilliantly by Michael Sheen) who appears to be an 'expert' on everything.

Only when, slightly drunk and declining to go dancing, he stumbles off into a nighttime Paris and is 'picked up' bu a vintage car full of champagne quaffing revelers does the adventure begin. For suddenly, as the clock strikes midnight, this man finds himself thrust quite unexpectedly and implausibly into 1920s Paris keeping company with F. Scott Fitzgerald, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, Hemingway and Dali. This midnight era becomes a refuge for him, as his relationship with his fiancee breaks down and he becomes drawn to a beautiful woman (captivatingly played by Marion Cotillard) the muse of Picasso and who is in thrall to an earlier 'golden era'.

And here is the central theme of the film: this artistic yearning for a lost time which has come through the years to inspire and enthrall. For Gil, it is the 1920s, for Adriana, the woman he is falling in love with, it is the belle epoch. As with the 1920s, this earlier time opens itself to these tow, and there they are in the Moulin Rouge, deep in conversation with Toulouse-Lautrec and Degas, who declare the Renaissance to be the golden era. Enthralled by what she has seen, Adriana decides to stay in her ideal time, but Gil cannot bear to leave the 20s behind. Returning to modern day Paris, he loses the woman he loves, but gains the determination to change his life.

This idea of an era holding special significance for people except those that live in it is fascinating. I cannot imagine anyone sighing with desire to live in 2011 and calling it a golden age - but given time it will surely happen. It is an impossible dream - to go back and experience life as one's role models and heroes have done and yet Woody Allen makes it happen. And he treats the dream with such a cavalier attitude - shrugging his shoulders at almost every scene, seeming to say 'well, you've met the Fitzgeralds and Hemingway, why not T.S.Eliot, why not Dunja Barnes or Matisse, and hey! meeting Man Ray is perfectly possible in this best of all possible worlds!

I hesitate to say this is Woody Allen's best work, because I've not seen everything he's done, but I think this has to be my favourite!

Poem of the week

2011-10-10T20:26:00.001+01:00

On such a windy day as this, who better to turn to than a Bronte .....

LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY

by: Anne Bronte (1820-1849)

MY soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day!

Water Sports

2011-09-07T17:06:00.003+01:00

There's something in the water .... quite literally!

For those of you in the UK, you may have noticed that quite a few celebrities have been getting wet recently. Ronan Keating and Pamela Stephenson (amongst others) swam the Irish Channel (dodging a fair few jellyfish along the way), and David Walliams is currently achieving heroic things, swimming the entire length of the Thames.

I am also getting into the water and doing my bit for charity. I am swimming the channel, and although I'm doing it in stages, I feel quite inspired! Plus, of course, this way I won't drown, swallow a load of industrial waste, or get hit by a tanker in the shipping lanes!

The channel is 22 miles, and the pool I'm doing this in is 25 meters. This means that a mile is equal to 64 lengths, and I need to do 1416 in total! So far, I've done 264 lengths.

As I mentioned, I am doing this for charity (Comic Relief and Molly's Library - set up by students of Somerville, which provides books and education to children and adults in Cape Coast, in Ghana), so if anyone would like to sponsor me, then please go here.

Wish me luck!

Poem of the week

2011-09-05T21:37:00.005+01:00

There is an awful lot being written this week about the 10th anniversary of the collapse of the World Trade Centre. I'm doing my best to avoid most of it - there seems to be a lot of sensationalist articles, and the rest of it just stirs up memories.

I remember precisely what I was doing when I heard about it (walking into a classroom for a lesson, wondering what the class of juniors was still doing there, and why three teachers were crowded around a tv) and in fact I think I even saw the plane hit the second tower. I watched a lot of news coverage that evening, and many of the images stuck in my mind.

Needing an outlet, I wrote a poem. Then, over the following week, I wrote about 30 more. As my tribute to this anniversary, I'd like to share two of them with you.

The nightmare (13.09.01)

Who has a nightmare at nine in the morning?

Who has a nightmare when they are fully awake?

This is a nightmare that actually happened.

This is a nightmare that does not go away.

People jumping out of buildings,

Bodies falling on the ground.

Towers creaking, falling to the floor

Only these sounds, nothing more.

Nightmare people roam the street.

Deathly pale, unnaturally white.

This is a nightmare that starts with morning,

But does not finish with the night.

Searching (13.09.01)

Searching though the ruins

Can anyone be found?

Searching through the ruins,

The dead mobiles sound.

People wander in the streets,

Wander on and on

Searching for their loved ones -

Their loved ones long gone.

The searches come to nothing

Cries of woe are heard.

The dead are gone and buried

The searched for never found.

The chicken or the egg

2011-09-04T20:03:00.002+01:00

It's an age old question a book worm/film buff often finds themselves grappling with - which should come first: the book or the film?
It's a conundrum that has divided opinion since the first film adaptation was made (and it was probably a silent Shakespeare play or Jane Austen novel) and which shows no sign of being settled in the near future.

I am, for the most part, firmly in the camp of 'book comes first' (although I did need to see the films of The Lord of the Rings before the books made any sense), which is why I spent three evenings tearing my way through 'One Day' before the film came out.
It's a charming concept for a plot line - following Emma and Dexter through twenty years of friendship on the same day every year. They don't necessarily have to be in the same room, or indeed see each other at all, but it is clear that each feels the others' presence keenly.

I could have quite easily read the entire thing in one hit, but it's a bit too depressing to do so comfortably. Dexter is not the nicest of characters and seems intent on ruining his own life. As he spirals out of control into an alcoholic haze, the reader struggles to find any sympathy to give him at all. Indeed his only redeeming feature seems to be Emma, and even she appears determined to waste the talent she has at first. As one star falls the other begins to rise, and it's debatable whether they ever truly end up parallel.

The film sticks very closely to the book, which is inevitable, as there's not much point in any real deviation. If you've read the book, of course, you are aware of how the story will end, and I think that in this case - with such a focused plot line - it has a negative impact for the viewer. Of course, the same effect would be had if the film were viewed first.

Anne Hathaway, as Emma, has come under a lot of negative criticism for her portrayal, or rather her accent has ..... I didn't think it was that bad: yes - she is supposed to be Yorkshire, and that wasn't in much evidence, but there were some nice moments in the Scottish section, where she had a slight Scottish lilt.

Anyway - coming back to the point: I don't think in the case of 'One Day' it really matters whether you read the book or see the film first, because they are both so true to each other ..... There are many instances, though, that a book can greatly enhance the film. I recently discovered that one of my favourite Ingrid Bergman films 'Goodbye Again' was in fact based on a novel by Francoise Sagan - 'Aimez Vous Bhrams ...'. The way that young woman wrote about love and how the need for it causes those in its grip to act in the most foolish and destructive of ways is truly remarkable, and I greatly prefer the book.

There's never going to be a definitive answer to this question, because it shifts with every new adaptation.

Poem of the week

2011-08-15T21:22:00.003+01:00

Taken from 'The Rattle Bag', edited by Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes.

'Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part'

By Michael Drayton

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part -
Nay, I have done: you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seem in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes, -
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou mightest him yet recover.

Black Lamb and Grey Falcon

2011-08-13T22:04:00.002+01:00

When I was doing my MA in Life Writing (the study of biography and autobiography) at the University of East Anglia a few years ago, one of the set texts on the Autobiography module was Rebecca West's 'Black Lamb and Grey Falcon'.

I remain bemused as to why exactly it was on the reading list, for at 1,150 pages, it is a massive tome. As it was set halfway through the module, I also found it impossible to finish if I was going to read the other texts as well. Somehow, though, I managed to write an essay on it. I don't think it was very good.

The book still fascinated me though. Part travelogue of Rebecca West's journeys through Yugoslavia and part social history of how the country came into being and what shaped it's people, it is truly an epic read.

I've decided that the time has come for me to finish it (I seem to be reading a lot of books on or by strong women at the moment), and therefore I plan to take you on the journey with me. I've no fixed plan on how this will take shape (I'm not entirely sure Rebecca West did either when she sat down to write ....) but hopefully it will give insight into what is a powerful book about a powerful and enthralling country.

Appreciating the little things

2011-08-10T19:40:00.004+01:00

There's so much in the news about the darker, depressing side of life at the moment. The riots in London and further north have got everyone (whether it be the professional journalists, or just people on facebook) in a negative frame of mind.

Here's the chance to turn that around. Partly inspired by a piece in the Washington Post, I have decided to think about why today was a good day ....

1. It was sunny
2. We had an email from an alumni that reinforced why our students think we rock.
3. A friend came for lunch

Why was today good for you?

Poem of the week

2011-08-10T18:27:00.006+01:00

I thought I'd reinstate the poetry posts, and in honour of my previous post about Somerville, here is a poem from Gerard Manley Hopkins, one time preacher at St Aloysius, the church next door to the college.

Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring —
When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. — Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning

Somerville

2011-08-09T20:10:00.004+01:00

Oxford can be a strange place. The University is, without a doubt, famous and draws many people to visit it's streets each year,* but it's identity is very much in the hands of the person describing it. Is it town or gown? Is it a place of great learning, or an old market town that has grown with the years? It is many things to many people.
I have always been conscious of the University part of the town, although until I went away to University, the colleges always seemed to be separate from me. I never went in them - indeed I hardly ever wanted to. They were just courtyards with briefly glimpsed gardens and I was quite content with that. I gradually started to move inside the warm stone of the outer walls: A series of concerts at The Queen's College, the literary festival at Christ Church, showing visitors Merton, but it wasn't until 2009 that the two sides of Oxford finally merged into each other. In 2009, I went to work for Somerville College.

The history of Oxford colleges is long and complicated. Balliol, Merton and University College were the first founded (and dispute amongst themselves over which came first) and thus a long tradition was established, finishing with Kellogg in 1990 (although Green and Templeton merged in 2008). Quite a few colleges have rivalries - I was told during my induction that the rivalry between Balliol and Trinity (who stand back to back) is particularly intense, and there are frequent proofs of this in the university papers and other little battles (apparently Balliol's tortoise, who was born the year Queen Victoria died, was stolen by Trinity at one point ....)

So, leaving these fascinating rivalries to one side, I shall take you back to a time when Oxford as a place of education was the haunt only of men. It wasn't that long ago, either. In the early 1870s, the wives of the dons** (and their daughters, and indeed women's suffrage campaigners as a whole) were getting restless. They wanted the chance to study the things their husbands taught, and believed themselves perfectly capable of study (contrary to popular opinion at the time). Things came to a head, after almost a decade of classes and public lectures, in 1878 when the proposal to form a permanent hall of study for women was agreed and Lady Margaret Hall (LMH) came into existence.

Yes, I know, this doesn't seem to have anything to do with the college I intended talking about, but believe me, the reference to LMH is entirely relevant to the way in which Somerville came to exist, because out of LMH's restrictions, we were born. LMH (named after Lady Margaret Beaufort (Henry VII's mother)) was opened to the daughters of Protestant families only. A group of men and women (including T.H. Green and Mary Ward (Thomas Arnold's daughter)), who had long since campaigned for women to be allowed to study at Oxford, were opposed to this restriction, believing that if education was to be offered to women in the first place, there ought to be no restrictions placed on eligibility. To this end, in 1879, with the spirit of non-denominationalism and openness being the driving force behind its inception, Somerville was founded and moved into a property on the Woodstock Road.

The name of the college is an interesting choice, as rather than choosing a religious link (Trinity, St John's, Jesus) or powerful benefactor (Balliol, Wadham, Merton), the college was named after a renowned female scientist, who had died in 1872, Mary Somerville. An ideal role model for the higher education of women, Mary had taught herself science from her brother's textbooks, her father believing that the female frame was not robust enough to cope with the demands of learning. She proved him wrong, without a doubt, and was so well respected that her book 'The Mechanics of the Heavens' was used as a textbook in Cambridge 50 years before the college was even thought of.

The life of of an Oxford female undergraduate was not without its trials. Although officially allowed to attend the University, they were only permitted to attend lectures when accompanied by a another female student or chaperone. It was not until 1920 that women were permitted to actually take the degree for which they had studied so hard. Another restriction has actually served Somerville quite well: for when women were first admitted to the University, they were not permitted to use the facility of the Bodleian at all (whether they had chaperones or not). This meant that the college was required to make its own arrangements and the library is now the second largest, with over 120,000 titles. It's also stunningly beautiful, which helps!

When one thinks of Oxford colleges, the immediate images that come to mind involve cloisters, students in black gowns, Morse and Harry Potter. If you were to stop the average person on the street, they might term the place 'stuffy'. This is an image that Somerville works hard to refute. Openness is one of the predominant characteristics of the College - not for us the secret cloisters known only to the special few, or the grass so revered it is not to be stepped on. Somerville's lawns once played host to tennis games and a donkey, and are now the ideal place in Summer for tutorials. Like many colleges, the site was requisitioned during both wars, and soldiers (including Siegfried Sassoon and Robert Graves) recuperated beneath the shady trees on the main quad. Our location has been considered awkward (although not being bang in the centre has its positives, being therefore less on the tourist trail) but it complements our ethos, as whilst we are rich in history, we also rub shoulders with the vibrant communities of Jericho and Little Clarendon Street. Cardinal Newman and Gerard Manley Hopkins preached on our doorstep (we are, ironically for our non-denominational standpoint, next door to the Catholic church) whilst our back gate leads directly to the bohemian bookshops and cinema that help keep a studious soul fresh and lively.

Somerville has always been a welcoming place, and in 1994 it finally opened its doors to men. Admittedly rather late in this aspect of Oxford history (the first women were admitted to previously all male colleges in 1974, and LMH celebrated its centenary by going co-educational), we made up for it by admitting pretty much equal numbers of men and women from the beginning. Being told on the potential pitfalls men could bring, the college was advised that men would eat more food and break more furniture. Perhaps that's why the bike shed was turned into a gym!

Like any other college, we are proud of our students and alumni, always wanting to know where they are, and what they've done. Ever since the college's inception it has produced ground breaking and pioneering women who have helped prepare the way for their successors. Cornelia Sorabji was not only the first female barrister in India, but she was also the first woman to read Law at Oxford (although admitted to read English, she impressed the dons and managed to persuade them to let her change her course); Dorothy Hodgkin (student and later tutor) became the first British woman to win the Nobel prize for science; Indira Gandhi and Margaret Thatcher became the first female prime ministers of their respective countries; Philippa Foot (Philosophy Fellow) was instrumental in setting up Oxfam; Shirley Williams followed in her mother's footsteps and honed her keen intellect within our walls.

Our artistic talent is prestigious too, for we can boast of many fine writers, including Vera Brittain, Winifred Holtby, A.S. Byatt, Iris Murdoch, Margaret Forster, Dorothy L. Sayers, Penelope Fitzgerald, Matthew Skelton and Kate Williams. Our male alumni are beginning to make a name for themselves, and already we can talk of an MP in Surrey East, an HR manager of Innocent Drinks, a playwright and a past winner of University challenge (who is also the first male student to have become a Somerville Fellow).

Much of my information comes from a book written by our former librarian (and Somervillian) Pauline Adams, 'Somerville for Women'. It's a truly rich source, and coupled with her trademark wit, makes for lively and interesting reading. On the rare occasions when the office is quiet enough for me to dip in to it, I have found some great pieces of information, which occasionally get dropped into the tours I do. For instance, it took four years for the chapel to be agreed upon and built, because the alumna who gave the money wanted it to be called Christ's House, which went against our non-denominational outlook, and once that was sorted out, there were further discussions on where it would be, and who would build it. Somervillians have never been known for being easy!

I could ramble on in this way for ages, sharing stories of the past, which have become an inspiration for the present. Every day I learn of new alumni to boast about (like the woman who was ordained in 1917 and became a congregational minister in the East End) or another story which fires my imagination (Dame Janet Vaughan (then Principal of College) requesting all the students here to have wine at dinner when Indira Gandhi became Prime Minister). Everything I learn helps to prove what a truly inspirational place Somerville is, and makes me want to share it with a wider audience.

