the summer book…

Moira and I escaped the heat and disappeared to the cool of the Watershed cinema to see Charlie McDowell’s adaptation of Tove Jansson’s 1972 book ‘The Summer Book’.
An elderly artist, her recently-widowed son and her 6-year-old granddaughter (Sophia) while away a summer together on a tiny island off the gulf of Finland.
The bulk of the film, like the book, is an account of the relationship between the old, cantankerous, cigarette-smoking woman (rather delightfully played by Glenn Close) and her grandchild… Frequently funny and full of candid, sometimes argumentative, conversations between them. The location is beautiful and their simple, isolated, summer lifestyle enviable. Nothing much actually happens but, in many ways, that’s the film’s charm.
Fundamentally, it’s a film which conveys thoughts about passing time, memory, wisdom, loss and nature and, like the book, I really enjoyed it.
PS: I first read this book more than 50 years ago and re-read again it last year (Jansson – who died in 2001, aged 86 – spent several summers living on the island). Jansson wrote the book a year after her mother’s death and she drew on the things that were most precious to her.  When I re-read the book last year, I was struck by the fact that, when I first read it, I wasn’t a grandparent… and now there are 6 grandchildren – three of them are adults!).

august 2026 books…

A House In Flanders (Michael Jenkins): I first read this book 32 years ago(!)… where did the time go/how did that happen? It’s set in the early 1950s (but was not published until 1992): a 14-year-old English youth is dispatched to France to live for a long summer with the ‘French side’ of his family. It contains the following lovely note from the author (who, incidentally, went on to study at Oxford, become a British diplomat, receive a knighthood and was made a KCMG in 1989): “This book is based on a real period in my boyhood, but the telling of it owes much to my imagination and any resemblance between the characters and persons now alive is both accidental and coincidental”! I’d long forgotten much of the book, but am so pleased to have re-discovered it. I really enjoyed reading about Jenkins’ coming-of-age experiences in Flanders and thought his elegant descriptions and portraits of the people he came across were really rather wonderful. A very pleasurable read.
Scratch City (Philip Gross): I’d not previously read any of Gross’s poetry, but was really impressed with this collection. As the title implies, these poems relate to city life (as it happens, he lives in Bristol!)… the everyday things that you see, but don’t notice perhaps? Gross’s words are frequently funny, challenging, haunting and unsettling… and I was duly impressed. I will definitely be seeking out more of his poetry.
The Ferryman And His Wife (Frode Grytten): I came across this book purely by chance, read it and really enjoyed it… and now my bookgroup has chosen it for its monthly book (theme: women in translation). No pressure then! It’s a tender, poetic, and meditative Norwegian novella. The ageing ferry driver Nils Vik wakes up knowing it is his final day alive and takes his boat out onto the fjord one last time. As he sails, deceased passengers - including his talking dog (I absolutely LOVED their conversations) and figures from his logbook - board the vessel to prompt reflections on his life… including Nils quietly waiting for his late wife, Marta, to join him on the boat. I thought it was quite, quite beautiful… a lovely treasure of a book.
Night (David Harsent): Yet another book of Harsent poetry… which, again, I read out loud to myself in my early mornings. There’s something about the way Harsent uses words that really works for me. The first part of the book is a sequence about a garden “in which the sureties of daylight become uncertain: dark, unsettling narratives about what wakes in us when we escape our day-lit selves to visit a place where the dream-like and the nightmarish are never far apart”. Powerful and thought-provoking.
The Rossettis (ed Carol Jacobi+James Finch): I bought this book (which accompanied the 2023 exhibition at Tate Britain) at the £5 Bookshop. I knew a fair amount about the art and writings of Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-82), but far less about the work produced by Christina (1830-94) and Elizabeth, born Siddal (1829-62). The book explores the ‘ground-breaking careers’ of these three influential individuals in a series of new essays and illustrations surveying their work. A fascinating book of a fascinating time.

