Sunday, 7 June 2009

Question Time


This is Sarah! As you can see, one of her favourite past-times is rolling around in mud and dirt like an animal. She is an outrageously excellent, talented and often inappropriate friend of mine, and has filled in my questionnaire about her thoughts on literature. Oh, and she's probably going to win the Booker prize one day too.
Who are you?
The photo above is the best way I could think of to answer this question!
What have you read recently that has really resonated with you?
“The Doctor” by Andre Dubus, from his first short story collection, ‘Separate Fights’. As I’ve already described it to Elsie in pain-staking detail TWICE (once sober, once hideously drunk), I’m not going to go over it again. So, aside from that, Ali Smith. Back in March my friend Grace showed me one of Smith’s short stories, and I was hooked; in a couple of months I read everything by her, except for one collection that I still haven’t been able to track down. Stylistically, Ali Smith writes the way I want to be able to write, and her themes really struck a chord, too. For example, her depictions of the way our sense of our own identity is socially conditioned – it’s not an innate thing – and how this conditioning can be undone really hit home.
Who are your favourite authors?
I haven’t read enough by most authors to be able to call them my favourites, and of those I have read enough by there’s only ever a couple of works in the author’s bibliography that I really, properly love – apart from J.D. Salinger. I’ve read pretty much everything by him (even the unanthologized stuff, on the sly – god bless you, UEA library!) and got good things out of all of it.
What are you reading at the moment and what's it like so far?
‘Carry Me Down’, by M.J. Hyland, because she’ll be tutoring me next year and I want to see what her writing’s like, and because it was on sale at JR & RK Ellis, one of Norwich’s loveliest second-hand bookshops. I’m not very far in, but it’s pretty good so far – feels a bit early Ian McEwan light, but it’s got this great, queasy atmosphere, and the twelve year old narrator’s voice is well captured.
What is it about reading that you enjoy?
“The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it's as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.”

I came across this quote from Alan Bennett’s ‘The History Boys’ through Elsie, and it says almost everything that needs to be said about why I enjoy reading. The only thing to add is that, because of the way it’s produced, I think literature is much less likely to communicate dominant (and therefore traditional, conservative, and sometimes downright dangerous) ideologies than lots of the film and TV I watch.
What was your favourite childhood book and why?
It’s a bit of a boring answer, but ‘Harry Potter’. I read the first book twenty-six times before not bothering to count anymore. One of the reasons I liked it so much is because it is the story-world is so incredibly (and, in the later books, excessively) detailed. It has this incredible verisimilitude; you can really immerse yourself in it. When I was in Year Seven I used to genuinely, painfully long to go to Hogwarts (as I was only ten and hated secondary school, I think this was allowed). Sadly it never happened.
After studying English Literature, what do you feel you have learnt, and do you feel that it is still an important area of study?
Apart from the influence of the protestant work ethic on the formulation of ‘Robinson Crusoe’ and other obscure essay answers, I think that one of the main things that studying English Literature has taught me is a much better ability to empathize with other people and to appreciate different points of view. I feel much more open to the equivocalness of everything after being at university for three years.
This links to why I think English Literature is important. I think the English language (and probably most languages) is a deeply ineffective medium of communication; in conversations you’re never able to say exactly what you think or feel. The written word is still imperfect, but I think that it’s the best channel we have to communicate thoughts and emotions to other people. Literature can create a genuine connection through author-character-reader, and it’s because of this that it’s so valuable. The human connection means that literature is, I think, at least as effective as works of pure philosophy, or history, or psychology (and so on) in helping people understand those subjects, and so understand themselves.
Is there a book that you feel you should have read, but haven't?
This feeling often depends on how horrified my excessively well-read older brother is when I tell him I haven’t read ‘The Faerie Queen’, ’Paradise Lost’, etc. He comes close to anaphylactic shock when I admit that, no, I still haven’t got round to reading any Dickens. This is the author I feel worst about not having read – although I will probably continue to not read Dickens for the foreseeable future.
What is the one book that you always recommend to others?
If the person I’m recommending to is, I don’t know, twenty-five or under, then I go for ‘The Catcher in the Rye’. It has the potential to be an incredible reading experience, one that can really change you, but Salinger creates his teenage narrator so effectively that if his readers are too far gone into adulthood they may not be able to empathise with Holden, and dismiss the character’s concerns as juvenile. So read it while you still can! Aside from that it’s horses for courses, innit?

Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Frozen Sea

"One should only read books which bite and sting one. If the book we are reading does not wake us up with a blow to the head, what's the point in reading? A book must be the axe which smashes the frozen sea within us." Franz Kafka.

I've had this quote on my mind for a little while, which got me thinking about the books I have read that have 'smashed the frozen sea' inside me. I remember feeling utterly staggered after finishing George Orwell's 'Nineteen Eighty-Four', and the experience of reading that book has stayed with me for a long time. Phrases like 'Big Brother', 'Orwellian state' and so forth are bandied about so often in the press that the terror that comes across in the novel seems to have been diluted, but when reading it again I'm constantly holding my breath and wondering if Orwell actually did have some kind of grim crystal ball to see the society we find ourselves in now.

Another one that I felt broke my frozen sea is 'North and South' by Elizabeth Gaskell. I'm not much of a romantic but this novel somehow managed to 'melt' me. Not just with her depiction of a blossoming, difficult and angst-ridden relationship between Thornton and Margaret Hale, which I loved, but with her portrayal of the hardships facing the mill-workers. The excrutiating unfairness of the divide between the wealthy and the poor came across so sharply that the novel felt like a portrait of the few that didn't necessarily benefit from the industrial boom in the 19th century; a group we don't always consider. It's a good old romance, too.

'Jane Eyre' is another classic that gets me every time. I realise that it's a bit of a typical 'literary girl' book, but I honestly feel that it's gets better with every reading. As I get older, different parts speak to me more strongly, and I can trace Jane's confusion and growth within the novel alongside my own experiences.

I've recently given a few of my friends a little questionnaire, with one of the questions asking what book has resonated with them, and I'm really excited to read their answers. I'm going to post their completed entries every so often on here. Hurray!

Thursday, 28 May 2009

Little Things

I stumbled across this poem today on Justine Picardie's blog and completely fell in love with it. Doesn't it just make you smile? Wendy Cope, you are amazing!


The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

by Wendy Cope.

Saturday, 2 May 2009

Wilkie Collins




This blog has been pretty quiet of late, for which I apologise (I know that my, er...tens of...one...reader(s) have been finding life a struggle without it). I'm currently in the middle of wringing out of my brain in order to type out three months worth of research and supposedly original thought on 'The Woman in White' and 'The Moonstone', and it's proving to be both tiring and interesting. The research for my dissertation has been fascinating, but putting everything that I've learned into coherent sentences is a little more tricky. I've spent so much time in the library recently that I may as well move in and direct all future post there, and put up posters around the table that my friends and I have fiercely claimed as our own. Might bring in a potted plant tomorrow. And a kettle.


I had a glorious time visiting Agatha Christie's Devon holiday home, Greenway, over the Easter holidays. It was a beautiful day, and we caught the boat from Dartmouth to a little quay-side, where we walked up through woodland to reach her house. It's had a rather vigorous face-lift over the last couple of years, and in March it showed it's freshly scrubbed face to the world. It's lovely, as you can see from the photo I took at the top.
I'll write more about my visit when I'm not suffering from a post-Minstrels sugar come-down, and not in the library staring slightly hopelessly at a pile of books at half past six on a Saturday.


Sunday, 29 March 2009

Hurray!


I turned 21 on Wednesday, and last night we had a little party where I was presented with this amazing creation-a Rescued Reads cake! Kirsty has really surpassed herself this time, it's the best thing I've ever SEEN!
This week has probably been the best of my life, involving dancing, surprises, a musical, cake, Harrods, flowers, incredible people, train travelling hysteria, corsets, veggie food and easter eggs. Bloody marvellous.