*It is heavy tourist season at the moment .... you can tell, because the people that actually live here are walking in the road, the pavement being monopolised by a sea of well meaning, but very slow walking persons who stop every few seconds to take a photo. I shouldn't criticise - I do the same in Florence.
** That's tutors to those not familiar with Oxford jargon

Chasing history down the road

2011-08-08T18:46:00.008+01:00

I've recently returned from France, where I've been visiting a friend who I used to live with during my MA year in Norwich. She lives in a wonderful house, which has a minstrel's gallery and wooden beams everywhere, in the Saint Dizant are of the Bordeaux region which used to be part of the Duchy of Aquitaine.

By happenstance I have picked up an old biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine before leaving (written by Marion Meade, published in 1977), so suddenly found myself in the confusing position of travelling through modern day towns and villages, whilst reading about their medieval counterparts at the same time.

As I journeyed down straight Roman roads, through miles of vineyards and fields of sunflowers, it was so easy to be able to settle into the countryside and imagine how it must have been for that twice crowned woman to have travelled around defending the Aquitaine's interests from the acquisitive Louis VII or Henry II and how she set off on crusade, riding through the very countryside I was seeing. I had the line from The Lion in Winter (fantastic film, staring Katharine Hepburn) running through my head: 'I made Louis take me on Crusade. I dressed my maids as Amazons and rode bare-breasted halfway to Damascus. Louis had a seizure and I damn near died of windburn... but the troops were dazzled.' Not historically correct perhaps (she allegedly only rode from Paris bare breasted) but it's that kind of image that history has handed down - Eleanor the rebel!

Another thing that she and her family have given history - more tangible and therefore more real - are some spectacular churches. I had forgotten how much I love the spectacle of the great caverns these early churches truly were - no doubt fearfully cold, but a more imposing and awe inducing symbol of God it would be hard to imagine. In both Saintes and Bordeaux, one is faced with some truly stunning Romanesque and early Gothic pieces of architecture and in Talmont there is a beautiful Church set perilously atop a rock, which looks like it could topple into the sea at any moment. It was here, on a hunting trip shortly after his marriage, that Louis VII almost lost his life when a recalcitrant baron who refused to pay homage to his new overlord (those Aquitaines were a proud bunch - in the end only Eleanor would be able to control them) took some of his party hostage and forced Louis to fight for his life. How different would history have been then?!

There were, of course, vast parts of Eleanor's life that have been lost to time, because she was 'just' the wife of the king, and therefore undeserving of attention for part of the time. The fact that she was able to keep her mettle and prove her worth when it was needed is testament to her strength of character. It does present a problem for the biograoher, however, who has to resort to the 'this is what she must have felt' line of authorship whenever the facts get a bit hazy.

It was a lovely break - just what was needed to recharge the batteries after a very long term and I've come home with my head full of ideas for new reading themes. Oh, and I want to live here please ....

Getting your money's worth

2011-08-05T20:58:00.003+01:00

When you work in higher education, you become highly attuned to everything written on the subject. As the A levels release date comes ever closer, I can be sure of one thing: that when they are released, newspapers will claim three things: A levels are getting easier, it's becoming more expensive to study at university and Oxbridge are discriminating against state schools.
I don't know enough about the first to be able to comment properly, and I would likely go into rant mode if I were to try and discuss the third (although it's not true, by the way!); but the second observation is one that i can talk about - here goes!

It is no secret that university fees are going up astronomically. From 2012, many universities will be allowed to charge £9,000 for their degrees, and although many are putting support packages in place to provide for students who would otherwise struggle with this financial burden, the question still remains on how universities will be able to prove their courses are worth the money. Much has been said on teaching quality, research and lecture time for students, but one vital aspect appears - to my mind - to have been completely omitted from the discussion.
When I was at university (I did my undergrad at Keele and my MA at UEA in Norwich) my mother impressed upon me the need to visit the careers centre. I hardly ever did, for the very simple reason that they were rubbish. The staff never seemed very helpful and their layouts were ill organised and confusing. When i first started my current job in the academic office at Somerville College - part of Oxford University - I was invited, as part of my induction programme, to visit the University's Career service. What I saw there amazed and impressed me.
Real thought has gone into the layout of the rooms, so that a student can be guided through the various stages of thinking about and applying for jobs, so there's a section where one can get guidance on preparing a CV and covering letter, and once that's sorted, another section dedicated to every type of career - some I'd not even thought about. Of course the prestige of an Oxford education holds its own special significance and there are lots of summer internships available for those who are part way through their degrees. Each college has its own dedicated rep from the careers service who can come out and give help and advice to those who who are about to set foot into 'real life'. So much is offered and it truly is a great asset for the University.

The point I am trying to make (without letting my passion run away with me) is that with employment being as hard to obtain as it currently is, and with more and more companies requiring university education from their employees, the careers service is quickly becoming one of the more vital aspects of university life. To my mind, money should be invested in this service at every university, because the more help our students get, the quicker they grab hold of a job that pays well, then the better able universities will be to prove that spending the money was worth it, thereby ensuring higher education can continue for the next generation.

Hmmm .... I think I let my passion run away with my meaning! I'm slightly worried that I'm sounding snobby or elitist here, and I certainly don't mean to. I am more than aware that higher education is not for everyone - I certainly never agreed with the Labour party policy of a target of 50% in higher education. It always seemed to be such an arbitrary figure and something that might end up forcing those better suited to apprenticeships or vocational courses into a form of education that did not suit them.

I can't think of a decent way of wrapping up this post without getting overly passionate (and as I've just engaged in a heated discussion with my parents' next door neighbour about whether or not any arts degree is worth while - she thought not, and managed to term my entire 4 years at University as a 'Mickey Mouse degree' - I'd best not start ranting.) My main point is, as I'm sure you'll all have gathered, is that Oxford's careers service rocks, and other universities would be well served by using some of the £9,000 fees to improve theirs. It's the way forward - you heard it here first!

Black dog days

2011-08-05T08:04:00.004+01:00

It's not a subject that people like to discuss that much - depression that is. we have instead developed a variety of euphemisms by which to express the feeling. In my opinion, Winston Churchill used the best one - terming it as being visited by the black dog, which absolutely manages to conjure up the bleak feelings one is subject to, whilst simultaneously allowing for the levity of spirit that can still be obtained when a bout of depression hits.
As I was wandering through Gatwick recently, on my way to France (on which more in a later post) I felt compelled to browse the airport bookshop and was drawn to a book with a silhouette of a large dog resplendent in top hat and cigar on its front cover.
'Mr Chartwell' by Rebecca Hunt is about the black dog that so torments Churchill. Alternating between scenes with the great man (about to retire - at 89 no less) and a young woman - Esther - whose husband killed himself two years before and whose life is about to become intertwined with Churchill's, the novel is a stark and poetic look at the subtlety with which depression can impress itself and the force of will that is required to overcome.
Mr Chartwell is, at the root of all, a dog. A very large Labrador, he trails in his wake all the chaos and destruction for which that breed is known. Esther may think she is just having to cope with the mess her canine 'lodger' creates, but in actual fact Mr Chartwell is slowly tapping away at her resolve, hoping to create a chink by which he can ingratiate himself and bring her into his depressive fold.
When Esther is called to be Churchill's secretary for the day, to help him write his retirement speech, the two sides of the story are drawn together and the battle to save Esther from Mr Chartwell's clutches begins in earnest. Churchill is portrayed brilliantly in this little gem. It is so easy to caricature the man that everyone is so familiar with; to reduce him to a cigar and profound words. In a way, this is what happens, but you get such a sense of who he is and what he has struggled with throughout his life that his essence shines through.
It's an uplifting book, for all its somber subject, and is well worth spending a few quiet hours with. For all I keep saying I don't need and more books, I'm very glad I succumbed this time!

More on the Churchill trail:
I've always thought him interesting and now, I think, would be the time to delve into his life. Heaven only knows that I have enough to keep me occupied - the massive biography by Martin Gilbert notwithstanding, I've got biographies of his parents and wife, as well as his letters to Clemmie. Perhaps I should start there .... there's the Cabinet war rooms to visit too, and Chartwell itself. Lucky I've got some holiday coming up, eh?!

Purple, White and Green

2011-07-17T19:26:00.004+01:00

Women's suffrage and Cricket? Can there be two more disparate topics upon which to found the basis of a novel? Probably not, yet that is what Anthony Quinn in 'Half of the Human Race' uses to frame his beautifully simple tale.

I admit to being drawn in initially by the cover, with its striking suffragette colours, but the desire to learn more about a subject that has always been at the edge of my consciousness, but about which I know little, caused me to pluck it from the pile last Saturday.

It's got a tremendously wide scope - starting in 1911 and moving at great pace towards the war and beyond. Hearing that, one might be forgiven for thinking it could be heavy handed and ponderous, but instead the action moves quickly and simply, with Quinn never allowing us to become bogged down in pity which can be at a readers' elbow whenever the tragic events of those four years are mentioned.
This chaotic world, in which the tennants of the Victorian era are slowly being broken down, is home to Constance and Will, the two central characters whose commitment to their causes mean that they end up hurting each other, but are simply unable to sever the link between them. Love, trust and friendship are the themes Quinn works with and in the end the reader is left acknowledging the seismic shift that has happened to the world between 1911 and 1920. It's a truly fascinating period of history to document and read about, and will inspire and enthrall readers of all ages.

P.S. In one of those serendipitous (is that a word? It is now) moments, I was in Blackwells today and stumbled across a book with almost the same cover as above .... 'The Ascent of Woman; A History of the Suffrage movement'. Needless to state, I bought it and look forward to reading more.

Back in business (sort of)

2011-07-10T18:59:00.002+01:00

It's been a long six months, and I have found myself battling a lot of things - none of which made me want to sit down and blog.

The goalposts of my life seem to have shifted. What was the point, I found myself asking, of writing these things down, when so many people do it much better than I, and with much greater depth? I was, however, loath to give up the thing entirely and close down that section of my life. I like to write about what is interesting, and even though I'm a lone voice, that doesn't mean I should cause it to stop me expressing my thoughts.

With this in mind, I have come to the conclusion that I will be better served if I don't try to compete. I should not restrict myself to books, for I will never manage to be ahead of the game and read the latest releases to inform you all of. I simply cannot afford it! Henceforth, I will attempt to put across my views on theatre, education, books - basically the world I see. Hopefully you'll still want to read (if you do), but even if not I'll have found a voice - which can be no bad thing.

Questions

2011-01-22T16:13:00.004Z

How is everyone? Has January been a good month for you, or are you glad it's almost over? Have you managed to read much this year? Do you like dogs? Does the buying of books fill you with any special pleasure? Have you taken a moment to wonder why I've not written anything so far that does not end with a question mark?

Are you one of those people who can go for a walk without an apparent destination? Does having time to read and drink coffee matter to you? What is your favourite manifestation of punctuation? How many mugs do you own? Have you heard of Padgett Powell? What are your favourite kind of flowers? Do you find split ends heartbreaking? Do you write a diary? Do you enjoy reading those that have been published? Are all these questions getting you down? What is your favourite piece of classical music? Do you think Bette Davis deserved a slap?

Do you wish I'd get to the point? Do you enjoy sunrise or sunset more? Do you think a book composed entirely of questions can be termed a novel? Do you read much fanfiction? Does a crisp white shirt do it for you? Can you credit the fact that I still buy books, even though I have enough unread to last me for over eight years? Is a pearl necklace somehow calming? Have I confused you? Would you ever start a war, if you could? Do you like the concept of royalty? Do you think Lawrence Olivier or Kenneth Brannah was better at Shakespeare? Can you conceive of a world without dogs? Should I stop now, or carry on indefinitely? Should you read 'The Interrogative Mood'? Do you need me to tell you yes or no?

Do you mind if I put a stop to this now and read something with no questions whatsoever? Will you seek out the book?

New Year's Reformations

2011-01-02T16:38:00.002Z

I should start this post by apologising for my extended absence. 2010 was an interesting year, but not one I could really write about. The last few months have pretty much been consumed by work - in part a way of ignoring other things that were going on about me. From September I barely had tme to read, and what I did manage seemed hardly worth talking about. I've never been one for the newest reads, and so I seemed to lose my reason for blogging in the face of so many other voices.

In view of tidying things up, here's a list of what I read in 2010

Barbery, Muriel	The Elegance of the Hedgehog
Barker, Pat	Life Class
Byatt, A.S.	The Children's Book
Chevallier, Tracy	Remarkable Creatures
Christie, Agathe	Murder in Mesopotamia
Christie, Agathe	Dumb Witness
Christie, Agathe	The Moving Finger
Collins, Wilkie	The Moonstone
Collins, Wilkie	The Woman in White
De Santis, Pablo	The Paris Enigma
Dexter, Colin	The Way Through the Woods
Du Maurier, Daphne	Mary Anne
Du Maurier, Daphne	The House on the Strand
Dunant, Sarah	Sacred Hearts
Gaiman, Niel	The Graveyard Book
Grossmith, George and Wheedon	Diary of a Nobody
Hardy, Thomas	Jude the Obscure
Holt, Tom	Who's Afraid of Beowolf?
Holt, Tom	My Hero
HRH Princess Michael of Kent	The Serpent and the Moon
Kingsolver, Barbara	The Poisonwood Bible
Lake, Deryan	The King's Women
Laurens, Stephanie	The Ideal Bride
Maitland, Sarah	A Book of Silence
Mantel, Hilary	Wolf Hall
McCall Smith, Alexander	The Sunday Philosophy Club
Morton, Kate	The House at Riverton
Morton, Kate	The Distant Hours
Murdoch, Iris	The Bell
Picardie, Justine	Coco Chanel
Smith, P. Robert	Up a tree at night in a park with a hedgehog
Tolkein, J.R.R.	The Hobbit

Beerbohm, Max	Zuleika Dobson
Green, Grahame	Travels with my Aunt
Barbery, Muriel	The Gourmet
Gregory, Philippa	The White Queen

I started the new year in a very familiar way - by reading. However, I chose a non-fiction book. You may be able to tell from the list above that 2010 was dominated by fiction, and on leaving the house this morning I made a grab for 'Venice' by Peter Ackroyd. I've made small inroads into it, and am already fascinated by the way it weaves around the many layers of history - much like the city's many canals.

It's also made me make a decision about how I go about reading, and talking about it all. Whilst I may not comment on the newest things out there, I believe I can still take you all on a journey. We'll start in Venice, but after that who knows? I may take you to India or Greece; back in time to the Plantaganet era, or whisk you off into war torn London. There are a lot of strong women out there, and we might get accquainted with the Georgian Duchess of Devonshire, or perhaps her Tudor ancestor. Thomas Hardy might welcome us to his part of England, and Rasputin might issue a warning from the Russian Steppes.

Do not expect me to stand still this year - I'm broadening my horizons and I suggest you come along for the ride!

Colouring around the facts

2010-11-08T21:30:00.002Z

I was going through my back catalogue of posts, trying to spark an idea (having started out writing two posts this evening and failing to put my thoughts across coherently) when I discovered a post that I'd mistakenly left languishing as a draft back in 2008.

It does, however, say much which I still believe, so I thought I'd allow it to find it's audience after so long a wait in the wings. I've just spruced it up a bit - the wings can be an awfully dusty place ....

It should be no secret to those that have read this blog in the past to be told that I have always been fascinated by learning how a life was lived long ago. I have been hungry, ever since childhood, to know the most trivial or mundane details and perhaps this is why fiction seems to me to be such a suitable medium for capturing a life. I remember at the age of about eleven getting lost within the pages of 'Legacy' by Susan Kay - a wonderful narrative of Elizabeth I's life that wove the power of her status with the vulnerability of her personal life expertly and created a rich and broad tapestry whose focus seemed to shift with every new reading.

It can be hard for a straight biographer to do the same. Not unless you are Leon Edel or Martin Gilbert and intent on capturing for posterity every movement your subject makes (Henry James and Winston Churchill respectively) will you be able to devote the kind of microscopic attention to detail in a work of fact. The why and wherefore this is demanded as part of the package can drag the work down to the point of dullness. And if Winston Churchill was dull, then I'll take up smoking. This is where fiction allows a greater freedom.