odyssey…

It was long (2hrs 53mins), it was loud… and, yes, it was impressive.
I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Christopher Nolan’s film ‘Odyssey’ (Moira was put off by the film’s length) – featuring, among others, Matt Damon and Anne Hathaway.
You probably know the bones of the story: Odysseus, king of Ithaca, embarks on a perilous journey to return home after the Trojan War… but, crossing the Mediterranean Sea with his fellow soldiers, they soon find themselves battling not only the elements, but an array of deadly obstacles and mythical creatures along the way. Odysseus’s perilous homecoming journey after the ten-year-long Trojan War (plus his journey from Troy to Ithaca - lasting an ADDITIONAL ten years, during which time he encounters many perils and all of his crewmates are killed) – with the survivors no doubt suffering from PTSD. In Odysseus's long absence, he is presumed dead, leaving his wife Penelope and son Telemachus to contend with a group of unruly suitors competing for Penelope's hand in marriage.
Apparently, in 2018, BBC Culture polled ‘experts’ around the world to find literature's most enduring narrative… and Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ topped the list.
The film has received a high number of rave reviews and, yes, it WAS very impressive… but I’m afraid this type of ‘Hollywood blockbuster’ is really not for me.
I’m not really a fan of ‘action-packed drama’ at the best of times and, on top of that, old codger that I am(!), I’m afraid I often struggled with much of the hoarse, breathy, whispered tones of many of the actors (usually American, sorry!)… yes, it all sounds very dramatic, but actually leaves me wanting them to use sub-titles!
But, hey, if you’ve got the time, please go and see it for yourself.
PS: The afternoon screenings tend to attract a somewhat older audience(!) and, as you might imagine, this afternoon’s showing featured a fairly regular line of people making their way to the loo (not me, I hasten to add!).  

more july 2026 books...

Electric Shadow (Heidi Williamson): Apologies that my recent books have included quite a lot of poetry! I’ve been finding it a good way to start the day (especially sitting on our balcony, early in the morning, enjoying the emerging sun). I came across this book in the library (I’d never previously read anything by Williamson) – it was largely compiled during her time at a residency at the London Science Museum and explores less usual poetry subjects such as mathematics, chemistry and computer programming(!)… as well as space travel, electricity and evolution. Interesting, without being compelling.
Idle Thoughts Of An Idle Fellow (Jerome K Jerome): The author’s ‘Three Men In A Boat’ (first published in 1886) has long been a favourite of mine and so, having recently read Jenny Wren’s response to Jerome’s ‘Idle Thoughts’ book, it seemed only right that I should read the original for myself! Actually, having been a little disappointed by Wren’s book, I found this much more to my liking (with more of the typical ‘Three Men’ humour and tongue-in-cheek remarks… but also some surprising melancholic moments) – apart some of the horrible, dated, sexist remarks (eg. referring to men as the “intellectual sex”!). The author writes about all manner of subjects (eg. being ‘hard up’; vanity; weather; shyness etc) and frequently, rather like Ronnie Corbett’s meandering storytelling on tv, digresses from the subject in hand. An enjoyable, relaxing read (albeit very dated, of course!) and somewhat annoying at times!
Land (Maggie O’Farrell): I adore O’Farrell’s writing and, so, you won’t be surprised to hear that I absolutely LOVED this book. Set in 1865 on a windswept Irish peninsula (just a few years after the Great Hunger), it follows the life of a cartographer (and his family) mapping the scarred landscape for the British Ordnance Survey. I COULD write much more, but I think I’ll just leave this extract from the book’s cover to give a flavour of the novel: it’s “…about separation and reunion, tragedy and recovery, colonisation and rebellion. It is a story of buried treasure, overlapping lives, ancient woodland, persistent ghosts, a particularly loyal dog, and how, when it comes to both land and history, nothing ever goes away”. I really think you need to read it… it’s rather wonderful.
Fire Songs (David Harsent): As you might be aware, I’m a great lover of Harsent’s poetry. There’s something about his way with words that resonates for me… and I enjoy reading his poems out loud to myself in my early morning ponderings. That’s not to say that his poems aren’t challenging! This is how one reviewer described (accurately, in my view) this collection (published in 2014): “It delivers a stream of feverish, oneiric visions, of apocalypse brought about through war or environmental catastrophe or the boundless human capacity for self‑deception and bedevilment; and everywhere there’s the lick of flame – ‘it will be fire’ is a recurring line”. The poems aren’t all doom and gloom(!) but, a dozen years on, they still felt incredibly relevant to the daily turmoil of today’s troubled world.
A Different Kind Of Power (Jacinda Ardern): You might not like political memoirs (but I do!). For me, Ardern was an utter breath of fresh air during her term as New Zealand’s leader (2017-23) and she will no doubt continue to be an inspirational figure outside politics. Sincere, personable, intelligent, decent, respectful, and empathetic. The book provides a fascinating insight into the making of a politician, a mother and a head of state (and, typically, all done in an understated, honest and informative way). It underlines many of the challenges and difficulties that come with high political office (in her case, these included a pandemic, a volcano, floods, fires and shootings… climate change, child poverty, gun control, LGBTQ+ issues, international trade deals etc). But such roles take their toll and are almost impossible to sustain effectively for a prolonged length of time – when people in her position are not only having to withstand all the political pressures, but also the type of hate and abuse that get reported about on a daily basis. I was very sad to see her go. I very much enjoyed this memoir – informative, often quite funny… but also quite moving (one passage had me in tears)(I know!). What comes across is Ardern’s humanity and compassion. I read it in the week that Andy Burnham became the UK’s latest prime minister… it would be good to think that he might bring some of Ardern’s qualities to that office.

blue heron...