Friday, 20 March 2009

The British Library Experience...

So. The British Library. After experiencing a little bit of confusion, a few minutes of wandering and examining road signs, and a kindly man in St Pancras Station, I managed to find the place (which, rather embarrassingly, was massive and ludicrously well sign-posted, but the kindly St Pancras man refrained from pointing this out).

It doesn't look much like a library from the outside, more like a very well designed school. But inside it's amazing. It's all open and white and full of light, with a huge glass tower going right up through the middle, containing the King's Library, with 65,000 printed volumes along with other manuscripts collected by King George III between 1763 and 1820 (as you probably tell, I did a lot of browsing in the shop).

Registering took a while, although it did give me a chance to listen to lots of interesting conversations, including one between two men where they were discussing anaesthesia for a novel that one of them was attempting to write, and a woman explaining to the receptionist that she didn't necessarily want to read but instead sit in the reading rooms and 'absorb knowledge'. I never got to find out what the receptionist said to this, as I was then called forward to be questioned, photographed, searched, etc. Turns out libraries are more of a security risk than airports, who knew?

I then had to order the books that I wanted in the Humanities Room by computer, and wait for an hour and a half for them to be brought up. I went and had a coffee while I waited and did some more people-watching, which is a favourite past-time of mine, and read some of my current book, 'American Psycho' by Bret Easton Ellis. Here's a tip for you. Never read this book in a public place. It was so horrifyingly graphic and violent that I kept squeezing my eyes shut and gasping and groaning and shuddering, which earns you a fair few bemused glances when you're in a cafe.

After that I spent around four hours reading and scribbling and thinking in the Humanities Room (which is incredible, packed with hundreds of people but utterly silent) before going to meet my friend Lydia for dinner, and going back to stay at her flat. The next day I managed another five or six hours before having to dash for my train back to Norwich.

So, in short, it was bloody excellent. I got so much done, the coffee was great, there was a Charles Darwin exhibition where I saw one of the first printed copies of 'The Origin of Species', I bought a womens suffrage postcard, and I'm now fully signed up for another twelve months. I'm definitely going back. But not taking 'American Psycho'.

Sunday, 8 March 2009

British Library

I've been banging on about wanting to go to the British Library in London for absolutely ages, so now I'm finally achieving the dream and heading there on Tuesday. I'm feeling slightly terrified, as I've never been in such a massive library (I'd really like it to be like the one from the Stephen Moffat episode of Doctor Who in the last series...except without the flesh-eating darkness, which would considerably hinder my research) and I have visions of getting lost/trapped/squashed under a huge pile of books. But I have a feeling I might fall in love with the place.

The main reason that I'm going is for dissertation research, although I'm hoping to have a good wander round as well. And try out the coffee shop, obviously. You can't visit these sort of places without sampling the coffee. And going to the shop, and possibly buying a pencil sharpener, or book bag, or a postcard.

So with all this coffee drinking, shop browsing and aimless wandering, I think I'll be really quite busy. Oh, and I might try a bit of 'reading' (whatever) if I can fit it in.

Monday, 2 March 2009

HAPPY

Today, I am feeling really happy. The sun is shining. I have just spent a lovely week with my family in Devon. I'm going out tonight with some of my favourite people in the entire world. And I've just eaten two bourbon biscuits from a huge box that my gran pressed into my hands yesterday. I don't know whether she's trying to feed me up, or give me early diabetes (this is the second box that she's given me), or whatever...but, thanks, gran! I do love a good biscuit with my tea.

I'm also very happy because this place has just opened-http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-vh/w-visits/w-findaplace/w-greenway/w-greenway-history.htm

I'm a bit obsessed by murder mysteries and old houses and this place combines both, which is handy.

Thursday, 19 February 2009

Bed-side Table

I've just noticed that I have an incredibly weird and varied selection of books on my bed-side table. In fact, they're all in danger of falling off/having water spilt on them/being lost forever behind my bed.

'1599: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare' by James Shapiro.