A friend of mine, having read 'Regeneration' by Pat Barker, suggested that the true art of biographical fiction was the ability to 'paint around' the facts. This sums up, for me, the essence of what biographical fiction should be doing, and what - at its best - it does do. Many novels spring to mind which have biography at their hearts, but the ones which stand out to me as 'painting around' their central characters with the finest tools can be narrowed down to a select group.
2004 was, as David Lodge put it, 'the year of Henry James'. Three novels came out within months of each other, and it is 'Author, Author' by Lodge and 'The Master' by Colm Toibin that will always stand out for me, not least because of the way they managed to capture the essence of the man within their stories, although in very different ways.
These novels focus on the almost the same period of time; Lodge taking James' theatre career as the central theme, whilst Toibin uses the feelings of failure that arose from this unsuccessful period of James' life as his starting point. In one, James feels absolutely at the top of his game, ready to conquer the world, only to have his hopes dashed, and a friend (George du Maurier) appear to be much popular than he ever could be. In the other, James is in a world of depression, struggling to cope with the mere fact of his failure, but it is also a darker look at James' sexuality too. Both novels show a certain part of Henry James that perhaps isn't as well known as the figure of an extremely loquacious man that has been made so famous today. I think they are both fantastic - although only one was shortlisted the Booker prize - so perhaps my judgement isn't as sound as I'd like to believe.

In a biography the smaller details that the novels seek to address are sometimes cast aside to make room for larger events. 'Daphne' by Justine Picardie is just such a novel that seeks to throw the magnifying glass on smaller events that go into making a much larger one (in this case the writing of her biography on Branwell Bronte). You all know my enthusiasm for that novel, and I feel the need to borrow from Dovegreyreader, who wrote this (back in 2008) 'It's certainly hard to temper enthusiasm and not plunge overboard without a lifebelt when a book touches your heart.'
'Daphne' is certainly a novel that seeks to 'paint around' the general idea of one writing a book. Justine weaves so many threads into her novel, of deceit, jealousy, passion (both human and for literature), despair, obsession, madness, loss, failure. I could go on. I won't. We are allowed to view a side to Daphne that the public world would never see. A side aware of her own failures in her writing and in her personal life. Something that both Lodge and Toibin (Toibin to a greater extent) wrote about in their portrayals of James.

The point I am trying, inexpertly, to make, is that the genre of fiction is, by it's very essence, a natural way to present a life that has it's roots in reality. The books talked about above are ranked among my favourites, and that is because they are what I sought when younger - they fulfil the fascination I have for filling in the gaps, where the truth is just that little bit dusty.

Poem of the week

2010-11-08T19:52:00.001Z

An Arundel Tomb

Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.

Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.

They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.

They would not guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly, they

Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the glass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,

Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:

Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.

Phillip Larkin

Oxford Thinking

2010-11-03T13:00:00.002Z

One of the pleasures of working for Oxford University is the access it gives those that work for it to intellectual stimulation. I've not been a student for some years, but I can still get a boost of learning whenever the mood takes me. There are always talks and lectures going on, and since the notices come through my office to display, I can take my pick.

Yesterday I found myself in the English faculty listening to a distinguished American lecturer discuss the theme of property in Richard II. i have to admit I felt a little out of place, amongst the various Oxford students, all armed with notepads and looks of serious intent, but once that had worn off, I settled back into the practise of listening and learning. Besides - if the conversations I overheard beforehand were anything to go by, Oxford students definitely don't spend all their time pontificating on their various subjects. there was a particularly intense conversation going on behind me about the timeline of origin of the words 'Aubergine' and 'Eggplant'.

Another thing I love about this job is the access it gives me to the tutors. Once a term there is an MCR/SCR symposium, where a graduate and a fellow of the college talk about their work and interests. Now, this can be hit and miss. An interesting subject does not necessarily translate into an interesting talk, should the minutiae become all encompassing. This is rare, however, and the evenings are generally eye opening.

Blogging has also started to make an appearance, and Somerville has recently seen two new enthusiastic bloggers creep out of the woodwork. The new Principal - Dr Alice Prochaska - has started commenting on the new role she has been thrust in to, with all its various duties, whilst History tutor, Dr Natalia Nowakowska, has created a blog that not only looks at her research work, but which also talks about Oxford life from the view of an academic.

I've created a little Oxford haven on the left side of my blog, where I will be putting the various blogs and places of interest that I come across. At this time of great upheaval in the higher education sector, I think it's important to show people every aspect of the world they may want to enter. It's not all about beautiful architecture and overwhelming work. There's a very human aspect too.

Delivery for Miss W!

2010-10-21T17:23:00.002+01:00

Goodness only knows why I'm buying books this close to Christmas (and don't all roll your eyes, it'll be here before you know it!), but I couldn't resist grabbing hold of Kate Morton's new novel 'The Distant Hours', the minute I knew about it. (Actually, I saw a poster in the tunnel on the way to the V&A, so that trip really did come up trumps, in all sorts of ways).

The trouble with buying books off the internet is that one can rarely tell how big they are. And let me tell you that Kate Morton's new book is BIG. I doubt it will even fit in my handbag, which is saying a lot!

I'm looking forward to it though - it has a very Manderlay looking gate on the front cover and has mystery stamped right through it's core. I can't wait - my wrists might have other ideas though!

A little trip to the V&A

2010-10-21T16:39:00.003+01:00

It was Friday last week that I escaped the clutches of work and headed up to London to hear Justine Picardie talk about her new book on Coco Chanel.

I arrived in plenty of time to go and see the Diaghilev and the Ballet Russe exhibition - something I was particularly excited about, not least because of Chanel's connection with him. (Can you imagine Chanel being employed as a costume designer for stage and screen? Neither could I - but it's hardly surprising that she should have had such a string to her bow). It's an amazing exhibition, so full of interesting details and the chance to see costumes up close. How people ever managed to dance in some of them I don't know, but they are a testament to a bygone age of opulence. It's still going on, and I'd encourage you to go if you get the chance.

Justine's talk was a feast for the eyes as well as the ears, as she interspersed her words with pictures. There are so many pictures of Chanel, and Justine's book makes full use of them. What better way to make a person come alive again than by presenting the reader with images?
Chanel was (and is) a fascinating woman, her life so full of mystery and misdirection. There are times reading the book that one cannot help but feel frustrated at what we don't know, but at times the hidden truth makes for exciting reading. I'm fairly sure that the mystery surrounding Chanel's involvement in World War Two and her relationship with a German officer (possibly a double agent) will never be fully explained, but it's certainly fun supposing about it all.

I asked Justine if, after all the time spent with Chanel, she felt she knew her. Justine answered with a distinct affirmative. I, however, am not so sure. It may just be the mirror images of the woman which are so famous skewing my judgement, but somehow I think the only person she showed her true face to was Boy Capel, and after his death she sought to bury that part in a riot of fabric. I may be wrong, and anyway - it doesn't detract from the wonder of the woman who will always be know by three small words: Chanel No 5.

Eight Bloggers walk into a pub ....

2010-09-27T18:51:00.003+01:00

It sounds like the start of a bad joke, but in actually fact eight bloggers did walk into a pub (Far From the Madding Crowd in Oxford to be precise) and had an enjoyable few hours merrily chatting.

I'd been unable to attend the previous bloggers meet up in May, so was quite excited about this one, particularly as it gave me a chance to show off my lovely home town. (Not quite devoid of tourists now, but about as close as we'll ever get!).

The afternoon started off with a small group of us meeting in Blackwells, and then pottering about Oxford. We spent an hour in the lovely Ashmolean, before heading off the quirky Albion Beatnik bookshop, and a quick trip into Somerville college.

After that we headed off to the pub and were joined by a few more bloggers. Sadly quite a few people discovered they couldn't make it, but I still think a good time was had by all who did turn up, and it was lovely to be able to put faces to the words.

I'm looking forward to the next meetup - whenever it might be. We might even be brave and head a bit further north .....

Any excuse for a party

2010-09-18T19:33:00.002+01:00

I have many artistic friends and relations. Somehow I seem drawn to writers, painters, actors, poets and musicians, and they all have varying degrees of success in devoting their lives to their art in this increasingly commercial and money driven world.

I have just returned from a party, designed to celebrate the second anniversary of the creation of a business called 'Lovely Giftbags'. Run by two lovely sisters , Emily and Camilla, it is a mecca of bright colours, fabrics, quaint cooking items (cupcake holders with feet, anyone?), fairy prints (as designed by fellow artist Emily Brady), board games and many other things to put in the said giftbags (which are lovely ...). Part of the celebration was also the decision for both sisters to devote their whole time to the business. Goodbye cruel world of employment! The Fraser sisters are striking out on their own!

It was a beautifully sunny day, and the enticing wares were set up in the garden and various rooms of their house. Friends and acquaintances from fairs came along and browsed (and bought) whilst consuming quantities of pink fizz, and some very delicious cake. The cash register pinged merrily, as people found at least one thing to catch their eye (or it would have done, if there had been a cash register) and a fairly prosperous birthday seemed on the cards.

Have I intrigued you all? Do you wish you knew these enterprising women, so you could have been able to sample the wares on display? Well, never fear - because they have a website! Lovely Giftbags can be found here, and amongst the many pages of things for sale, they also have a page to let you know where you can see them in brightly coloured person!

I'm so glad that the party was a success, and I can only hope their are many years ahead of them. I can't think of anything more lovely!

New book smell ....

2010-09-16T19:04:00.003+01:00

It's a rare thing for me to pre order a book so that I can be assured of delivery the day it's released. In fact, I've only done it once before, for a certain world saving wizard.

The book that arrived at my place of work this lunchtime is about as removed from that previous order as it's probably possible to be; for today I have received into my possession Justine Picardie's new book 'Coco Chanel: The Legend and the life'.

Obviously I have not finished reading the book (I'm on page 40, but work is too busy to allow for gratuitous book reading ....), but here's a few things I've already noticed.

Firstly, the cover ....

It's actually a little less distinctive than this ... there's a certain smoky quality to the image that perhaps reflects the mystery around which Mademoiselle is surrounded. Of course this is just the dust jacket, and if you're anything like me, you'll be wondering how different the base cover is.

Opening the cover, in order to remove the jacket, you are first presented with a plethora of mirror images of Chanel, on her famous staircase where she watched the models parading her fashions. Life the flap and a pure white cover is revealed, with a shadowy Karl Lagerfeld sketch of Chanel. Further surprises await you on the back cover, but I don't want to spoil the pleasure completely.

As for the contents themselves .... it would be fair to say they draw you in from the first. Who else admits to the guilty pleasure of picking up a biography, thumbing through the pictures, then putting back on the shelf? You can't do that with Justine's book. There are photographs, designs, motifs, dotted throughout - almost as if you are being led on a hunt, and these are the clues to help you.

In a way, that is reflective of the woman herself; and mirrors, with their reflections, are another theme that run through the first few pages. Who are we seeing? Which version of childhood are we going to believe? There's so much mystery, but in a way that's what made her name, and helped her to keep it.

I'm enthralled already, and it's only just begun. Who knows what surprises lay ahead?

Every picture tells a story

2010-09-13T18:52:00.005+01:00

A while ago, Stuck-in-a-book wroteb a post about how picture could sum up the act of reading, and challeged other bloggers to do the same.

I have to say I was stumped, and after a few days of wracking mybrains, i gave up.

This morning, however, on my walk to work, I was thinking of the mirror I had bought over the weekend, and suddenly an idea popped into my head.

This is what reading means to me ... being able to have a whole different world reflected back at you, even whilst the general stuff of life surrounds you. It's magical - just like a mirror.

The September Issue

2010-09-06T20:07:00.002+01:00

I don't know: you go on holiday, read 12 books in 14 days, come home and find you have no desire to pick anything up, and when you do you can't focus on it. What's that about? Did I actually find my limit whilst out in Greece? Have I discovered the outer limit of one's capacity to take in words, and consequesntly fried my brain?

I do hope not. I have to read The House of the Spirits for book club, which is next week.

In the meantime, I will try and ease myself gently back into the world of reading and catch up on the blogs of people I have missed. Reading is a career, and at times it's hard to juggle with the rest of one's life. This is one of those times - but I've got things to look forward to - just as with work. There's a wealth of treats on my shelves waiting for me to get my act together!

Holiday time!

2010-07-31T18:48:00.003+01:00

I'm heading off to Greece for a couple of weeks, where I expect there will be a little of this:

And quite a lot of this:

I have been deliberating for the best part of a week on what reading matter to take. After all, the last time we went to Greece, I read ten books, so I want to ensure I have taken enough. Here's a list of what I'm planning on taking at this point in time (although it may well change before 10am tomorrow!)

1. Dumb Witness - Agatha Christie
2. The Sunday Philosophy Club - Alexander McCall Smith
3. The Serpent and the Moon - HRH Princess Michael of Kent
4. Collected poems of T.S. Eliot
5. The Gourmet - Muriel Barbery
6. Tom Holt omnibus
7. Mary Anne - Daphne du Maurier
8. The Diary of a Nobody - George and Weedon Grossmith
9. Up a tree in the park at night with a hedgehog - P. Robert Smith
10. Sacred Hearts - Sarah Dunant

Have a lovely fortnight - I look forward to regaling you of my adventures!

Kate Morton and the art of secrecy

2010-07-31T17:46:00.002+01:00

Secrets, by their very nature, are hard to keep.

It therefore follows that secrets in novels are even harder to keep concealed from the reader. They (the secrets) are always wanting to be found out and it takes a skilled author to weave enough subplot and red herrings to keep the suspense alive.

One such modern author who is able to do this is Kate Morton, creator of 'The House at Riverton' and 'The Forgotten Garden'. Both novels concern themselves with secrets hidden for generations and move between the past and present with a deft ease that captures the reader and sweeps them along in the whirlwind of all that life can encompass.

They are intensely readable - both are doorstops of novels, but the pages are quickly turned. I had intended to take 'The House at Riverton' on holiday, but found myself too engrossed to go slowly, and it was a matter of two days before I found myself at the final pages.

Secrets are hard to keep, but at least the readability of Kate Morton's books are one secret I am able to share!

Other people's thoughts

2010-07-22T19:36:00.003+01:00

Once upon a time, people blogged in an entirely different format. This was called 'writing a diary' and is a custom that seems to have, almost entirely, died out.

Unlike those of us who choose to expose our thoughts to the censure of the world almost immediately after they have popped into our heads, these diarists wrote (mostly) for themselves and to remind themselves of their daily lives. Only occasionally did they have an eye on posterity.

So, with my interest in blogs, it is fairly safe to assume that I like diaries too - yet I very rarely read them. There's so many mundane musings to trawl through until you get to the entries that really capture the interest. What's needed is an anthology of the creme de la creme. And, thankfully, someone at Canongate books has obliged.

'The Assassin's Cloak' is an anthology of the world's greatest diarists. Split out into the days of year, each date has a handful of entries from writers that range from the likes of Peyps and Alan Bennett, to Peter Hall and Fanny Kemble. It is a rich store of life and offers some very different perspectives on the passing years.

Take today's date, for instance - July 22nd. Nestled amongst musings on the weather in 1873 and the roads in 1990, are these two interesting entries.

William L. Shirer (author of 'The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich') wrote in 1940 'Hitler has given Mussolini a birthday present. It's an anti-aircraft armoured train.'

In stark contrast, we find Andy Warhol commenting in 1986 'I've been watching this stuff on Fergie [Duchess of York] and I wonder why doesn't the Queen Mother get married again.'

It's a wonderful book to dip into now and again, when you're not quite sure what book to throw yourself into next, but are in need of a little literary sustenance. Why not try it here - comment with a date (birthday, or just something at random) and I'll pick out an entry that intrigues and enthralls!

I'm in love with a Wonderful guy

2010-07-22T17:42:00.003+01:00

He he. This blog gets fed into my facebook page - how many people on there will see the heading and jump to conclusions!

So this wonderful guy - who is he? Ladies and Gents may I introduce you to Mr Wilkie Collins. Ah, I see I have company!

Victorian literature has always been a big part of my reading, but up until this year, I had mainly stuck to the likes of Dickens and Eliot. Then, on a visit to a friend, I was given a copy of The Moonstone and I was immediately pulled into the heady world of Victorian England, which was very different from any I had experienced thus far. I took it to New Zealand with me, where it so managed to engross me that I kept devouring it, even as the scenery whizzed by (although in my defence, there's only so many violet coloured mountains one can look at at any given time).

