Hard to believe but it’s our second birthday and we’ve read a fair few cracking books (and some turkeys as well – my fault for getting carried away in the first fifty pages…). Little did I know but it’s been something of a salvation for me as the past year has been spent in and out of hospitals with my daughters, waiting endlessly waiting, having scans, x-rays and becoming familiar with the WRVS women for chocolate and tissues. And many of the books have been read trying to take my mind off it all. Once, when I was reading John McGahern’s ‘Amongst Women’ one of the male nurses, and an Irishman, leaned over and said “Awesome book”. He was damned right as well.Last week a woman I interviewed last year for a radio programme I was making emailed me out of the blue and told me that she’d picked up a copy of ‘The Reluctant Fundamentalist’ at an Oxfam shop in Inverness and it had my name in it! There’s some strange book karma at work here. One of the lunchtime members told me that it’s now possible to trace your second hand books via a barcode and see where they end up! I’m going to leave one on a train with a little note inside saying ‘pass this book on to another reader’ with a contact number so I can see how far it gets.Thanks to all for coming yesterday – it was great to see so many of you there after the Summer break and although Roger Deakin’s watery homage to Britain’s lakes and rivers got a mixed reception it was good to get back in the swing of it again. Next month is Jacob Polley’s ‘Talk of the Town’, the first novel from Jake who’s better known for his poetry which is wonderful. He’ll be at the Durham Literature Festival later on in October with sixty other authors – I’ll publish more here when I know the dates and the line-up.In the meantime check out some great authors appearing in Newcastle throughout October and November including Seamus Heaney and Carol Anne Duffy. Go to http://www.ncl.ac.uk/nclaSo good reading – I’ve got yet more hospital appointments in September with my girls. See if any of the nurses or doctors recognise Jake Polley.
Archive
Everyone in the world seems to be writing a blog or twittering – except me. And after long, hard think about why blogging holds as many charms for me as yesterday’s washing-up I think I’ve identified the reason. I’d rather be reading. At this time of year when the evenings are long, and the shed – for that’s where I do the majority of my reading – is warm enough to just sit with the window open the hour or two spent with books are my favourite of the day. Hopefully you’ll find time to balance Roger Deakin’s ‘Waterlog’ on your knee this Summer for our September book group (Tuesday September 1st). Not that I want to influence you in any way at all, but it is one of my absolute favourite books and is about so much more than swimming. I swam across Ullswater last Summer inspired by Deakin’s prose and if the rain continues let me recommend open-water swimming as a way to beat the blues and get the most out of the terrible weather. God knows you couldn’t be any wetter in the water. This weekend I’m going to the Lakes (English not Italian, sadly) for a week where I intend to both swim and read. I’ve got a pile of good books to savour and a bottle of Irish whiskey to drink – as for the rain, bring it on.
I am the first to admit I am a very poor blogger – that’s because I find it difficult to read anything that I can’t hold in my hand and assume everyone else does too. When I’m reading a blog my mind starts drifting away from the screen, often focuses outside to where real life is going on (especially at this time of year when Spring is gearing up for her big Ta-ra! moment) and before I know it I’ve lost the thread entirely. So, finding it hard to settle to anything much at the moment, even reading which normally does the trick. Any suggestions for a real unputdownable novel to lure me away from being outside all the time?
Just to let you know that the Living Room are booked for our usual monthly meeting on Tuesday 6th and so they’ve moved the date to Tuesday 13th January. Times are unchanged – hope you can make it.Caroline.
I was in Ireland a few months ago and found myself in the superbly named bookshop in Cork, ‘Vibes and Scribes’ – the name alone made me want to browse and buy. In an eclectic, and eccentric category called ‘Madness’ I found a book called ‘To Dance in the Wake – the story of Lucia Joyce’ about James Joyce’s only daughter. I’ve always loved Joyce, not least for his rejection of Ireland, and think ‘The Dubliners’ is one of the finest book of short stories ever written, although I still can’t get to grips with ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ (who honestly can?). The only thing I knew about Lucia was that she was mad and in and out of mental institutions all over Europe but then after buying the book, in one of those strange coincidental moments, I discovered that she was also for many years in a mental institution in Northamptonshire. I came across this after doing some research on the poet John Clare, who was in the same asylum, as was, much later, the writer Richard Mabey. That’s quite a line-up. Having almost finished the book it seems that the thing that made her mad, although like almost everything about Lucia Joyce even this is in dispute, was being the muse for Joyce and she felt herself at times suffocated by her genius Father and his modernist writing. One of the things that the physicians thought was a symptom of her madness was her ability to talk in four languages which she interchanged regularly – she was brought up entirely in Italy, Switzerland and France with parents that spoke Irish-English – as if she was ‘speaking in tongues’. I went back to Joyce’s work and re-read parts of ‘Ulysses’ where he frequently invents new words and then back to ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ which looks like the language of someone who is insane. Words, it seems, can either raise you to a level of a genius of condemn you to a life of misery and incarceration depending upon who is using them, to whom and where. Muses beware – write your own words and stay sane.