'The Line of Beauty' by Alan Hollinghurst.

'The Book of Other People' edited by Zadie Smith.

'The Virago Book of Women Travellers' edited by Mary Morris with Larry O'Connor.

'From Hell' by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell

'Detective Fiction and the Rise of Forensic Science' by Ronald R. Thomas.

Admittedly, the last one isn't entirely for pleasure. It's for my dissertation (which is about Wilkie Collins and 'The Woman in White'). But it's pretty bloody fascinating all the same.

Two of the books aren't mine, they're on loan from Mat and Patrick.

Three of the books were presents.

And one is a library book.

Also on my bed-side table, entirely unrelated to literature: empty pint glass, multi-vitamins, tissues, lip balm, headphones, and the design from a birthday cake that my wonderful friend Kirsty made for me last year-it was a 'Wicked!' cake, inspired by my slight obsession with that musical. There's a box of paracetemol as well, as I've been battling the UEA plague. And I am TOTALLY WINNING. Sort of.

Sunday, 15 February 2009

'Emotionally Weird' by Kate Atkinson


I absolutely love Kate Atkinson's writing. I have done ever since I read this book, after which I set about locating and reading everything she had ever published and devouring each book with almost indecent enthusiasm. She is just brilliant! If you haven't read anything by her then please do, she is probably the only author that has made me laugh out loud whilst reading. Her books are so carefully plotted that it's like following a piece of string to find out what is at the end, and so full of mysteries, dark secrets and connected characters that it's physically impossible to put the books down. Her latest novel, 'When Will There Be Good News?' kept me reading until the very early hours of the morning for a week over the summer. She somehow manages to take some of the darkest aspects of life-death, loss, deceit, grief-and twist them so that tiny glimmers of hope and humour may be extracted from them.
Although I have enjoyed all of her books, 'Emotionally Weird' is most definitely my favourite. It was my first experience of her writing and I also felt a kinship with the novel's heroine, Effie, who is studying English Literature at the University of Dundee (even though I wasn't at university or had plans to study the subject when I read it!). The novel's multiple narratives, deadpan humour and curiously philosophical tone just sucked me in and spat me out a changed reader.
I began re-reading it again recently and it resonates more strongly than ever, now that I'm at university and studying the same subject as Effie. The descriptions of seminars, essay deadlines and lecturers are now eerily familiar and amusingly accurate.
The novel is made up of the stories told by Effie and her mother, Nora, on a rugged island off the coast of Scotland, and their various narratives intertwine to create a tale which has more twists and turns than a country lane in Devon (and believe me, that's a fair few). At the beginning of the novel Atkinson includes an extract from 'Through the Looking-Glass' by Lewis Carroll, and there's definitely an influence here, with the dream-like quality and surreal characters and locations.
This won't be the last post about Kate Atkinson I'm afraid, as there is simply too much to say about her writing. I met her a couple of years ago, after a talk that she gave at a literary festival. My mum and I queued up afterwards to get my books signed, and I swear I have never behaved so idiotically in my life. I went all red and flustered and was hopelessly star-struck and could barely utter any of the sycophantic words I had been planning so feverishly in my head. She asked me my name and I managed to croak out a reply, after which she said (very kindly overlooking my slightly gibbering state), 'Oh, what a lovely name! I very nearly called my daughter that. You must love it, it's so unusual', which obviously tipped me over the edge and I had to be led away by my mum, nearly hyperventilating. THAT is how much I love this woman, people. READ HER!

Wednesday, 11 February 2009

One for a wet Wednesday

Another poem from the anthology that I mentioned on Sunday, by Stephen Dunn.

Happiness.

A state you must dare not enter
with hopes of staying,
quicksand in the marshes, and all

the roads leading to a castle
that doesn't exist.
But there it is, as promised,

with its perfect bridge above
the crocodiles,
and its doors forever open.

I love the idea that it's the hope for happiness, and seeing it ahead of you, that is somehow happiness itself. It isn't a constant thing, but it's always there, ready to be inhabited. How lovely!