I returned to the sunny(!) reaches of England and promptly dived into The Woman in White. Here again I devoured and couldn't stop until the final page had been turned. Both novels are fantastically written, moving at a terrific speed, and use numerous narrators, thereby ensuing that as many sides of the story are seen and understood. The Moonstone, in particular, has been hailed as the first detective story, as the genre is known today, although I think The Woman in White is perhaps even more so. I've started Armadale now, and have so far been sunk into the world of stolen identity, revenge and shipwreck .... all in the first few pages.

So, yes - a new author to add to the ever burgeoning list of favourites. Watch out Mr Dickens, there's now a rival for my affections!

Keeping the wolves from the door

2010-07-17T19:15:00.002+01:00

I have always been a fan of historical fiction so it is a surprise that I didn't pick up 'Wolf Hall' as soon as it landed on a bookshelf and devour it instantly. I think, perhaps, it has to do with the fact I'm not overly fond of Hilary Mantel.

So - as someone gave me a book voucher for my birthday (in March), I decided to dip my toe into the Mantel waters (white paperback, if anyone is interested). And I was hooked.

Charting the meteoric rise to fame and power of Thomas Cromwell, from his humble beginnings being beaten up by his father in Putney, to chief counsellor and confidante of Henry VIII, it is a book that is on the epic scale.

It might perhaps not be to everyone's taste. The way in which it is written can be a stumbling block. An entire narrative written in the present second person (he has fallen) can make it tricky at times to discern what is happening. Even Mantel appears to trip over at times - particularly in a three way male conversation, when there is a sometimes a need to state who exactly is talking. 'He, Cromwell' interrupts the flow slightly.

With this minor niggle set aside however, it truly is a fascinating book. It traverses history that is well known to most people, but with a fresh insight of one of the key string pullers. Cromwell has always had a bit of a bad reputation, seeing as how he was so involved with the events that shaped English history; but the man we are presented with is so human, full of mystery, passion and knowledge, that one can't help but warm to the man that became Wolsey's successor. Mantel leaves us as Cromwell seems to be reaching the apex of his power, but we all know how the tale will finish.

Mantel is currently planning a second volume but has already said she will find it hard to write the final disastrous and bloody ending. I know I'll find it hard to read, although I am already filled with anticipation, for if the second volume is like the first, I'll be rushing through it at great speed!

Roll up, Roll up!

2010-07-12T18:53:00.003+01:00

Before I have get back to the weighty issue of the books that have captured my attention recently, I would like to tell you about a Book Blogger meet up, organised by Stuck-in-a-Book.

Now, I missed the last one, seeing as I was watching Julie Andrews gliding about a stage and breaking my heart with her rendition of Funny Valentine. This time, I WILL be there - not least because it's being held in my lovely home time.

Hopefully we won't be emulating the above picture too much, although I'm sure there will be time for a little quiet reading in amongst the fervent discussions.

It's being held on 25th September (venue TBC), so if you're interested in joining in, email simondavidthomas @ yahoo.com - Bloggers of the world unite (or I suppose the UK, in the instance - unless anyone happens to be travelling) !

Time and tide wait for no man

2010-07-11T15:34:00.004+01:00

My goodness - has it really been over three months since I last wrote here? In my defence, I have to say that ever since I came back from New Zealand, it's been totally crazy busy at work, and I've just not felt the inclination to put my thoughts down. I've been reading - I doubt there will be a time when I ever give that up - but when it comes down to a choice between reading and writing, the former won hands down every time.

So, to ease me back into the swing of things, I shall post some photos of the past few months. It's been so lovely, weather wise, the past few months, that there have been quite a few outings!

So - firstly there is New Zealand - These are the mountains of Queenstown, looking suitably Lord of the Rings-y

Here is Mum and I drinking the best wine I've ever tasted!

And this was taken on top of the Franz Josef Glacier!
Back in the UK, I saw Julie Andrews on stage - she's the one in the middle (I was very far away!)
Simon introduced me to this marvel. I've been there three times, and love it!
And here we are, enjoying cake in the sunshine

The weather has been wonderful for the past month or so, and Somerville has been looking particularly beautiful.
And I bought myself the most fabulous 50s dress ever. Here I am testing the wonder that is a two layered petticoat.

Of course there has been much reading, and I have fallen in love with a couple of authors, but more on that later. I fancy a stroll down the river now ....

Judi Dench ... as Titania?

2010-03-19T10:38:00.002Z

Yes, you did read that title right. Judi Dench is currently in Kingston upon Thames, playing the queen of the faeries in A Midsummer Night's Dream.

An unusual choice, given her age, but perhaps is explained by the fact she is directed by Sir Peter Hall, who directed her in the role forty years ago.

So there I was, at the Rose, sat on the floor (telling sad stories of the death of kings). To explain away the age 'problem', the play started with a mime of the actors getting ready and being visited by Elizabeth I, who takes an interest in the script and seemingly decides that the only person to play Titania is her.

This production of AMND is perhaps the finest I have ever seen (including film versions). All the actors were wonderfully cast (the Mechanicals all had broad brummie accents, which suited them perfectly). Bottom was wonderful, with superb comic timing, and just the right amount of seriousness to make him completely ridiculous. The way he created expression with the Asses' head was a joy to watch, and had me in stitches more than once.

The lovers were very good too - particularly in the later scenes when everything is going wrong and they are near killing each other. And Oberon, as the engineer of all this mayhem was cool and collected, barely taking any notice of Puck's gambolling.

In short, this worked so well, that I wish more directors would take the chance on casting older actresses for these seeming 'young' roles. After all, the Bristol Old Vic is currently staging a geriatric version of Romeo and Juliet, which sounds wonderful!

I've just time to give my apologies for not being around the past few weeks (internet has come to the house, I've just not had time to post!), and now, fair people of the blogosphere, I am off to the other side of the world, to hunt for Hobbits and Lions named Aslan .... in short, I am off to New Zealand.
I will post extensively when I get back, and will no doubt have many pictures to share with you all.

Now all I have to worry about is whether I'm taking too many books!

Literature in Translation

2010-02-23T19:29:00.003Z

I'm afraid I'm going to be a bit of a shadow figure for the next couple of weeks. I've just moved house and won't be able to get fixed up to the Internet until at least 11th March. I'm currently writing this is an Oxford pub, and whilst I have no objections to this, I doubt if the bar man would be too happy if I became a resident reviewer at one of his tables .... although, I don't know, I could become a tourist attraction.

Watch this space .....

Anyway, boring you about my Internet, or lack thereof, is not the point of this post. I intend to talk to you about a beautiful novel that I have just finished.

This is 'The Elegance of the Hedgehog' by Muriel Barbery, and has been translated from the French. I don't normally read literature in translation - there's far too much originally written in English that I have to make my way through, that I just don't have the time. This however, is a secret gem. Quietly unassuming, and at the beginning a bit hard going (as if trying to prove a point), it blossoms into a beautiful piece of writing that captures the imagination and the heart.

The plot revolves around two central characters - Renee, the concierge to an expensive block of apartments, who struggles to hide her true, intellectual, self behind an uneducated stereotype, and Paloma - a twelve year old resident, who is a genius, determined to kill herself but not before having some profound thoughts. These two unlikely compatriots are brought together and enrich each others lives, whilst also changing their views of the world around them.

I have been converted to translated literature through this book. I didn't think it was possible to love something so much, and be so heartbroken at the way it turned out as I was. I was so sure I knew what the denouement would entail, and when the total reverse happened, I was truly shocked. It's a wonderful book, and if you haven't read it, you really should go in search. It's elegance is truly mesmerising.

Moving towards A.S. Byatt

2010-02-16T19:14:00.004Z

Tonight is my last night in the family home - I finally move out tomorrow, after months of just talking about it!

I'd probably be a lot more excited, had I not been laid low by a stonking cold (and cough) and if I'd done an iota of packing. C'est la vie - I'm not moving very far, just up the road in fact, so that should be a blessing when it comes to carting my things.

So, to commemorate this last night, I thought I'd take you on a tour of my favourite book of the year, so far .... even though I read most of it in 2009.

I've struggled with A.S. Byatt in the past - I always stop at the same place when reading 'Possession', and I've not been able to settle into anything else of hers. Also, I went right off her personally when I read her comments about Harry Potter readers 'Ms Rowling's magic world has no place for the numinous. It is written for people whose imaginative lives are confined to TV cartoons and the exaggerated (more exciting, not threatening) mirror-worlds of soaps, reality TV and celebrity gossip.' Bah humbug.
Happily, this did not put me off picking up 'The Children's Book' , and just as well, because it is a revelation to me. Starting out in 1895 and sweeping right through to the end of world war one, it is a portrait of half a dozen free thinking families whose lives all intertwine. At it's root is an adherence to Fabianism and artistry, so that the reader becomes familiar with the inner workings of the Victoria and Albert Museum, pot making and the writing of fairy tales. A.S. Byatt is adept at turning her writing to other forms and so manages to weave these tales as well as the rest of her novel.

Nothing I was expecting to happen actually does so, and those characters I was so interested in at the beginning shift, so that their importance is lessened later, much like the lives of any normal family.

This is a book that will stay with one, the richness of it only fully being appreciated the longer you think about it. And I love the cover - what more do you need!

Zuleika Dobson

2010-01-10T16:11:00.003Z

There are a great many books that have been written that use Oxford as a centrepiece. Colin Dexter is the most obvious choice and in latter years Philip Pullman's trilogy have shown us the Oxford that is known and the one that lives just beyond reach in that other world.

There is another novel that has the backdrop of Oxford, and that is Zuleika Dobson by Max Beerbohm. It tells the story of a young woman (not strictly beautiful 'Her eyes were a trifle large ... The mouth was a mere replica of Cupid's bow ... she had no waist to speak of') who manages to capture the hearts of the entire host of undergraduates. Zuleika inspire affection in all but one, The Duke, and seeing this she instantly falls in love. However, the Duke realises this, declares his love and is promptly rejected by his amour. This causes him to declare he will throw himself in the river for love of her.
Now - this is all very well, one man dying for love, and you'd hope the woman being 'honoured' in such a way would immediately recant, or persuade him to change his mind. Not Zuleika. She sees it as the highest compliment, and The Duke accidentally manages to incite all the undergraduates to drowning with him. Thus ends Zuleika's brief spell in Oxford, and what does she feel at this this calamity? Remorse? Sadness? The need to sequester herself in a nunnery? None of these, I am afraid, rather an overwhelming desire to go to Cambridge ....... oh dear.

It has been a long running conversation over on Justine Picardie's blog about who would be the best person to play this inscrutable Miss Dobson should the book ever be filmed. I've been casting my mind over this problem, and feel that the following people would be great.

Katharine Hepburn or Bette Davis: If this film had been done in the 40s, then these two wonderful actresses could have swept off with any number of undergraduates they chose. Bette Davis would probably been harder hearted at the mass drowning.

Helena Bonham-Carter: Can't you just see her inspiring adoration everywhere she went? It's also a very eccentric role, which she would do to perfection.

Carey Mulligan - although perhaps to conventionally beautiful

Anna Maxwell-Martin

Anne-Marie Duff

There was a general thought that Lily Cole could do it very well, but personally I think she is too frail, a quality Zuleika definitely doesn't have! It's an interesting book, mad in places, but I love it. Has anyone else out there read it, and if so - who do you think could play the fascinating Zuleika?

Snow!

2010-01-05T21:04:00.006Z

It's unlikely I'll be snowed in tomorrow, although I'm sure walking to work will take longer. Not least because I'll have to stop and take pictures! Here are a couple of the last time it snowed heavily.

If I were to be snowed in, however, I think I'd just stay in bed, nursing the slight sniffle I have, reading. I currently have Pat Barker's 'Life Class', Jean Plaidy's 'Prince of Darkness' and P.L. Travers' 'Mary Poppins' on the go, and I'm thinking it might be a good time to start a Hardy or Dickens too. I have to say I like this start to 2010!

Review of 2009

2010-01-03T15:20:00.002Z

I really should have done this before the year changed, but I ran out of time, and therefore the first few days of 2010 see me thinking of the past year and the things I have read.

My change of job back in March and catapult into full time work meant that my reading time was cut dramatically. In 2008 I was able to read at least 87 books, whilst 2009 only saw a total of 47. Never mind - I can't complain about it too much, seeing as the main reason for the difference is a job I love!

So - what books fell into my waiting hands and proved themselves to be the ones that will stick with me for some time?

In no particular order (other than the alphabetical lay out of my records) here are my top ten.

1. The Secret Scripture - Sebastian Barry: It's taken me a while to read this one, having bought it in 2008, during my Booker madness, that never actually led anywhere! I'd tried 'A Long Long Way' and couldn't get into it, and was therefore wary of starting this. A friend spoke of it so highly during one meeting that I went home and started it immediately. And I was lost. It's a beautiful novel, told by two people who seem to hold half a puzzle each and only in tying the two together, can the full picture be seen. As I read, I kept thinking about the reliability of the narrator, and how it could be reconciled, and then I got to the denouement, and all such thoughts flitted out of my head and I was left simply moved and marvelling at the ability of this writer.

2. Captivated - Piers Dudgeon: I've been unable to find the right words to talk about this book, although I have tried a couple of times to write a full length blog piece. I think because it's focus on J.M. Barrie and his influence on the Llewellyn Davies boys and the Du Maurier family as a whole is quite disturbing, and takes so much away from the age old myth of Peter Pan, that I am loath to write about it, lest I destroy too many childhood memories. It's worth reading though, for this other view of a writer who is so tied to the English imagination. It stays with you, as does the final line, a quote from D.H. Lawrence: 'J.M. Barrie has a fatal touch for those he loves. They die.'

3. The Last Queen - C.W. Gortner: Whilst much attention has been given to Katherine of Aragon and the failure of her marriage in historical fiction, her siblings have been relegated to the sidelines. This novel follows the fortunes of Juana, Katherine's elder sister, who became Queen of Castille and was thought mad for much of her life. It is an excellent portrayal of those times, depicting the danger a queen can fall to, when ruled by men.

4. Letters from Constance - Mary Hocking: This VMC is the tale of two women's lives, told through the letters of Constance, who sees herself as a failure when compared to her high powered friend, with the perfect house and perfect family. Of course, it all falls apart, but the way in which the novel progresses through the letters of a single person is a great way to carry a novel.

5. Howards End is on the Landing - Susan Hill: I've already written about this one, but it deserves another mention, even though I know it's divided the book loving public in half. I just feel it delivers on every single level, from the wonderful cover, right through to the satisfaction gained from reading it. In a world gone mad from consumerism, it certainly seems to have left its mark, as people (including Simon from stuck-in-a-book) have declared their intentions of reading only those things they already have, and limiting their book buying output. I think the reason I love it so much, if because, I can see myself in it. Both who I am now, and who I hope to become is weaved into those pages.

6. A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini: I saw 'The Kite Runner' and wasn't very impressed, so I probably would have never picked this up if it weren't for book club. I loved it. Perhaps because it was the feminine perspective, or perhaps because it felt like it had a wider scope. If I didn't have so many books unread, I'd go and read it again. Perhaps I will!

7. The Rose of Sebastopol - Katharine McMahon: This is a tale of two Victorian women, set against the backdrop of the Crimean war. The era has always fascinated me, but I know little of it, aside from the usual Florence Nightingale links. This book goes beyond that and manages to combine the strength of the age with the frailty of those in love. It reads like a mystery as well as a saga that might not have been far from the minds of those writing in the actual era.

8. Never Let me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro: I've had an on/off love affair with Ishiguro for many years. I adored 'The Remains of the Day' and didn't get 'When we Were Orphans', although I think I may have been to young to understand it. This was another book club read, and whilst the unusual subject matter took a little getting used to, it's an intruiging novel, which casts many questions once it's read. I'm looking forward to the film due out later this year, staring Carey Mulligan.

9. Madame Depardieu and the Beautiful Strangers - Antonia Quirke: This book is mad. Part memoir, part film review, part extended gush about various male actors, it is a study of a woman (Antonia Quirke) who has spent her life watching film and being absorbed by them. What struck me was how much I indentified it, having spent quite a bit of my childhood watching old films and wishing I was as witty as Katharine Hepburn, and had Cary Grant promising me love forever. It's a great way to write about ones' life - film being such a big part of it nowadays. It's the perfect book to cheer those winter days and give inspiration for the odd holiday romance ....