It seems like an awful long time since I last went to the Watershed (very nearly 2 months!), but I’m really pleased that I made the effort to go this afternoon.
I went to see Canadian film-maker Sophy Romvari’s excellent, powerful, painful film about a
Hungarian immigrant family grappling with oppositional defiant disorder (ODD - a behavioural condition in children and teens characterised by a persistent pattern of angry or irritable moods, argumentative and defiant behaviour, or vindictiveness).
On a flippant level (I’d never previously heard about such a condition – I was totally ignorant), it seemed to me to sum up the behaviour of a lot of children at the end of the long school summer holidays(!)… but it’s absolutely NOT. It’s an utterly awful disorder.
The film is set on Vancouver Island in the 1990s. A young girl, aged 7-8 years, named Sasha (Eylul Guven), lives with her two brothers and older teen half-brother Jeremy (Edik Beddoes). They’ve just arrived at their new house; their parents (played by Iringó Réti and Ádám Tompa) are Hungarian and, emotionally, they’re all really, really struggling. Jeremy is deeply troubled and his behavioural condition means he refuses to cooperate with his parents’ increasingly desperate requests. He behaves destructively and dangerously, threatening to burn the house down, and is often brought home by the police in handcuffs.
As you will appreciate, the film is NOT a bundle of laughs… but it IS utterly compelling and somewhat underplayed (thankfully) and definitely not ‘in the Hollywood style’.
In fact, the film is partly autobiographical - based on Romvari’s own childhood experiences with her own troubled brother… with the film’s Sasha being upset by Jeremy’s behaviour in a way that her brothers aren’t. The mysterious condition wounds Sasha as a child and even more so as an adult – with the adult Sasha (played by Amy Zimmer) working as a film-maker and played in flash-forward scenes (including videoing a panel of social workers discussing Jeremy’s case).  
I found it a very moving, dignified film which (in the words of CBC Arts review) “beautifully blends documentary and fiction to explore the slippery, often unreliable nature of childhood memory”. The kind of film that will linger in my memory (in a good way).

july 2026 books...

Gwen John (Emma Chambers): I went to the excellent Gwen John exhibition in Cardiff earlier this year and also read Alicia Foster’s book about the artist. But, although I had long been an admirer of her work, I still felt that I knew only rudimentary facts about her life and was keen to learn a little more – hence this book (first published in 2024). Frankly, Chambers’s and Foster’s short books were very similar in content (about John’s time at the Slade; that much of her life was spent in Paris; that she was Rodin’s lover and frequent model; and that, later in life, she embraced Catholicism), but I did enjoy learning more about her changes in painting techniques (from say 1910 onwards) and how, because she’d spent so much of her life in Paris, one article described her as ‘an undiscovered artist’ when she re-engaged with the London art world in 1926. The book also introduced me to a number of unfamiliar (to me) paintings – particular from the late 1910s/1920s. A useful read.
Lazy Thoughts Of A Lazy Girl (Jenny Wren): I first read this short book of comic essays (first published in 1891) 10 years ago and recently came across it while trawling through our bookshelves. Essay subjects include love, politics, afternoon tea, children+dogs and watering places! Jenny Wren is the pseudonym of an unknown, purportedly female, author. It was produced as a reply to Jerome K Jerome’s “Idle Thoughts Of An Idle Fellow” (first published in 1886). The essays provide a revealing, amusing insight into the day-to-day morals, manners and mindset of the Victorian middle class. They are entertaining, silly and snobbish (although, I admit, not quite as entertaining perhaps as I found them on first reading).
Dream Work (Mary Oliver): I never tire of Mary Oliver’s writing! Her words always resonate for me – uplifting, consoling, thought-provoking. This book was published in the USA in 1986, but first published in the UK in 2025. Yet again, reading her poetry out loud to myself in the early mornings, provided a degree of solace in this harsh and challenging world.
Dad Had A Bad Day (Ashton Politanoff): This is our next Storysmith book selection, first published in 2026 (theme: sporting novels). A 39-year-old American man has lost his job and now looks after his 6-year-old son while his wife works. He comes across his old tennis racket buried in the garage and unearths part of his former self. He re-joins his former tennis club without his wife’s knowledge… finds life outside the realm of domesticity and becomes captain of a local men’s team. Trouble is that it becomes something of an obsession… and we end up with a thought-provoking/depressing examination of traditional masculinity and toxic father-son dynamics. I think I’ll leave it there (*no spoilers*), apart from saying that, although it was compelling in its way (I’ve seen one review that called it ‘deranged’!), I really didn’t enjoy it.
The Enchanted World Of Jessie M King (Colin White): Another art book from the library. Shamefully, I have to admit that, although I recognised lots of her illustrations, I knew very little about King herself (1875-1949). The author describes her as the “most important illustrator of the 20^th century”. She was a contemporary of Charles Rennie Mackintosh and, indeed, in conjunction with him, his wife Margaret Macdonald and her sister Frances Macdonald at the Glasgow School of Art (where they all studied), they were frequently referred to as ‘The Four’… and developed what became known as the ‘Glasgow Style’. King’s illustrations are a blend of fantasy and reality (‘stylised formality’); she and her husband lived in Paris for a time, but spent much of her working life on the isle of Arran (Kirkcudbright). During her career, she produced a huge quantity of drawings (including beautiful sketches of buildings) largely based on Scottish ballads, chivalrous knights, northern fairy tales and pageantry. By the time of her death in 1949, her work had become almost totally neglected – but, thankfully, a number of high-profile retrospective exhibitions of her work in the 1970s restored her reputation. Note: I was sad to note that Wikipedia described her as being “known for her illustrated children’s books” – while she certainly did work on children’s books, especially later in her life, this completely overlooks work undertaken 1910-35… which I consider to be her best. A fascinating book. 