Here is quote that I found today, from Ted Hughes: "Poetry is the voice of spirit and imagination and all that is potential, as well as of the healing benevolence that used to be the privilege of the gods."

Monday, 9 February 2009

"The Listeners" by Walter de la Mare

I first discovered this poem in primary school, when I was about ten years old. It was part of a reading comprehension exercise, where we were required to read the poem and then discuss it in a group. I don't quite know why, but something made me fall in love with it, and it's remained with me ever since. I actually still have the copy from my primary school work, which I tore out years ago, and it's been stuck on a wall wherever I happen to be living. It's above my desk right now, and it's oddly comforting to see it.

I think what attracted me was the sense of mystery within the poem; there's a story behind it, I love the language and the idea of a traveller returning home to find everything changed. The thought of the 'phantom listeners' always made makes look around extra warily if I find myself alone in a house. There's a unsettling, fairy-tale quality to the poem-it makes me think of 'Hansel and Gretel' and 'Little Red Riding-Hood', with the creepy forest and overgrown cottage.

I particularly love the last two lines: 'And how the silence surged softly backward,/ When the plunging hooves were gone'. The thought of silence 'surging' back to fill a space is so brilliantly creepy.

Anyway, here it is for a read. I like it so much that I'm going to painstakingly type it out by hand so I can remind myself of why I think it's so darn brilliant.

The Listeners.

'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
'Is there anybody there?' he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
'Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,' he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Sunday, 8 February 2009

penguins



"What's in a name?"

The name comes from my love for second-hand books, and the idea that they are just waiting to be rescued, and loved by someone else. I have more books from charity shops than I know what to do with, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Second-hand book of the moment: 'Staying Alive-Real Poems for Unreal Times', edited by Neil Astley, published by Bloodaxe Books.

I found this at the aforementioned Way with Words festival, in a box, under a table. I let out an incredulous gasp as I saw it, because I'd been sighing over a glossy copy in Waterstone's only the week before and yet here it was, only slightly thumbed, waiting to be 'rescued'! It's an amazing anthology, with poems for every time of life-sections include 'Man and beast', 'Growing up', and 'In and out of love'. It's the kind of book that I like to have on my bed-side table, so that I can dip in and out of it whenever I don't feel like getting into a novel.

I've picked out my current favourite poem, although this does change almost daily. It's by Denise Levertov.

Variation on a Theme by Rilke
(The Book of Hours, Book 1, Poem 1, Stanza 1)

A certain day became a presence to me;
there it was, confronting me-a sky, air, light:
a being. And before it started to descend
from the height of noon, it leaned over
and struck my shoulder as if with
the flat of a sword, granting me
honour and a task. The day's blow
rang out, metallic or it was I, a bell awakened,
and what I heard was my whole self
saying and singing what it knew: I can.

"Books are a uniquely portable magic"

Hello! Welcome to my brand new, shiny blog!
My amazing friend Grace has set all this up for me. She has given me the push I needed to get this started, as I've been babbling on about setting this up since the summer, when I went to the Way with Words festival at Dartington Hall, Devon and met the lovely Lynne from dovegreyreader. I wrote a short review of a talk given by Roy Hattersley for her blog, so the seed of an idea was sown-and it's taken this long for me (or rather, Grace) to get my act together.
I hope to be able to use this blog to explore my own, and others, love for literature and bookshops. Living in Norwich and Devon means that I have a huge amount of lovely literary establishments at my disposal, and I'd like to share them with other like-minded people. I've read so many wonderful blogs, and I love hearing about peoples' discoveries and reading tastes-this seems the perfect way to join in!
I hope you enjoy reading my rambling thoughts on all things bookish, I'm not sure if anyone will be interested but I'm quite excited! I hope I can also get some other folks to contribute, as I am lucky enough to know many talented people. I might post some nice pictures of things like cups of tea, and dancing, and cathedrals, and scarves sometimes too, won't that be marvellous?
Please bear with me as I get to grips with this strange new world!

testing testing.....