10. Flush - Virgina Woolf: There ought to be more books about the pets of famous people, although Virginia Woolf is probably the only writer who can do the style justice. I bought this in the Persephone edition, so it has the wonderful grey binding, and gorgeous purple end papers, which add such a lot to the experience of reading. The book itself is fascinating in the way it tells the familiar story through the eyes of a dog so devoted to his mistress, and so distrustful of the man who would be his master.

So - that's my year in terms of books, and it's been hard to make one or two decisions. I've got some interesting reads planned for this year, although whether I get to them remains to be seen! Happy new year everyone, may 2010 be the year of the book for you all!

Poem (and poet) of the week

2010-01-03T12:47:00.002Z

Atl

When Andrew T. Lamar calls you his Valentine,
something is up.
When he looks at you without undressing
you with his eyes: overreact.
That’s not normal for Andrew T. Lamar.
When he calls you late at night
and says he’s “doing econ,”
always check that’s not a girl’s name.
When he says “I’m hungry, too bad you’re not here,”
he never means that he likes your cooking.
When he asks what you’re wearing
never answer “boy shorts and a string of pearls.”
He’ll imagine you pulling a tray of cookies
out of the oven wearing only that,
and an apron,
and probably a pair of heels.
He’ll never ask you to stay over,
usually he has to get up early for church;
right after he breaks about four of the commandments
just by watching you smile.

I don't get many chances to introduce brand new work to the blogosphere, but this is probably one of those few times when I can. Stephanie Leal, creator of this body of work called Metrophobia, honed her craft in UEA, at the same time as I was attempting (and failing) to hone mine in Biography. American by birth, she came to Norwich and there the fresh, biting, East wind found her and breathed its keen sense of timing and wit into her already sharp mind.

I have always had trouble with poetry, and my ability to wrap my mind around the meaning, but I do love Steph's poetry - the way she plays with form, ideas and words all combine to make a truly great anthology. So, go seek her out, and - if you're lucky - I might even give you another poem one day.

Resolution

2009-12-27T20:14:00.003Z

I'm in the mood to make a New Years resolution, and seeing as how I'm talking about it here, I suppose it'd better be book related.

I've just been updating my book spreadsheet. I've bought an awful lot of books in the past few weeks. I started out resolutely refusing to step into Borders as the closing down signs went up, but eventually the brightly coloured signs lured me in. Even if the staff seemed intent on playing depressing Christmas music to make themselves feel better.

I found a lot of Jean Plaidy and a few other things I'm sure I would have never picked up, had it not been for the empty shelves.

With all these purchases, I found it necessary to rid myself of a fair few books, and I was ruthless - stripping my shelves of things long since bought but never touched. Three gigantic bags went off to Oxfam, although I wasn't quite as ruthless as my father who got rid of 300+ books in one fell swoop.

Now - on to this resolution. I don't think I can stop myself from buying books. After all, there are bargains and true finds waiting for me out there, and if they present themselves, they'll have to be bought.

No - my resolution is to read nothing that I don't already own at this precise moment in time (that would be Sunday 27th December, 8.22pm). That gives me 430 books to choose from, so the phrase 'I've got nothing to read' should never pass my lips. Wish me luck, and strength, dear comrades in books - I think I'm gonna need it!

Christmas Eve

2009-12-25T00:04:00.000Z

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring - except for the blogger rearranging her books.

So, it's Christmas time again, and I'm sure many of you will have a stack of books on your wish list. What have you stopped yourself from buying in recent weeks in the vague hope that someone else will have bought it for you?

In our family, we have a number of traditions. The party for my sister's birthday has in recent years made way for a trip to the pantomime for her children, so she can have a meal with her husband (and my other sister can finish off the last bits and bobs without fear of interruption). Christingle service is also a big part of the day, as well as forcing seven children between the ages of fourteen and three to sing carols around the tree. Actually - this year, they sang Jingle Bells instead of the usual Away in a Manger, which was different!

But the biggest tradition is the tree book. When my father was a lad, this consisted of the latest annual, and was a means of shutting the children up for five minutes. Nowadays, the whole family get a book (so that's about 15 books that need to be bought ... err, can I say that for once I was glad Borders had a huge closing down sale, or is that just mean?), and we all sit around as they are dished out. I was HUGELY pleased with mine, and I'd been dropping hints to dad for quite a while - and for that read, I sent him the Amazon link, so he'd get it exactly right. I am now the proud owner of 'Mary Poppins', which I've never read, and am quite excited about.

The clock has just turned over and it is officially now one minute past midnight, so I can now officially wish you all a very Merry Christmas and hope you all have a wonderful time and find yourself in possession of those books that you've been longing for!

Happy Christmas!

Poem of the week

2009-12-22T09:00:00.001Z

I had this sent to me and I love it!

BC-AD

This was the moment when Before
Turned into After, and the future’s
Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.

This was the moment when nothing
Happened. Only dull peace
Sprawled boringly over the earth.

This was the moment when even energetic Romans
Could find nothing better to do
Than counting heads in remote provinces.

And this was the moment
When a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect

Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven.

by U.A. Fanthorpe

Is it snowing where you are? Oxford looks like it's been dusted with icing sugar, but there's not enough for snowmen or the like. Truly weather for sitting indoors curled up with a good book. I've got A.S.Byatt on the go, but I think a bit of Dickens is called for - Pickwick Papers perhaps?

Christmas Quiz

2009-12-15T22:37:00.004Z

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without a little something to test those brain cells, and so here is my round from my book club quiz, from whence I have just returned.

These are first lines from novels. All you have to do is tell me which novel, and who wrote it .... I know there will be great temptation to google, but as an incentive, I can promise a prize to the person with the highest number of right answers. And if you do feel the need to cheat, would you mind saying so - in the spirit of Christmas!

Also, apologies for the total silence - it's been mega busy at work. If anyone wants to know the complete ins and outs of the Oxford interview process, let me know, but I won't go in to details now!

Quiz time!!!!

1). The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.

2). All happy families are alike but an unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion.

3). It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

4). The Primroses were over.

5). Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.

6). Hale knew, before he had been in Brighton three hours that they meant to murder him.

7). A strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sadness.

8). No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own.

9). He – for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it – was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters.

10). I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.

11). It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him.

12). Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.

13). It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

14). The boys, as they talked to the girls from Marica Blaine School, stood on the far side of their bicycles holding the handlebars, which established a protective fence of bicycle between the sexes, and the impression that at any moment the boys were likely to be away.

15). Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

The Bright Star of Keats

2009-11-25T22:27:00.002Z

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever or else swoon to death.

I am just returned from watching a film about John Keats and his love affair with Fanny Brawne, named 'Bright Star'. I highly recommend you all to see it, for it is a beautiful testament to their short romance. I also highly recommend that you take a large box of tissues - you will use them all. I think it a testament to the film that as the credits rolled no one moved, until Ben Whishaw had spoken the final lines of 'Ode to a Nightingale'.

Historical fiction

2009-11-16T19:28:00.003Z

There are certain authors who remain close to your heart long after others have arrived and stolen the genre for their own benefit.

For me, Jean Plaidy is one such writer. I discovered her at school and the library there will bear witness to my love, as each sign out card probably has my name on it at least five times.

Born Eleanor Hibbert in 1906, she started writing in the 30s, but wasn't published (under her maiden name of Burford) until 1941. Her pseudonym of Jean Plaidy was first used in 1945 until her final novel in 1993 - the year of her death. She had six other pseudonyms (including Victoria Holt and Philippa Carr) and over the span of sixty years, she wrote almost 200 books. She died at sea, somewhere between Greece and Port Said, Egypt - which seems almost fitting for someone who spent much of her writing life moving about various historical periods.

The reason I love Jean Plaidy, is because she creates the world of the time she is writing about so fully that you can't help be entranced. You feel the danger Henry VIII's wives are in; you understand the boredom Victoria feels as she is kept sequestered by her mother; the idea that Catherine de Medici could poison those closest to her is very real.

Before I realised that some of my favourite Plaidy's were written in the 80s and early 90s, I was going to say she was dated. That more modern historical authors like Philippa Gregory managed to get deeper beneath the skin of those times. But it's not actually true. Something continues to sparkle about Plaidy's writing and she will forever remain a favourite.

So - I have thirty of her books on my shelves, and I think I'm going to dive back into the worlds she writes about. Now to decide - Tudor, Georgian or Victorian era first?

In Memoriam

2009-11-11T08:45:00.002Z

Aftermath - Siegfried Sassoon

Have you forgotten yet? ...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same - and War's a bloody game ...
Have you forgotten yet? ...

Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz -
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench -
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, "Is it all going to happen again?"

Do you remember the hour of din before the attack -
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads - those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.

The comfort of reading

2009-10-31T21:39:00.004Z

It's been an emotional week. I've decided it's time to move out of the parental home - I moved back in when finishing my MA back in 2007, and I suddenly feel like it's the right time. I've been to look at quite a few places, and found a couple I liked. One in particular was great, apart from the fact I would be sharing with three guys. Now; don't get me wrong - there's nothing wrong with guys per se (and these were all lovely, tidy and old enough not to behave like idiots all the time) but it's not something I've ever done. Lots of soul searching was required.

Today, I finally made up my mind that this was the right move, and emailed them to say so. A couple of hours ago I had an email back saying that the girl that was moving out had changed her mind for the time being. So it's back to the drawing board. Heigh ho, these things happen, and at least I've not signed the contract or am all packed up and ready to go!

Throughout this week, I have been reading a lot to take my mind off things, and have been luxuriating in the wonder that is Susan Hill. 'Howards End is on the Landing' has made it to my house and has been making its presence felt.

The cover is enough to comfort, let alone what can be found inside.

So - what does this book have to tell you? Firstly, it's a tremendous explanation as to why Susan Hill disappeared from the web over a year ago. I noticed around June last year that the link to the left of this post that had led to Susan's blog, now led to nothing. I hoped it was a glitch but nothing ever surfaced.
Susan had, apparently, gone on a search for a book, and although she'd not found it, she did discover an awful lot of books she had either not read at all, or not read in a very long time. If there's one thing I can relate to, it's that! My shelves are crammed with books I've bought, but not read.

We are taken on a tour, not only of Susans' house, but also her life, peppered as it is with encounters with some of the best known names of the twentieth century. It's a charming book, full of recommendations that are made with fervour and a keen insight. I found myself almost able to understand her dislike of Austen (Susan, I'm a Janeite and I hate 'Mansfield Park' and 'Northanger Abbey'!!), and discovered a hunger to get back into Grahame Green, Thomas Hardy, Dickens, and all those other classics that are languishing on my shelves. I've been introduced to a lot of authors I've never heard of (and even found myself whilst up in London last weekend pondering whether I should buy a book she had passionately talked about ... I put it back. If Susan has taught me anything, it is that one should read the books one has!)

Simon and I are going to hear her talk later in November, so I'm sure this book will pop up another time. I could relate to the subject matter, and Susan, so much, that it almost makes me want to rush up to her at the event and proclaim affinity (as well as a passion for 'The Lady of Shallot'). This would probably end up being my equivalent of her experience with Edith Sitwell. Not a good plan!

Anyway, it's a lovely little book, with plenty to make one think. At the end, she lists the 40 books that she would choose if she could only have have 40 to last her the rest of her life. The fact that 'Learning to Dance' by Michael Mayne is listed twice is perhaps testament to the fact that she really cannot live without that book. (Only it's actually a misprint ... but like she says, it gives her room to tinker with the list!).

Susan Hill's copy of 'Howards End' is on the landing .... where is yours? (Mine is in the spare bedroom!

Turned on to Brecht

2009-10-25T09:15:00.004Z

POW!

So sorry - that was the sound my mind made last night as Fiona Shaw blew it away with the sheer force of her performance.

So Bertolt Brecht - what do people think of him? I know what I thought before last night - heavy going, hard to get to grips with in a modern era. Boring. Why then, you would be entitled to ask, did I want to go and see 'Mother Courage and her Children'? Quite simply because it was Fiona Shaw in the title role, and Deborah Warner directing her (who has also directed her in 'Medea' (which I tragically missed) and the film of 'The Last September', which I adore.). I could put up with anything with that combination.

From the moment I sat down in my seat, however - which had members of the cast roaming around, and stage hands doing various things with ropes and other stuff - I knew I was in for a treat. Then it started. A few minutes into the first scene and Fiona Shaw rises from the depths of the stage, on top of her wagon, accompanied by a band. Duke Special to be precise. Actually - type Fiona Shaw into Youtube right now, and the first five entries or so are videos of her jamming with said band after the show in the foyer of the National. The band are fantastic, and there is something weirdly right about wanting to get up and dance around as Fiona Shaw flings herself across the stage.

Anyway - back to Mother Courage. I never knew Brecht could be funny, but he is, and in an oddly resonant way for the world today. Yes, he's writing about a war in Germany in the mid 1600s, but he could just as easily be writing for the war that's going on now. This production hits you full in the face with the brutality of war, there are explosions, and bursts of fire, and Mother Courage's wagon grows and shrinks as her business succeeds and fails (at one point there is a satellite dish strapped to it).

Fiona Shaw is hardly ever off stage. Even if she's not speaking, she's always doing something - plucking a chicken and making a right mess, being one of the most memorable pieces of business. The supporting cast are fantastic - Harry Melling plays her youngest son Swiss Cheese, and if the name rings a bell, it will be because you have seen him play Dudley Dursley. Not an obvious choice, one might think, but somebody get him more parts fast, because the guy is astonishingly good. Forget the golden Potter trio, Harry Melling might be the one to watch!

The thing about the play is that it is so blatantly opportunistic. Mother Courage changes sides with alarming ease (and loses a child in the process) but I never blamed her for it. That is what war is like, and if you're trying to make a living from an army, you're always going to end up with the winning side. Does Mother Courage win? the play ends abruptly. With all her children gone, and left to trail after a battered company, with her wagon at it's most broken and only herself to pull it, you'd be inclined to think she doesn't.

The whole experience is amazing. You're thrown into this messy world and never allowed a respite. If Fiona Shaw doesn't (and she's only off stage for about fifteen minutes out of a three hour production) the audience doesn't either. But however gruelling the content is, this production makes it rock.

Very little to distress or vex

2009-10-07T19:30:00.004+01:00

I wasn't going to post on the new BBC adaptation of Emma for another week or so, but Simo n has done so, and I got rather animated in my response to it, and the other comments, so I feel I must air my views on this latest bonnet and bodice fest.

I like Emma, although it's not my favourite Austen, but I don't think I've ever seen a truly satisfactory production. The BBC's 1972 version is terribly stuffy - Emma looks to be in her 30s (even though Doran Godwin was only 22), Mr Knightley is hopelessly old, and not remotely handsome, and it has that odd lighting quality that seems to be a feature of 70s television. The filmed version with Gwyneth Paltrow has two redeeming features: Jeremy Northam (be still my beating heart) as Mr Knightley and Sophie Thompson as Miss Bates. Stellar casting, both of them.

The new version of Jane Austen's classic started this Sunday, and I sank quite comfortably into the familar story. Interestingly, a good fifteen minutes were spent depiciting Miss Taylor's wedding to Mr Weston, when in the book the event is covered in the first three pages, so the movement into the actual story is considered in the frame of Emma's loss. After that, we are very swiftly catapulted into Emma's ridiculous matchmaking, with the inevitable problems that causes.

Casting is always an issue, and I think Romola Garai is good in the title role. She's very good in period drama (I loved her in Daniel Deronda and Vanity Fair ), but there was something lacking in her performance. Perhaps it was the slight modernity of the script, or some of her movements, but I felt jarred slightly. I am very much on the fence over Michael Gambon's performance as Mr Woodhouse. In my opinion, Gambon is a very forceful actor; one is always aware of his presence. In contrast, my view of Mr Woodhouse is rather peripheral. Just a fussy nuisance. Having said that, Gambon does have flashes of whiny genius, so perhaps there is hope.

The biggest casting decision, that seems to be dividing people all over the place is Jonny Lee Miller as Mr Knightley. Is he too young? Is he too handsome? Is he too modern? The answer to all three of these is possibly 'yes', but in actual fact Knightley was only 38, and Jonny is 37, so it's probably his slightly pretty boy looks that have got people's backs up. I have to say that the rapport he has with Emma is fantastic, if a little less brotherly than we are led to expect. It's only the first episode and he's already tearing a hole in Emma's judgement. I can't wait until the picnic (and ooh - Mrs Elton is played by Christina Cole, who played Caroline Bingley in Lost in Austen ... that should be fantastic to watch!).