june-july 2026 books...

The Hand That First Held Mine (Maggie O’Farrell): I love O’Farrell’s writing and absolutely loved this particular book (published in 2010). It’s about two couples (one in the 1950s and one in the ‘present day’) and how the portraits of two extraordinary women, separated by 50 years, are revealed – in ways neither of them could ever have expected. Beautifully-written and hugely thought-provoking. It left me feeling quite bereft by the end (in a good way!).
The World’s Two Smallest Humans (Julia Copus): Yet more early morning poetry… I picked up this book (first published in 2012) at the library, having never previously come across Copus’s poetry, and was very impressed. The book (first published in 2012) is split into two halves: the first explores memory, the elasticity of time, and shifting perspectives, while the second is a brave, confessional sequence detailing the Copus’s emotional and physical journey through IVF treatment.
Raising Hare (Chloe Dalton): This is our next Blokes’ bookgroup selection. The author lives part of her life in a restored stone barn situated somewhere in the English countryside. She finds a newly-born hare, endangered, alone and no bigger than the palm of her hand. She feels compelled to give it a chance at survival… and so begins their journey together – chronicling their relationship. I have to say that this is definitely NOT ‘my kind of book’. It provided some fascinating insights of nature and of the behaviour of hares in the wild, but it wasn’t quite for me.
Glad Of These Times (Helen Dunmore): For me, there’s a comforting familiarity about Dunmore’s poetry (this book published in 2007) - exploring, reflective, challenging. This collection frequently focusses on the environment. I particularly liked her title poem – reflecting on being stuck on a motorway observing the packed lanes due to road works… but ‘glad of her times, glad not to be ill, not to be poor’ (as one reviewer described it). Perhaps, somewhat strangely, I also detected an occasional allusion to death (‘push towards to death’ in the words of the same reviewer) – which, to me, being familiar with her final book of poetry, ‘Inside The Wave’ (written just before she died in 2017), felt particularly poignant. Count your blessings!
My Yorkshire (David Hockney): I picked up this book from the library a week or so after Hockney’s death. As well as containing lots of his Yorkshire paintings from 2000-2010, it’s book that records two extended, fascinating conversations (in 2008 and 2010) with art historian Marco Livingstone. It was a reminder of the artist’s creative mind and his constant pursuit of new ways of thinking and doing – his art knowledge; his energy; his inventiveness; how he positively embraced technology; how he constantly asked questions of himself (the complete opposite to me!); and about seeing+looking and looking+seeing. I really enjoyed the pair’s fascinating, gentle (and yet sometimes quite probing) and enlightening exchanges. I knew I’d enjoy seeing all the familiar images again, but I was surprised by just how touched I was by their musings. The book was also a lovely reminder of the ‘David Hockney RA: The Bigger Picture’ exhibition at the Royal Academy in 2012.