the thing with feathers…

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Dylan Southern’s film, based on Max Porter’s book ’Grief Is The Thing With Feathers’ (which I’d read 9 years ago). The film is a lyrical exploration of love, loss and the strange ways we heal.
Following the death of his wife, a young father’s hold on reality crumbles, and a strange presence begins to stalk him from the shadowy recesses of the apartment he shares with his two young sons (Benedict Cumberbatch is rather wonderful as the father). The two young boys face the unbearable sadness of their mother’s sudden death. Their father, a ‘scruffy romantic’, imagines a depressing future of well-meaning visitors and emptiness. In this moment of despair they are visited by Crow – antagonist, trickster, healer, babysitter (and a little more sinister than I remember from the book?). This bird is somehow drawn to the grieving family and threatens to stay until they no longer need him.
A man-like crow, voiced by David Thewlis, is seemingly brought to life from the father’s work as an illustrator and is about to become a very real part of all of their lives, ultimately guiding them towards the new shape their family must take. The book was part-poetry, part-drama and part-essay on grief and I think the film very successfully captured the same emotions and gut-wrenching challenges.
It's a tough watch at times, but hauntingly powerful and very beautiful too. Excellent. 
Note: Being a lover of Sandy Denny/Fairport Convention, the closing sequence of the father scattering his wife’s ashes on a lonely beach to the strains of ‘Who Knows Where the Times Goes?’ seemed poignantly appropriate: “Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving. But how can they know, it's time for them to go? Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming, I have no thought of time…” .

november 2025 books…

Sculling (Sophie Dumont): I’ve been using this book of poetry by local writer Dumont as part of my early morning reflections. She trained as a canoe coach - her own coach and partner of three years died suddenly in an aquaplaning road accident… which led to five of his organs continuing in other people’s lives. So, this book is about love, death and rivers. I read the whole book out loud to myself each morning. I found it both beautiful and powerful. I loved it.
Once Upon A River (Diane Setterfield): This is our Bloke’s latest book (it’s a long one, 507 pages), published in 2018… On the evening of a winter solstice in the 19th century, “an ancient inn on the Thames, the regulars are entertaining themselves by telling stories when the door bursts open and in steps an injured stranger. In his arms is the drowned corpse of a child…”. The novel is an intricate web of mystery, folk lore, traditions, village pubs, river communities and the river itself. It has an enthralling storyline, with a complex inter-weaving of characters and their individual stories. I found it entirely captivating and read it in five days. Rather wonderful.
Standing in Gaps (Seamus O’Rourke): Somewhat ridiculously, I bought this book (online/second-hand, published in 2024) thinking it was a book of poetry (among other things, O’Rourke is a poet)… but, of course, I was wrong – it’s a memoir of his early days (up to when he was 17) living in rural Ireland during the 1960s-80s. It begins with his birth (I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember mine!) and carrying on through schooldays as an awkward outsider and his passion for Gaelic football before culminating in his late teens. It’s full of humour-filled observations as he talks about family, friends and local misfits. It’s not a book I would have particularly selected, but it proved to be a light-hearted travel companion on my recent train journeys.
Crooked Cross (Sally Carson): Oh, my goodness… I think this is probably my ‘book of the year’! I came across this novel (first published in 1934 and now re-published by those wonderful people at Persephone Books; 360 pages) thanks a recent article in the Guardian. Carson (1902-41), a young woman from Dorset living in Munich in the early 1930s, foresaw a dark and violent future for Europe and gave voice to those fears in her 1934 novel that is now being hailed as “an electrifying masterpiece”. The book is set over only six months – Christmas Eve 1932 to Midsummer’s Eve 1933. I’ve watched LOTS of documentaries on the rise of the Nazis/Nuremburg trials etc, so felt very familiar with the history and the background, but this novel paints a political and psychological portrait of a nation and, crucially, of a family. The Kluger parents are ‘stolidly ordinary’; they have three children – Helmy, then Lexa , then Enrich. Lexa is engaged to be married to Moritz. Moritz is a German and a Catholic… but he is also a Jew. Laura Freeman’s Preface sums things up perfectly: “This is a book that will stay with you. It is a book that asks what you would do if the world went crooked, if people you loved were persecuted, if the freedoms you believe inviolable were destroyed”. An utterly, utterly brilliant book.
Devotions (Mary Oliver): The book is a selection of Oliver’s poems written between 1963+2015. I love Oliver’s beautiful, simple observations of nature and life and I first read the book at the beginning of 2023 and have recently AGAIN (I know!) been using some of her poems – from ‘Thirst’ (2006) and ‘Red Bird’ (2008) – as part of my recent early morning reflections. Once again, it’s a reminder that we live a truly beautiful world which so many often take for granted.