I am reserving my complete judgement for a while. I like it, and think the main aspects work, but there is something I can't put my finger on that makes me think it's lacking in some way. Is it just that everyone is just a touch too modern to be properly Austenesque? I shall have to watch the second episode ... watch this space!

Recap on holiday reading

2009-10-06T20:31:00.003+01:00

When the weather is like the picture above (that's a view of St Mark's square from the Grand Canal, Venice, in the biggest rain storm I've ever seen) what's the best thing to do? Yes - read.
I think October must be my favourite month to immerse myself in literature. It's so wet, and dull. No late Autumn frosts to encourage you out on a good long stomp, just the tempting sofa on which to curl up.

I've already finished four books in the last week, and my appetite is simply craving more. Here are my favourites from the past few weeks ....

The Glassblowers of Murano by Marina Fiorata
This was one of my holiday reads - indeed in painted a better picture of Venice than the one I was witness to. I honestly think I would've have been drier if I had chosen to swim up the grand canal! Anyway - the book follows the fortune of an immensely talented glass maker, and his descendant who comes to Venice to change her life, and finds more than she ever expected. It's a cleverly woven tale, and the process of glassmaking - so important to Venetian life - is wonderfully depicted.

The Information Officer by Mark Mills
I think Mark Mills' writing style is wonderful. Clear cut, but with just enough mystery around the edges to leave you wondering. I had read 'The Savage Garden' and loved it for it's Italian setting and the way it drew you in. This novel - set on the bomb ravaged island of Malta during WWII - draws you in too, but makes you feel the danger heightened by wartime activities. There were times I could almost feel the vibrations of the bombs falling. Mills is an author I would recommend to anyone, he has the universal touch.

The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton
I think I'm a bit late coming to this particular party (but that's fashionable, right?), but I absolutely adored this book. I'm always on the look out for what my Father calls 'a ripping yarn', and I struck gold with this one. Spanning three generations, two of which are hunting for the answer to a young woman's heritage. It rattles along at a great pace, and takes some surprising turns in its quest for the answer. I love the fact that it uses fairy tales to help the plot along, and that the different voices telling the story don't drown each other out. I couldn't put it down - in fact I spent an entire evening in a pub finishing it (300 pages in 3 hours, not too bad going), which goes to prove how captivated I was.

Which leads me onto my next subject .... but that deserves a post of its own. I shall leave you with a view of Lake Garda after the weather had cheered up considerably!

Books for an Italian setting

2009-09-13T11:56:00.003+01:00

I am just off for a week to Italy, and as usual I have had the heart wrending decision over what to take, book wise. However, seeing as I am leaving in a few minutes, I think I have the final list, and here is what I will be reading:

Sonnets from the Portugese - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Footsteps - Kate McMahon
East of the Sun - Julia Gregson
The Food of Love - Anthony Cappella
Captivated - Piers Dudgeon
Roman Fever - Edith Wharton
Burning Bright - Tracy Chevallier

I think that's enough to keep me going, and at least I can't buy any books whilst on holiday - I can't read Italian.

Arrividerchi everyone!

I'm imagining a woman who travels with her own personal bath ...

2009-09-13T10:00:00.001+01:00

I have heard Simon extol the virtues of 'Miss Hargreaves' so often that it often seemed to me that the book couldn't possibly hope to live up to the expectations. So when Simon offered me a copy of the newly published Bloomsbury edition, I thought I should snap it up and see what all the fuss was about.

Well, Simon has a new convert to the Hargreavean cause, because I love it. Even if it is totally insane - and maybe that's part of the charm!

The book revolves around Norman Huntley and his seeming overactive imagination. Creating a Miss Hargreaves, who travels with her Cockatoo, harp and bath, to get out of a slightly sticky social faux pas, Norman is - quite understandably - shocked to arrive home and find his creation waiting for him.

Now, I don't know about you, but my imagination is pretty fanciful at times, and I have been known to have conversations with invisible people (although they all are actual people, whether or not they are present at the time). Frank Baker's book has elements of 'The Bronte's went to Woolworths' (another Bloomsbury Group republication) although the drama is considerably heightened in Baker's novel.

Norman, you see, is not best pleased that his creation has come to life and is determined to claim friendship and thereby ruin his life, by alienating his employees and the girl he's going out with. It's not as if Norman leads a particularly sane life before Miss Hargreaves arrives - his father is quite clearly batty (although lovable for it), and the entire town seems to be a little off balance - but throw Miss H into the mix, and everything goes mad. Norman, no matter how hard he tries, can't seem to get rid of this woman, who wears outrageous hats and has a cockatoo that sings opera.

When he does manage to finally make her disappear, he regrets it at once - willing her to reappear, she does so, but so markedly different (she is now Lady Hargreaves) that Norman finds himself wishing for the chaos that went before.

Does Norman finally manage to dispel his creation, or does she stay forever to be a reminder not to take imagination too far .... I recommend reading it, but don't whisper the words 'Miss Hargreaves' to the wind too often - you might be surprised who turns up!

The play's the thing!

2009-08-23T21:24:00.005+01:00

Before I disappear into a heady euphoria at England winning the Ashes (and after seven hours in a pub watching today, I would've have been slightly displeased had they lost, or gone onto a fifth day) I had better tell you about my day in London yesterday, when I went to see Jude Law in 'Hamlet'.

I know it's not a natural thought process - "Jude Law in 'Hamlet'" doesn't trip off the tongue like "Rufus Sewell in 'Hamlet'" might (ooh, now there's a thought), but it intrigued me enough to force me to buy tickets. I've been to see the entire Donmar West End season, which started with Kenneth Branagh in 'Ivanov', followed with Derek Jacobi in 'Twelfth Night', continued with Judi Dench in 'Madame de Sade' and concluded with 'Hamlet'. At £10 for the cheapest seats, it was well worth it, and I've had some real treats. With 'Hamlet', the biggest draw for me was the fact that Kenneth Branagh was supposed to be directing it, although he eventually pulled out to star in (and direct) 'Thor' .... odd choice.

Anyway, I persuaded my sister, Simon and a friend of his (Andrea) to come with me, and we all made our various ways to the theatre for the matinee, meeting out front about 15 minutes before curtain up. At it was the penultimate performance, there were scores of people queueing for returns (or standing seats - and yes, there were quite a few people doing that!).

I have never seen 'Hamlet' live - although I've seen plenty of film versions. I am ashamed to say I hate Laurence Olivier's performance; Mel Gibson was an odd choice (although Glenn Close as Gertrude is inspired); but of course my favourite is Kenneth Branagh's - and if you can find the four hour uncut version, it is well worth sitting in front of - if merely for the pleasure of John Gielgud and Judi Dench acting out the tragedy of Priam and Hecuba, with voice over of Charlton Heston as the Player King.

I digress. I think I have established that I had doubts about the logic of Jude Law's casting, and I have to confess that these were not entirely dispelled with his entrance. Of course, Hamlet doesn't get many lines in the first scene, and whilst talking to Claudius and Gertrude, he is too petulant to allow most actors to shine; but with the first soliloquy, I felt that this might just end up being a stellar performance. This was proved to be true when Hamlet meets the ghost of his father - that scene sent shivers down my spine. After that, the play simply flew. Those key scenes that are so important, and so familiar, were all done with impeccable timing, and helped along by the sparsity of the set.

Most of the visible stage was covered with black flagstones; about two thirds back, a great gate (like a front gate to a castle) was positioned on rollers, to be moved back and forth, so it could reveal or hide parts of the action. One door in the middle of the gate, and one either side, served to allow people from the 'outside' to enter. There were very few seats used throughout (five, I think in all, and those only in three scenes), and practically no backdrops. The beginning of Gertrude's confrontation scene with Hamlet was cleverly done, because instead of Polonius being hidden at the back of the stage, the arras was brought down front stage, so that Hamlet and Gertrude were hidden from view, and the audience had a clear view of Polonius listening in. When Hamlet stabbed him, he brought down the curtain in his death throes, and revealed the scene to the audience.

Now. This scene of Gertrude's is my favourite, because I love how it becomes the turning point for her, and her view of the whole situation, and in my view it's done best with little weeping. This wasn't the case here, and unfortunately (forgive me Simon) Penelope Wilton almost ruined it with an overly hysterical performance. However, when she got to the line 'Oh Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain', her whole manner dropped like a stone, and never was there a quieter and beautiful performance. Except perhaps for this one.

And again, I digress - it's getting late, sorry readers. So, they all died. And died very well in their various poisoned states; Fortinbras came in, claimed the kingdom, the curtain went down (stayed down for a while longer than usual, to give everyone time to get off the floor) and then rose to rapturous applause. Which went on and on, and there were lots of bows, although only two curtain calls (why, nowadays, are there only two curtain calls? What happens if there was a play, the best ever seen, and people were bowled over so much they just went on clapping, even after the lights were put up? Would there be more curtain calls, or just lonely people clapping? It's something that puzzles me).

So it ended, and an obvious trip to the stage door was agreed upon. Having got there, we found a crowd, in a neat (but expanding) semi circle. 'Is there a barrier?' my sister wondered. No - just good old fashioned British respect .... even though half the waiting people weren't English at all. Kevin McNally came out, as did Penelope Wilton; we were reliably informed that Jude Law never came out between shows (although I bet he sneaks out of a different entrance occasionally), Peter Eyre came out and hung around a while, and Fenella Fielding plus suitcase waited at the stage door for someone (and the person next to me said she is married to one of the actors, although I can't work out who!!!), and Anita Dobson went past on her way into the Noel Coward theatre, which is showing Calendar Girls. Starry eyes indeed!

So there we are - Jude Law's 'Hamlet', a success, methinks, even with its errors, and one worthy of being entered into the halls of fame. I'm always jealous of my father when he says he's seen something that was put on before I was born (Laurence Olivier and Maggie Smith's 'Othello' being one of them). Perhaps people in years to come will be jealous of this!!!

********

One more thing, which I am slightly apprehensive of putting here, lest it be lost in my enthusiastic write up of 'Hamlet', and that is a piece of news about a book I loved, and which has been talked about all over the blogosphere. 'The Spare Room' by Helen Garner is to be adapted for the London stage by Eileen Atkins and will star Eileen herself and Vanessa Redgrave. Look out for it in 2010 - I know I'll be getting tickets!!!

Coco Avant Chanel

2009-08-05T22:18:00.004+01:00

I've never been a 'dedicated follower of fashion'. I know what I like, and what looks good on me, but because I don't have the figure equivalent to a pencil, I've never been one to fawn over the fashion parade.

There's something different about Chanel though, and I think it's partly to do with the woman behind the creations. The mystery of her, and how she was so different from the other women of her time.
Tonight I went to see 'Coco Avant Chanel', which seems to be kicking of a great Coco fest - there are at least two more films, a biography, and another book from none other than Justine Picardie (she of my 'Daphne' inspired raves). Justine is keeping her cards very close to her chest, but if the passages in 'My Mother's Wedding Dress' are anything to go by, it should be fascinating to say the least.
Sorry - where was I?

I don't want to talk too much about the plot - as the title would suggest, the film focuses on the early period of Chanel's life, before she became a renowned designer. I think I'm developing a passion for French film - there is a simplicity to the dialogue and cinematography that seems to be lacking in most 'blockbusters' at the moment. Audrey Tautou captures the fragility of the young woman, yet also manages to portray the fire that drove her to reach for what she wanted, and not settle for what she was offered. The supporting cast are all well chosen too - I've not heard of any of them, but none of them detracts from what the story is trying to tell you. Costumes, are of course, key; and it's wonderful to contrast the plainly dressed Coco with the opulence that characterised the late Victorian and early Edwardian eras.

The final scene is almost a piece of iconic history. Coco Chanel was (I think) well known for watching her creations go out during shows from the curve in the staircase. When Katharine Hepburn starred in a musical about the woman, she recreated this pose, and now it has come full circle, with Audrey Tautou sitting, in the final shot, on a staircase, whilst her clothes waft past her. That's the way icons are remembered, and this film deserves all the audience it can get. It's like the person it portrays. Simple. And chic.

Pass me a paintbrush, I've come over desperately Romantic!

2009-08-04T22:08:00.004+01:00

I think I'm turning in a squirrel - I've been hoarding posts like you wouldn't believe. I was going to post tonnes and tonnes tonight, but I got distracted.

However, there is one post that I cannot leave for another day, because if I do, the series will be over, and there'll be no point.

'Desperate Romantics' is made in the spirit of 'Lost in Austen' (and you'll remember how much I loved that!). Irreverent, modern and completely mad are all epithets that could be attached to this BBC 2 romp; but it is also a highly original and illuminating take on the lives of the Romantic Brotherhood. Men such as Millais and Holman Hunt, who are now revered and looked up to as men of the age, are here shown as the struggling artists they were to begin with. Add the exotic dash of Rosetti, and the prudence of Ruskin, with his ignored wife, and you have the makings of an excellent BBC drama.

True enough, even with period costumes, it's not entirely your usual Beeb drama ... the Guardian critic said a few weeks ago that when all three strut down the street (as they tended to do early on, in their search for the perfect model) the soundtrack to Reservoir Dogs could have been played. Well, it's not quite that bad, although I do feel like humming the Ride of the Valkyries at certain moments.

Anyway, you should definitely catch the last three parts if you can - if nothing else, you get to see quite a few paintings in various stages of completion. The background to Millias's Ophelia, without an Ophelia, is really rather intriguing!

A family affair

2009-07-26T22:09:00.004+01:00

As I'm sure you know, I quite like going to the theatre, and in this, the 70th year since the Oxford Playhouse was conceived, I've been attending rather more plays than usual in my home theatre.

Tonight, there was a benefit for the Playhouse campaign, in which Prunella Scales, Timothy West and Sam West, entertained a packed house, with a number of pieces, all under the theme of 'Family'.

Kicking off with the infamous 'Handbag' scene from 'The Importance of being Earnest' (in which Prunella gave a rather quiet and exhausted delivery of that line), the trio rattled their way through 'Brideshead Revisited', 'Hamlet', 'It's all right if I do it' (with a wonderfully giggly reading from Prunella, and a completely baffled reaction from Timothy) 'The Birthday Party', 'When We Were Married', 'A Number' (Here, Sam West struggled to come to terms with the fact that there are clones of him, and he isn't necessarily the original from whence they sprang), 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?', 'Family Voices' (This a Harold Pinter radio play of 25 minutes, which tells a tale through letters of a family keeping in touch, yet at the same so far apart as to have lost all contact. A wonderful piece), 'Father William' and finally 'Cocoa'.

I really do love ensemble pieces like this - especially when the actors in question know each other so well. Lovely to see Sam West laughing his head off at some of his parent's deliveries, as did Timothy at one point. In directing his mother to a chair for the 'Family Voices' piece, Prunella went one too far and was instantly recalled by Sam. 'I don't know why it matters', he mused, 'it's a radio play, there's not much action.'

*I've changed the picture - many thanks to Jellybean for providing me with the link!!!

Off to Cornwall

2009-07-10T23:18:00.002+01:00

Bye bye everyone - for a week at least!

With no access to the Internet, I would like to direct your attention to my twitter account - This I can update from my mobile, and hopefully I can use it to tell my reading tales. Expect lots of references to D du M!

Still not decided on the final short(!) list of books, so twitter is the best place to find out what I've picked!

Have a good week all!

How to protect yourself from those pesky cold callers

2009-07-08T19:25:00.002+01:00

In a week's time, if you notice that you've suddenly been inundated by people ringing you up to offer you double glazing, the following could be the reason why. My thanks to Dovegreyreader for posting this on her blog. If you live in the UK, I suggest you put it on yours too!

'You may or may not be aware but next week (13/07/2009), all UK mobiles will be listed on a directory which will mean that anyone will be able to access the numbers so you will be open for cold calling. It is easy to unsubscribe but it must be done before the beginning of next week to make sure that you are ex directory. You may want to unsubscribe any personal mobiles or advise friends and family accordingly.

Go to

http://www.118800.co.uk

then select Ex-Directory at the top right and follow the instructions which are quite simple.'

Can any reader help me???

2009-07-07T20:22:00.004+01:00

It's that time of year again - I'm going on holiday, and as usual I am presented with the problem of what on earth to read.

It's not as if I don't have a lack of choice. I have three bookcases full of tempting titles that I would love to read. However, I am only going for a week, and I can't cart 800 books to Cornwall. I've decided to take the train, and I don't think I'd be popular.

So, I've been pulling books from shelves, replacing them, grabbing more, and there are now quite a number on the spare bed. Look.

That's 21 books for a week. I don't think I'm being very sensible. And besides - I'm going to du Maurier country ... surely I ought to take more of her work? I'm not spoiled for choice there either - there's an entire shelf asking me to take my pick ....

Which one do I read?

I need help - I need directing. Someone come to my rescue!

P.S. I'm also planning on buying at least one of the new Bloomsbury reprints that Simon has ordered me to read .... that takes my pile up to 22 .....

The wonder that is ....

2009-07-05T11:41:00.003+01:00

.... yes, you guessed it. Wimbledon!

The weather, for once, has been outstanding. I'm sure it's been said often and by far more eminent people than me, but god bless the All English Tennis club for spending so much on that roof to ensure that the tournament was dry.

I indulged in making myself a little tennis dream team on tennisforfree (although the absence of a Wimbledoves meant I was going solo). I didn't make very good choices, possibly because I chose my team the day Wimbers started - but by a sheer stroke of genius, I managed to pick the Women's winner, and I have both final players for the men's .... I had Mr Murray too - but that dream is over for another year. I am currently ranked joint 401st in the women's league, and 873rd in the men's ....

So, I've been sweltering, and jumping around like a lunatic at every Murray serve, but the wonder comes to an end today. Will it be Federer or Roddick? I'm not entirely sure who I want to win, and I doubt I'll see it, as I'm off to my sister's BBQ - a housewarming BBQ she claims - she's only lived there 5860 days!

Adopting the French attitude

2009-06-28T19:05:00.000+01:00

Whilst in the middle of 'Passion', I suddenly felt that it was all getting a bit too much. Mary Shelley was spending far too much time worrying about the fidelity of her lover/husband (depending on how far I'd read), Byron was being suitably Byronic with his sister, and Lady Caroline Lamb had seemingly gone completely mad and was being very tedious about it.

Time for break. Or as the Monty Python boys would have it - now for something completely different! Bemoaning the lack of anything completely different, my mother handed me 'Two Lipsticks and a Lover' by Helena Frith Powell. Pushing aside my turned up nose, she assured me it was a very good read, and so I sat down and immersed myself in all the various attitudes the French have to clothes, appearance, love, sex (quite different to Love, and more destructive) and education.

It's memoir, rather than chick lit, which is perhaps why I like it so much. And I found myself suddenly immersed and absolutely adamant that I had to have matching underwear all the time, different cleansers depending on whether I was wearing make up or not, and on no account was I to wear trainers or flat when I could wear heels.

Of course, not much of this has stuck, but I remain impressed by the light hearted but interesting look at another culture. I can't say I'm surprised that Helena Frith Powell found herself changing into a French woman.

It was a good book to break the passions of the romantics with, and pushed me into a reading frenzy. More books to come, I'm back on a roll people!

Mourning the lack of time

2009-06-23T21:42:00.002+01:00

Summertime is upon up (or past us, depending on your view of the significance of the summer solstice) and I find that the time I have come to know as my massive book reading period has disappeared in a puff of smoke!

I have surprised myself by taking three weeks to read a book that in earlier years would've taken me a week to read. I've even had to take a break and read something infinitely lighter! This (I think) is what's known as 'life'. I don't like it, and it's definitely getting in the way of my reading.

I have decided to take a stand. I will be firmer with my reading habits, and my blogging habits too (for when my reading slows my blogging disappears all together, no matter how many ideas float around my mind).

Fear not, I am still here - surfing the waves and turning pages at an ever increasing speed - and I'll bring you more tales of my reading life as quickly as I can. Life wont beat me. Books are too important!

Poem of the Week

2009-06-01T20:28:00.003+01:00

A summer Day - Lucy Maud Montgomery

I

The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.

II

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.

III

Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.

Hope everyone is enjoying the weather, and not getting too burned (my back is bright pink, oh dear!)

Lost in Romance

2009-05-24T17:52:00.003+01:00

Isn't the weather lovely? Oxford is crammed with people eating ice cream and enjoying the way the college stone looks in the sunshine. The river is teaming with punts, and no one seems to be falling in. Bank holiday weather of the most sublime sort - and I don't even care that I'm actually working tomorrow. With weather like this, and the promise of more to come for summer, I could work every day as long as I got a Pimms at the end of it!

I spent much of the day in the Botanic Gardens, marvelling at the riot of colour, and reading about a different sort of colour in Jude Morgan's brilliant 'Passion'. Dovegreyreader was talking recently about Jude's latest book, which reminded me I had yet to read the above mentioned, and it seemed fitting after 'The Ballad of Dorothy Wordsworth', which mum has just picked up, and which seems to hardly be suited to such a day. It needs to be read during a storm. 'Passion' on the other hand, is ideal for the heat and brightness of today, for what other words could be used to describe the four women that are shown in the novel. Mary Shelley and Fanny Brawne have yet to burn as brightly as Caroline Lamb or Augusta Leigh, but it seems to be only a matter of time, before they too fall into the embrace of Byron, Shelley or Keats.
How different from Wordsworth, who has only an obsessed sister to cast a shadow over poetic respectability.

I am barely halfway through, but I am being whirled along, as if I too were engaged in a waltz with a dissolute rake. Jude' style is mesmerising and mercurial; hardly the same from one page to the next. Sometimes taking the voice of one woman, speaking directly to the audience, and at other times allowing the reader to be less involved. On the periphery, untouched by scandal, but seeing it just the same.

I must go tend to my pink arms, and see if I can make my shoulders the same colour. I was too involved in reading to notice the tan lines ....

Retail Therapy

2009-05-18T19:51:00.004+01:00

I needed to cheer myself up after work, and thanks to a friend who, forgetting she'd already given me a birthday present, refused to take her second cheque back, I popped into Blackwells on my way home and indulged myself.

Firstly I bought A.S. Byatt's 'The Children's Book'. I've been a bit wary of her work, as although I think 'Possession' is amazing, I've never been able to get through the diary section, and have given up twice in the same spot. However, it has been recommended fervently by Dovegreyreader, so I shall give it a chance, even if A.S. Byatt is a literary snob about Harry Potter ('Ms Rowling's magic world has no place for the numinous. It is written for people whose imaginative lives are confined to TV cartoons and the exaggerated (more exciting, not threatening) mirror-worlds of soaps, reality TV and celebrity gossip') Humph.

Secondly I bought Mark Bostridge's new biography of Florence Nightingale. I heard him speak about this at the Oxford Literary Festival, but didn't buy it, as it was only out in hardback at the time, and I had to choose between it and Penelope Fitzgerald's letters.

So, I feel a bit better now, and am taking myself to bed to delve into a book - not sure which one yet though!

Doomed Love

2009-05-17T21:44:00.002+01:00

I don't know what's got into me this past week, but suddenly I am devouring books quicker than normal, and I've been totally immersed in the lives of women on the periphery. If it's not Dorothy Wordsworth, then it's Nelly Ternan. Does it say something for my subconscious that I seem to be reading about woman who were repressed (deliberately or otherwise) by the men that loved them? I do hope not.

It's hard to write a biography when there is not much evidence of the person being scrutinised. Ellen (Nelly) Ternan was a young woman brought up in an acting family with what looked like a decent, if not completely promising, acting career in front of her, until one day Charles Dickens decided to take his amateur acting up a level and hired her, and the rest of her family, to take the roles that his family had previously played. From that day in 1857, Nelly was inextricably bound up with Dickens and as a result slipped almost completely from the pages of history.

Certainly as the Victorian era's best model for family values (even if he did abandon his wife and was unduly critical of his children) Dickens could afford no scandal to touch his name, and he therefore endeavoured to keep Nelly as cloistered as possible, but the subterfuge went so far that even after his death, Nelly remained silent on the subject of her famous patron.

Claire Tomalin's portrait is an interesting one to read, because even with the scant information there is to enable us to form a clear picture, there is still enough snippets for us to gain an understanding of where she came from and where she went after a thirteen year vanishing act. The fact that Dickens had a mistress doesn't particularly shock modern sensibilities, but when the news was breaking just after the First World War people were outraged. The person it appears to have hurt the most, however, was Nelly's son from her marriage after her time with Dickens. Geoffrey had been brought up believing his Mother was young and truthful, wholly in love with his father, and never anything more remarkable than the wife of a schoolmaster. To discover she had once been an actress, was a decade older than she pretended to be, had possibly deceived his father for the whole of their marriage, and might have never truly loved him, was too much. Geoffrey refused to talk about the potential truth for the rest of his life, and is believed to have destroyed much vital evidence that would have helped us put a character to the many images we have of Nelly. Interestingly, the reverse is true of Dorothy Wordsworth - we have many words, and only two images, one a silhouette.

I wonder sometimes if there are any other invisible women to be discovered. Half the Victorian world seems to have lived double or triple lives; who else split their lives into public and private and managed to get away with it - up to a point? One can only wonder at the scandalous stories that are still to be revealed to the world.

Not today, I've got a headache

2009-05-17T18:25:00.002+01:00

Halfway through my MA in Life Writing, I was instructed to read Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere journals. The event was not a happy one, and I don't think I ever made it through more than a third. This was a woman who, it seemed to me, had a headache every other entry and was totally preoccupied with getting letters from her brother, William. 'He's only been gone two days!', my mind screamed as she moaned, 'pull yourself together!'

Unsurprisingly I completely missed the point, preferring only to see the words and not what their underlying impetus told me about the relationship between the two.

I have just swallowed Frances Wilson's 'The Ballad of Dorothy Wordsworth' whole, which I wrote about when I went to Dartington last year. It's an intriguing book, for Frances Wilson takes the bare words of the journal, complete with running commentary on health, and seeks to find the thinking, feeling, person beneath and between the lines.
Dorothy, she states, is rarely seem in the journal, all we get is a mass of finely jangled nerves, observations of nature and details of her brothers' activities. She is less visible in his presence because of the space he takes up - although as Frances Wilson herself says 'Without William, Dorothy has no substance: even in her journal she is hardest to see when she is most alone.' When we see her most clearly, it is almost always when she is reporting on the lives of those closest to her.

I have never really 'got on' with Wordsworth, having always seen him as something of a failure. Now, before you all respond with a cry of 'heathen!', let me make clear that I don't mean him to be a failure as a poet, rather it is as a Romantic that he fails. The German poet Friedrich Schlegel said Romanticism was an art that is eternally in the 'process of becoming' and 'can never be completed' (quoted in Frances Wilson's book p 29) and if we consider the most famous romantic poets, then we see that Coleridge, Keats, Shelley, Byron and Clare all died at fairly young ages, with their poetic dream incomplete. Wordsworth on the other hand, transcended the romantic ideal and became in the end a much feted Victorian Gentleman. Can you imagine any of the other Romantics becoming Poet Laureate?

To return to Dorothy, however, I feel somehow that Frances Wilson has changed my opinion of her. True enough, the headaches are in as much abundance as they ever were, but I can now put them into context. Dorothy was a remarkably emotive woman. She never seemed to have felt anything by halves, even though she uses the word often enough in her journals and letters (she is half full, half afraid, half overcome) and the love she was deprived of when her father cast her out of the family at the age of seven when her mother died, seems to have crashed forth like a waterfall when she turned her back on polite society and went to ramble with William all over the countryside. This was not the usual practise for young woman and at one point during the period she and William lived near Coleridge in Somerset, the group was described as 'a mischievous gang of disaffected Englishmen', which seems a perfect way to sum up the early Romantic era.

Who was Dorothy? Why was she so devoted to her brother? Did they, in fact, have a more intimate relationship than their friends ever guessed? Was she completely senile by the time she died? The answer to all these questions, even after reading Frances Wilson's book seem to be 'I'm not quite sure.' No evidence other than readings of journal entries have been found to prove an incestuous relationship; the woman seen in the journal is quite different from the one presented in her letters or her friends recollections. She is an unsolvable riddle, but one that biographers will continue to puzzle over. I'm off to hunt out my copy of her journals, for I see now they have more to say than I previously supposed.

What a difference a year makes

2009-05-15T08:17:00.003+01:00

It seems that I have been blogging about my literary passions for a whole year now, so I thought I'd celebrate in the form of a post about the book that caused me to change my whole outlook and made me really love reading.

So, why don't you grab a chair (that bean bag in the corner is comfy), help yourself to tea and cake (there's some white chocolate brownies circulating) and I'll tell you all about it.

The book is 'Legacy' by Susan Kay, and I highly doubt if most of you have heard of it. As historical fiction goes it's not all that different from the Jean Plaidy, Philippa Gregory or Norah Loffts that so dominate our shelves now, but what makes it special for me is that it was the first book that completely captured my attention, and at one point, I got so drawn in to the story that I lost all sense of time for about half an hour. I missed Neighbours and Home and Away (which when you're ten is a big deal)!

The novel is basically the story of Elizabeth I's love affair with Robert Dudley - a tale that has been told many time over the years. I'll always remember the start, because it focuses on Anne Boleyn, and the short time she had with her daughter in a beautiful way. Elizabeth is left pulling the head off her favourite doll after overhearing servants gossip - a haunting image.
It's been years since I read it, but it's essence has stayed with me ever since I first read it. Up until then I had think I'd been ambivalent about reading, but this book showed me a world I didn't know and I wanted to find others that would do the same. A bookworm was born!

Is there a particular book that opened everything out for you, or made you take your reading more seriously? I'm sure there's at least one for everyone!

His Dark Materials

2009-05-02T23:02:00.003+01:00

There are some books that you would love to see realised on stage or film, but you can't quite visualise how it would work, and dread anyone trying.

This is how I feel about the 'His Dark Materials' trilogy. I've always loved the books because of the depth in both the plot and characters; the fact it's partly set in Oxford makes it all the more magical to me. The film of the first book doesn't do any justice, and it's always struck me as odd that it should have been made when there was never any intention of completing the trilogy.

When the National Theatre staged a two part adaptation of the books, I desperately wanted to see it, but I never got the chance. Today, my dream finally came true, as I spent six hours in the Oxford Playhouse watching the most wonderful performances.

It's a notoriously difficult plot to stage, not least because of the daemons the population of one world are supposed to have. And how do you create armoured polar bears? The answer, it turns out, is puppetry. Beautiful puppetry, that makes use of the puppeteer, so that even if you are slightly distracted by a snow leopard being manipulated by a human, it doesn't matter, because the human is the voice, and therefore part of the enchantment.

If you happen to be in Bromley, Northampton, Edinburgh or West Yorkshire over the next couple of months, I urge you to go and see it. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that you should make a trip specially to see it. I can't possibly talk about all the aspects of what makes it so wonderful, or how they manage to cram so much into six hours, but if anyone has questions, then do write in the comments.

I doubt anyone from the National is reading this, but I really wish and hope that someone films the stage version, it's truly remarkable!

Poem of the week

2009-04-30T19:12:00.002+01:00

This lovely poem by Wislawa Szymborska, was posted in the comments of Justine Picardie's blog and I felt the need to share the joy.

"In Praise of My Sister."

My sister does not write poems
and it's unlikely she'll suddenly start writing poems.
She takes after her mother, who did not write poems,
and after her father, who also did not write poems.
Under my sister's roof I feel safe:
nothing would move my sister's husband to write poems.
And although it sounds like a poem by Adam Macedonski,
none of my relatives is engaged in the writing of poems.

In my sister's desk there are no old poems
nor any new ones in her handbag.
And when my sister invites me to dinner,
I know she has no intention of reading me poems.
She makes superb soups without half trying,
and her coffee does not spill on manuscripts.

In many families no one writes poems,
but when they do, it's seldom just one person.
Sometimes poetry flows in cascades of generations, which sets up fearsome eddies in family relations.

My sister cultivates a decent spoken prose,
her entire literary output is on vacation postcards
that promise the same thing every year:
that when she returns,
she'll tell us, everything,
everything,
everything.