october-november 2025 books…

Brutal Bristol I+II (Tom Benjamin): I bought these illustrated books at the excellent recent Brutal Bristol’ exhibition. As the title suggests, they focus on Bristol’s Brutalist buildings (note: Wikipedia describes Brutalism thus: “a style that emerged in the 1950s, characterized by a focus on raw, unfinished materials like concrete, block-like forms, and simple, geometric shapes” – although these books seem to have adopted a slightly wider definition). Public housing projects, car parks and churches predominate (and the quality varies); people clearly either love or hate them. Clifton Cathedral is the city’s undoubted star (in my eyes, anyway). The second volume includes a Brutal Bristol Walk Map (which is useful). The books provide a fascinating reminder of the city’s ‘brutal’ architectural heritage. My only slight frustration (and perhaps unsurprising, given that the books have been produced using details from a number of contributors) is the inconsistency of presentation, information and references… but, hey!
Where I Was From (Joan Didion): I love Didion’s writing (she died in 2021, aged 87) and have read a number of her books. Here (book first published in 2003), she examines her life, work and heritage/family history. Lots of interesting insights – especially about the growth and prosperity (and the poverty) of California… what the railway; the industry (McDonnell Douglas aviation etc); huge ranches (eg. 88,000 acres)… as well as incidental matters such as California having the highest rate of commitment for insanity than any other state in the nation (and some of the ridiculous reasons given for people being sent to asylums (eg. a woman who had begun “to act silly, lost interest in all things which interest women, could no longer crochet correctly as formerly, takes no interest in anything at present”!). But, overall, not one of my favourite Didion books (sometimes US history just doesn’t appeal!).
The Proof Of My Innocence (Jonathan Coe): I’ve become a great admirer of Coe’s books (I think this is the fifth book of his I’ve consumed)… and I read this one on Moira’s recommendation (she was absolutely right!). It’s a very clever, entertaining, complex, multi-layered, satirical whodunit-cum-political novel set during Liz Truss’s premiership (you remember her?). Somewhat typical of Coe, the novel is something of study of the-way-we-live-now underpinned by, in my case, a love of nostalgia. It starts in the present day (2022-24) and relates to the murder of an investigative journalist at a right-wing conference held in a crumbling stately home – with various links to former students and lecturers of a Cambridge College back in the 1980s. One of these former students has been investigating a radical think tank that’s been scheming to push the British government in an ever more extreme direction (including selling off the NHS). Like I said, it’s complicated (no spoilers!)… There are unexplained disappearances and a murder (of an editor with a dull-but-respectable history magazine and a larger commitment to his truth-telling political blog)… and, in due course, despite the efforts of a somewhat eccentric detective, it’s left to the daughter and adopted daughter of two former Cambridge students to try to solve the mysteries. I thought it was quite, quite brilliant.
The Garden Party (Katherine Mansfield): Picked up this book (first published in 1922) of 15 short stories at the Tyntesfield second-hand bookstore. Mansfield was born in New Zealand in 1888. She came to London to be educated; returned to Wellington, but couldn’t settle down and left again for Europe in 1908 (she died of tuberculosis in 1923). The stories explore themes of social class, identity, and the intricacies of human relationships, set against the backdrop of the changing world of the time. Some of the stories relate to affluent families and their interactions with the working-class individuals around them. Fascinating, subtle, sometimes funny and frequently poignant (without being compelling!).
On Reflection (Richard Holloway): I find Holloway a fascinating and wise writer and decided to use this book (a series of essays ‘Looking For Life’s Meaning’) in connection with my early reflection time. As you are probably aware, Holloway is the former Bishop of Edinburgh; he resigned in 2000 and is now regarded (as described in Wikipedia) as “one of the most outspoken and controversial figures in the church, having taken an agnostic worldview”. I have to say that his views on religion rather mirror those of my view (although I could never express them in his articulate way): “… my agnosticism is not a weak, vacillating neutrality, it is a commitment to staying in a place of passionate and curious uncertainty”. As ever, Holloway’s intellect makes me feel somewhat inadequate at times(!)… but I found his wise words incredibly helpful and thought-provoking.