Poem of the Week

2009-04-23T20:25:00.001+01:00

In honour of it being St George's day and Shakespeare's birthday, here is a speech from Henry V, which manages to combine the both!

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

Strange twists in reading fate

2009-04-21T21:27:00.003+01:00

Can it be simple coincidence, or are higher forces at work? Did I start reading David Starkey's 'Henry' today simply because I wanted something vastly different from 'A Thousand Splendid Suns', or did I inherently know that on this day in 1509, Henry VII died, therefore handing the crown to his younger son who went on to shape history like no other king before him?

I heard David Starkey speak on his new book just before Easter at the Oxford Literary festival, and it's safe to say he's a captivating speaker; quite different from his television persona, in that he goes off at a tangent all the time, but the story he's telling is still there. In this case, it's the story of that first part of Henry's life, when he was simply the 'spare' and therefore brought up accordingly. How much, Starkey asks, did this upbringing contribute to the way he acted later in life?

It's truly Henry VIII season at the moment - Hampton Court, The British Library and many others are having exhibitions to coincide with the 500th anniversary of his accession to the throne, and it's so interesting to read a biography of Henry that (in this part at any rate) doesn't focus on the thing that makes him so famous in this century - his marriages. I'm looking forward to seeing how Henry grew up, in the shadow of his brother and surrounded by the women of the court .... what made Henry was his first fifteen years, and I don't know about the rest of you, but my first fifteen years were pretty mediocre, and if I'd been forced to rule from that age, I doubt I'd have made a good job of it!

I shall report back in later to tell you how he's doing - Henry's report card if you will!

Books are like busses

2009-04-19T20:02:00.002+01:00

It's strange - you read nothing worth talking about and sharing for weeks, and then two books come along at once that make you rush out to tell the world. I have had such an experience, and so I am here to tell you about two books that are highly original, and might make you see life from a slightly different perspective.

Firstly there is 'A Thousand Splendid Suns' by Khaled Hosseini who also wrote 'The Kite Runner'. This is isn't something I would've picked up, were it not my April bookclub choice. I've seen 'The Kite Runner' and was in no way inspired to read the book, and when his second novel came along, I wasn't rushing to the bookstore. I'm ever so glad whoever voted for it, as it's totally beautiful.

The book spans the decades between the sixties and 2003 and traces the many shifts in politics and life in Kabul through the eyes of two very different women, Mariam and Laila, who are connected at first only through the fact that they are married to the same man.
It's a powerful story, beautifully and simply told. Life is not dressed up to resemble anything fine or wonderful - people make mistakes, die before their time, wallow in grief and end up in abusive relationships. It was so interesting to read a novel on that side of the fence, especially through the eyes of women. It's a magical book, and it led me on to the second bus (book).

This was 'The Reluctant Fundamentalist' by Mohsin Hamid. It's written in the style of the dialogues philosophers of old once wrote to express their religious beliefs. One voice, telling a story and commenting on the unseen listener's reactions. A man, Pakistani by birth and upbringing, has come to America to go to Princeton. He tells the story of how he rises in the ranks of American society, but once the September 11th attacks happen he begins to become disollusioned with his adopted country. There is a poetic sense to the way he tells his tale, and there is a distinctive flavour to his words. Normally when I read, I only ever hear my voice telling the story, even if there are different dialects, like in 'Wuthering Heights'. This time, there was a definite lilt to the words, and it was almost as if I were sitting in the Lahore cafe with the man, being told the story myself.

Both books are intensely interesting and offer views on subjects that are constantly before our eyes nowadays, but which we have ceased to truly look at because of the constant stream of information. I want to read more, so I might move on to 'The Kite Runner'!

In other news, as you know I have a penchant for marking the anniversary of births and deaths of my favourite authors, and today is one such moment -- twenty years ago Daphne du Maurier, author of some of my favourite novels, died at the age of 82.

Easter

2009-04-09T08:21:00.003+01:00

Happy Easter everyone! I hope you've all got lovely things planned - day trips, reading marathons, anything really to make use of these few lovely days we have off. I myself am going to Somerset, and will be tramping the countryside with eleven children, ten adults and three dogs - think of me when you are curled up in an arm chair with that extra thick book you've been saving for this holiday!
Hopefully I will get some reading done too - I know I'll get some buying done, as there's a particularly wonderful second hand bookshop in my grandmother's village. Anyone like to take a bet on how many books I'll buy?

Posting will hopefully resume normal service when I return - the first month of the new job is over, so hopefully I will have more time!

Happy Easter everyone!

Poem of the Week

2009-03-21T21:55:00.002Z

Sorry not to have been around recently - new jobs = less time and a rather tired Oxford Reader. Also, shockingly, I've barely done any reading. It's taken me the best part of a week to read one Agatha Christie.

Anyway, hopefully will get back into the swing of things, and in the meantime, here's a poem - dedicated to the wonderful spirit that was and is Natasha Richardson.

They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record of their friendship.
If absence be not death, neither is theirs.
Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.
For they must needs be present, that love and live in that whch is omnipresent.
In this divine glass they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure.
This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.

William Penn, from More Fruits of Solitude

A step back in time

2009-03-08T21:20:00.000Z

There are times when I think I was born in the wrong era, and most definitely in the wrong class. It's all very well reading about people with big houses, holding wonderful soirees, having my portrait painted by John Singer Sargent or Joshua Reynolds. There are some wonderful houses in literature - Jane Austen has some fantastic examples, as do the Brontes, Henry James, Edwith Wharton and not forgetting some of our more recent authors, Agatha Christie, Evelyn Waugh, Daphne du Maurier and Kazuo Ishiguro - however, none of these compare to those in reality, and sometimes the stories that issue forth from places like Chatsworth are far more intriguing than anything an author could dream up.

Such a place is Cliveden - home of Waldorf and Nancy Astor, and the place where the infamous Profumo affair started. I went to lunch there yesterday (it's now a hotel) and feel that I can only belong in a place like Cliveden.

This is the entrance hall - not your usual setting for hanging your hats - and with Nancy Astor overseeing your every move, in the left hand corner, you wouldn't be cavorting too much.

A view from the upper terrace
This is Nancy Astor's butler - theirs was a volatile relationship, and on one occasion of his giving his notice (a regular occurrence) Nancy replied 'Where are you going to, for I shall follow you there.' Needless to state, he didn't go anywhere.

We sat in the middle window - a wonderful view ...
As can be seen below ....

One day - all this shall be yours*
It is, I think you will agree, beautiful and completely beyond most of our grasps. So it's back to the novels to give us what we want. Which literary mansion would you wish to live in? For my part, I think Dartington Hall, from 'The Remains of the Day' would be perfect!

*What, the curtains? (ten points for telling me where that's from!)

Birthday note

2009-03-04T06:35:00.003Z

Hello all, just a quick note to say that if you stop by today, I hope you will help me celebrate and have a cup of tea (or something stronger) and a brownie with me. I made plenty last night, and below are a few photos of the making process! Happy eating! Here's to another wonderful year of book reading, and happy birthday to Dovegreyreader, who is three today!

Desiderata

2009-03-03T11:04:00.002Z

People at work are sending me lovely things in the wake of me leaving, and one (the lovely Alice) obviously thinks I need a bit of calming down. Here is an email she sent me earlier today.

Max Ehrmann's inspirational poem - Desiderata

The common myth is that the Desiderata poem was found in a Baltimore church in 1692 and is centuries old, of unknown origin. Desiderata was in fact written around 1920 (although some say as early as 1906), and certainly copyrighted in 1927, by lawyer Max Ehrmann (1872-1945) based in Terre Haute, Indiana. The Desiderata myth began after Reverend Frederick Kates reproduced the Desiderata poem in a collection of inspirational works for his congregation in 1959 on church notepaper, headed: 'The Old St Paul's Church, Baltimore, AD 1692' (the year the church was founded). Copies of the Desiderata page were circulated among friends, and the myth grew, accelerated particularly when a copy of the erroneously attributed Desiderata was found at the bedside of deceased Democratic politician Aidlai Stevenson in 1965.

Whatever the history of Desiderata, the Ehrmann's prose is inspirational, and offers a simple positive credo for life.

Desiderata - by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann c.1920

It reminds me, in some ways, of that song that did the rounds in early 2000 - 'Everyone's Free to Wear Sunscreen', although I think the above is much truer.

Poem of the Week

2009-03-02T22:36:00.002Z

In the wet-faced hours of the night

considering love, or the lack of it;
on-the-one-hand-this,
on-the-other-hand-that—

in these steep and solitary hours
come the raw questions.
And sorrow surfaces as tears,
and moonlight finds me, stretched
like some trussed Gulliver, among
the little, scampering, bossy needs of life;
the pinpricks of the new day’s coming cares.

And yet.
The day will dawn. A bird will sing.
A hundred different clichés spring to life.
Even in this January,
light, unstoppable, will show
the old camellia, up against the wall,
a shout of lipstick red.

By Ann Alexander

The cycles of my bookshelf

2009-02-28T17:28:00.005Z

I am sure people will understand the thoughts I am about to express. You can't call yourself a true bookaholic without experiencing this at least once!

Sometimes one reads in cycles. I don't mean consciously making lists on the same subject, actively seeking out works that will relate to the previous book and form a bridge to the
next; sometimes we finish a book, ponder what we will turn to next and without really thinking about it, choose a book that directly, or indirectly, relates to the one before.

This, I have realised, has just happened to me. Last week I finally read 'The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society', won last year, and absolutely loved it. The humour at the start, which slowly turns somber as the full extent of the Nazi occupation of Guernsey is realised. I love the fact it's told through letters, that strangers can reach across and touch one another. It's beautiful. I wish it happened more often.
I knew little of the Guernsey occupation, and neither does Juliet Ashton, although this is swiftly rectified. As I read it, I kept thinking that it was real, that it was the kind of book Jan Struther (of 'Mrs Miniver' fame) might have put together if she had had the opportunity.

I've been fortunate enough never to have had to live through a war, but it's still a book that resonates deeply with me, perhaps because of the simple love of literature that echoes from the letters. How Isola rants against the Bronte men ('Dear Miss Ashton, Oh my, oh my. You have written a book about Anne Bronte, sister to Charlotte and Emily ... To think all five of them had weak chests and died so young! What a sadness. Their Pa was a selfish thing, wasn't he? He paid his girls no mind at all - always sitting in his study, yelling for his shawl. He never rose up to wait on hisself, did he? Just sat alone in his room while his daughters died like flies. And their brother, Branwell, he wasn't much either. Always drinking and sicking up on the carpets.'), or how one letter writer sums up the arrival of the Nazis with the simple Shakespeare line 'The bright day is done, and we are for the dark.' I want more books like that. Consider this a commission!

So, today (Friday), when I was scanning my shelves for something to take with me into town in case I got bored of writing (which I did), I bypassed all the books that have been gathering dust for years and went immediately for 'The Reader'. You see what I mean about cycles and links?
I've seen the film already. Indeed, I wouldn't have known of the books existence without it. Some people will tell you that the order is wrong. Books should be read before films are seen. And, to a certain extent, I agree with them, but it really does depend on the quality of both. Some books make fantastic films, but are an utter chore to read, whilst the reverse can also be true. In the case of 'The Reader', both are such gems, and use the visual in such distinctive ways, that I don't think it particularly matters which order the process takes. (However, I did find that a certain Ms Winslet's face popped into my head whenever I thought of Hannah Schmitz - although this is no bad thing!).

As I write this, I've only just finished reading the book and therefore am still digesting what I devoured in a little over six hours, but my primary feeling is one of beauty. I realise this is an odd choice of word, considering the underlying theme of the book, but as I said earlier, the use of visual in the novel is a very strong part of it, and you can't help but be drawn to the images being conveyed. The novel is not long, but there are a lot of ideas to take in, the notion of guilt, and love, and whether we are right to love people, even after their actions prove them to be false, seem to be of real import to Schlink. It's not a novel I can easily dismiss in quick sentences, and at this point in time, I don't think I'm even going to try!

So, there we are - two different books on one similar period, both of which have come together to help inform my understanding on how writers deal with that big monster under the bed, Nazi Germany and the after effects the war had on everyone at the time.

So many books ....

2009-02-26T23:14:00.002Z

I'm having a little writers block, blog wise. I've been reading lots, but can't - for the moment - find an interesting way of putting things. Don't worry, I'll be back soon, I just didn't want anyone to think I'd disappeared without reason!

News

2009-02-16T19:44:00.003Z

I've suddenly realised that I've forgotten to tell you all of a big development happening here in my small corner of Oxford!

I've been quite reticent about talking about my personal life - work in particular, mainly because I don't really like my job. The people are great, but it's just not fulfilling. That's why I'm really happy to say that I have a new job at Somerville college in Oxford, and I start on 9th March.

The job title is Assistant Academic Administrator, and in a nutshell I am the first port of call for all students with academic questions. The job description is huge - four pages - so there's no chance that I will find myself under employed.

Anyway, think of me on 4th March, which is my last day at Brookes (and coincidentally my birthday), and spare a thought for a girl quaking in her boots as she enters the hallowed grounds of Somerville (one of the few colleges where you CAN walk on the grass!)

Poem of the Week

2009-02-16T19:41:00.001Z

How to Make a Woman Out of Water

Move to a boathouse by a river -
the walls must be yellow, the windowsills blue.
Sleep downstairs with your head upstream,
wait for a dream of swimming.

When it rains all night and you lie awake
collecting the music of a leak
and reading The Observer’s Book of Water
until you’ve learned that chapter

on whirlpools and waterspouts by heart,
listen to her whisper and giggle
as she scribbles her slippery name
over and over down the glass.

Have a bucketful of oysters in the sink
in case she’s feeling peckish
and a case of Rainwater sherry
chilling in a cave behind the waterfall.

At the bottom of the well
there’s one white pebble -
put it beneath your tongue
until it dissolves into a kiss.

Become so dry she will slip
into the shape of your thirst.
Prepare to be a shiver on her surface.
Taste her arrival on the wind.

by Charles Bennett

A new haul

2009-02-15T17:03:00.003Z

I'm sure everyone who reads this blog suffers from a similar problem to me - that of having too many books and yet not being able to leave bookshops well alone.

I thought I had formed the perfect plan, when in January I swore that I wouldn't buy a single book until 10th April. I was doing really well too. I just didn't go into bookshops. However, I thought a test was in order, so I went into the second hand department of Blackwells .... and I cracked.

Six weeks - that's all I managed. Isn't it terrible? And who do you think caused the crack to happen? Yes, Ms Du Maurier once again worked her magic, and I found two of hers that I didn't yet have (which is a feat, I have to say!)

This smallish crack was relatively justifiable, and if I'd left it there, perhaps it could have been papered over, but unfortunately, the crack went deeper than previously thought, and now, my resolve has completely crumbled. The only way to repair the damage is start all over again!

This shouldn't be too hard, for as you can see from the following, my shelves wont need any more adding to for quite a while!

- Eleanor Dark: The Little Company - VMC green cover, second hand
- Philip Roth: The Plot Against America
- Katharine McMahon: Footsteps
- C.W. Gortner: The Last Queen
- Italio Calvino: If on a Winter's Night a Traveller
- Various: In Bed With
- Edith Wharton: Roman Fever - VMC green cover, second hand
- Christopher Milne: The Enchanted Places - second hand
- Winifred Holtby: The Crowded Street - VMC green cover, second hand
- Katie Hickman: The Aviary Gate
- Richard Yates: Revolutionary Road
- Bernhard Schlink: The Reader
- Daphne du Maurier: Golden Lads
- Daphnr du Maurier: The Winding Stair

So, quite a haul really, I think you'd also agree?

Also, as a completely unbookish side note, you will probably be hearing quite a bit about this fellow ... His name is Bailey.

Valentine's family history

2009-02-14T22:59:00.002Z

I really have no desire to celebrate Valentine's day in the form it has taken in the twenty first century, but for the sake of family history, I should like it to be remembered that 70 years ago today, my grandfather proposed to my grandmother at a Valentine's day ball. As she proclaims on her facebook status (yes, Granny, at 87, does indeed have a facebook page) if she hadn't said yes, a lot of people wouldn't exist ..... and that very much includes me, so that's the single reason to be greatful for this hyped up day!