takács quartet at st george’s…

Thanks to my good friend Ed - whose wife Ann unfortunately (but to my good fortune) had to attend an important meeting - I went along to St George’s last night to hear/see the acclaimed Takács Quartet play a programme of work by Haydn, Bartok, Schubert and Debussy (plus a superb Beethoven encore).
I’m not a classical music connoisseur (understatement!) and wasn’t familiar with any of pieces but, nevertheless, found it absolutely compelling. The exceptional performers Edward Dusinberre (violin), Harumi Rhodes (violin), Richard O’Neill (viola) and András Fejér (cello) produced an evening of mesmerising music – exquisite musicianship, timing and engagement of complex works in front of a near-capacity, enthusiastic, appreciative audience.
Quite a night!
PS: I’m always incredibly impressed that the knowledgeable music devotees know exactly how many sections each piece of music consists of and are able to delay applauding until the appropriate moment (ie. the actual end!). Over the years, I’ve learnt never to take the 'lead', but merely wait for ‘others’ to respond! 

souleymane's story…

I went to the Watershed again yesterday… this time to see Boris Lojkine’s film “Souleymane’s Story” about an asylum-seeker in Paris.
Having fled Guinea, Souleymane (in the words of the Watershed’s blurb) “powers through the streets of after dark Paris as a delivery rider, sleeps in hostels and prepares for his make-or-break appointment which will determine his residence permit status”.
It’s a pressurised, sobering existence for people like Souleymane (played brilliantly by Abou Sangaré), clinging on at the margins of the French capital. He’s facing his impending asylum interview which will decide his immediate future.
Some years ago, I befriended an asylum-seeker in Bristol and know first-hand of the pressures and bureaucratic nightmares facing the likes of Souleymane.
I watched the film in the Watershed’s small Cinema 2 (which has an audience capacity of just over 40); it was a Monday afternoon-showing and, frankly, I anticipated that I might be one of half a dozen people in attendance… but I was entirely wrong. The cinema was full.
This portrait of a modern migrant propels one into the precarious world of an otherwise invisible man and it reflects the hectic daily pressures of survival in a deceitful and unfair world in something of a frenzied blur… BUT then the scene changes to his asylum interview and the stark, painful questioning process and his back-story… and Souleymane leaving the building, knowing that the powers-that-be would be emailing him 3 days’ time informing him of his fate.
The absolute silence in the cinema at the end (and the fact that no one moved from their seat for a prolonged time) said it all.
It’s a tense, achingly human, empathetic and hugely impressive film. 

september-october 2025 books…

Hot Milk (Deborah Levy): First published in 2016, it tells of Sofia, a 25-year-old anthropologist-cum-barista, who has accompanied her mother Rose to southern Spain to attend a clinic in search of a diagnosis of and treatment for Rose’s mysterious and erratic paralysis. They have re-mortgaged their small London house to fund the trip. The mother’s wheelchair existence (although she frequently walks without it) has meant that Sofia’s life is bound by chains of control and dependency. They rent a beach house while the mother undergoes all sorts of tests administered by a doctor who could well turn out to be a ‘quack’. Despite all the relaxing sunshine, it’s quite a complex book - with Sofia becoming obsessed with a German seamstress; involved with a student manning the beach ‘injury hut’; and meeting up with her rich father in Athens (who she hadn’t seen for some 14 years and who had effectively abandoned her). It’s a novel about families, relationships, identity, coming-of age… and anger. It felt like the kind of book one reads on holiday. I read it quickly and quite enjoyed it.
Wilderness Taunts (Ian Adams): I’ve read this excellent book, by my great friend Ian, several times since it was first published (2016) and have again been using it as a basis for my recent early morning reflections (despite the fact that it’s geared towards Lent). It’s a book of meditations (and beautiful photographic images) exploring some of the demanding challenges that we all face to remain positive in this difficult world. Once again, I found it a very helpful, testing and yet, ultimately, hopeful book. 
Poems (Anna Akhmatova): Further poems from Akhmatova’s various books of poems I started last month (beautifully translated by DM Thomas). I continued to read it quite slowly (and out loud to myself) on a daily, early morning basis… and have now completed the final four books of the collection (‘Reed’, ‘The Seventh Book’, ‘Requiem’ and ‘Poem Without A Hero’). I’ve loved her writing and will no doubt come back to it on a regular basis.
So Shall You Reap (Donna Leon): Yet another Leon Commissario Brunetti Mystery (I know!). It seems somewhat ridiculous that crime mysteries have frequently become my ‘comfort read’, but hey! This one, published in 2023, relates to the discovery of the body of a Sri Lankan immigrant in one of Venice’s canals – which sets Brunetti to reflect back on his student days (of lost ideals and the errors of youth) and on Italian politics and history. Leon clearly has established a very successful writing formula: a mix of Venice’s beauty (with endless descriptions of Brunetti’s various routes through the city – linked, of course, to a street map at the beginning of the book and one’s own recollections of the city)(sometimes I think she overdoes this… and she just loves showing off her knowledge of Venice!); Brunetti’s family, his colleagues and his genial character (unless you’re a criminal); and the fact that most people enjoy a good crime novel. A clever, satisfying story and one that I very much enjoyed.
The Land In Winter (Andrew Miller): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection (theme: Booker Shortlist). This is a novel, set in the BigFreeze of 1962/63, about two marriages – two young couples who live in neighbouring houses in the West Country. Eric (Birmingham-born GP from working-class background) and Irene (all at sea compared with her old life in literary London); Bill (Oxford-educated “rich man’s son playing at farming” – but struggling) and Rita (former nightclub dancer, now farm wife). Both women are pregnant and form an unlikely friendship following an awkward Christmas party at Eric+Irene’s (just before the blizzards take over). I suppose it’s book about class and gender in the aftermath of WW2 (rationing is over, but life is still pretty tough)(the war and the Holocaust have taken their toll for both Bill and Rita’s fathers, in particular). There were aspects of the BigFreeze – which I remember as a 13-year-old! – that reflected some aspects of our lives during the Covid lockdown (isolation; travel difficulties; keeping in touch; shopping restrictions etc). It’s the story of the two women that provided the main fascination/interest for me. Both women are pregnant and both struggling to adjust to their unfamiliar rural surroundings with what their future lives will bring. Their lives are somewhat dictated by the desires and whims of their respective husbands (the days of Women’s Lib are still a little way off!). It’s a novel about dreams, relationships, families, adjustment, mistakes and uncertainty. All four individuals are each battling problems and then, on top of this, a tough winter is thrown at them. I found it a compelling read (brilliantly woven) and despite their various flaws, you end up hoping that the characters will find a way to get through it all. I don’t want to give too much away… but I can certainly see why the book made the Booker Shortlist.

graham nash at bristol beacon…

Nostalgia rules!
I went along to the Bristol Beacon last night to see/hear Graham Nash (plus Peter Asher – of ‘Peter+Gordon’ fame if you’re as old as me!). As you will probably know, Nash was an integral part of the 1960’s group (we didn’t call them ‘bands’ in those days!) The Hollies. Although I was never a massive Hollies’ fan, I did enjoy their music.
As far as I’m concerned, Nash truly came into his own when he joined musicians David Crosby (ex-Byrds) and Stephen Stills (ex-Buffalo Springfield) to form the ‘folk rock supergroup’(!) Crosby Stills+Nash in 1968 (later to become Crosby, Stills, Nash+Young when joined by Neil Young in 1970, I think).
As a bonus(?) for me, who regards Joni Mitchell as my all-time ultimate musical hero, Nash+Mitchell had a “famous and influential relationship in the Laurel Canyon music scene from 1968 to 1970. While they were deeply in love and inseparable, the intense and tumultuous relationship ultimately ended with Mitchell leaving Nash” (according to Wikipedia). Their time together inspired significant music, including the wonderful Mitchell's Blue album (featuring ‘My Old Man’ and ‘River’) and Nash's evocative ‘Our House’. 
So, for me, last night was all about musical memories from a very special time in my own life after leaving home/starting university (I could remember the words of most of the songs, of course!).
It proved to be a rather wonderful evening, Nash (accompanied by three excellent, high-quality musicians) ran through his impressive repertoire of songs – I’d forgotten that he’d actually written so many of my favourite songs.
Yes, there was part of me (approaching 77) going to see/hear a musician (approaching 84!) in his ‘twilight years’(??) playing for 90 minutes plus that found last night’s concert both sad and wonderfully ridiculous… an evening of old songs and ‘rosy-coloured’ recollections. I suspect, that over the next few days, I’ll be adding even more ‘old songs’ to my various playlists of very ageing tunes!
Nash was in very good form (and voice). A memorable evening.
I really enjoyed the concert and found it quite cathartic, uplifting and even quite emotional at times.
Living in the past… while I can still remember it.
Photos: from my seat at the concert.
Footnote: At the start of the evening, Peter Asher talked and played songs (accompanied by two other musicians) from his own musical career – including fascinating insights into his time working with James Taylor and Carole King. Gordon Waller died in 2009. Unlike Nash, Asher’s ageing voice isn’t what it was, but hey!