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.

june 2026 books...

Serious Concerns (Wendy Cope): More early morning poetry. I hadn’t really come across much of Cope’s work (this collection first published in 1992, when she was in her late 40s). She’s a very amusing writer (and reminded me of Brian Bilston’s poems), but I also (rightly or wrongly) detected a sense of sadness and frustration in some of her poems. A very different kind of poetry to the stuff I usually read, but very enjoyable nevertheless.
The Overhaul (Kathleen Jamie): Another early morning book of poetry (well, that’s when I read ‘my’ poetry)… this time borrowed from the library. I’d never come across Jamie before (she was Scotland’s fourth ‘Makar’ poet, 2021-24). It deals with a whole mix of things, such as: ‘aspects of the world our rushing lives elide, and even threaten’ (as described on the book’s cover). Nature is a frequent feature of her work, but she also touches on difficult personal challenges we all face in our own lives (it’s a ‘mid-life book of repair, restitution, and ultimately hope – of the wisest and most worldly kind’). I enjoyed its simplicity and its querying nature (despite me occasionally failing to understand some of the Scottish vernacular!). 
We Solve Murders (Richard Osman): There’s part of me that always feels guilty about buying books by an author who already has ‘shedloads’ of money, rather than novels by a writer who really needs support and encouragement… but hey. This is a (slight) departure from Osman’s ‘Thursday Murder Club’ adventures – featuring a retired, ex-police officer who loves the pub quiz and afternoons at home; his daughter-in-law who is a private security officer to billionaires; and one of her clients (a world-famous author who currently lives on a remote island). The story is all very ridiculously complicated – hired killers hired to kill other hired killers, money-laundering (involving massive sums), influencers, extortion, protection rackets – you get the general idea! As ever with Osman’s books, it’s incredibly ‘readable’… with brilliant characters, lots of humour and very clever storylines (actually a bit too clever for my liking at times, but…). Very enjoyable (predictably!).    
The Employees (Olga Ravn): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection (theme: epistolary novels). This short, strange, beautiful and moving novel (just 130-odd pages) was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize. It’s set in a workplace – a spaceship (‘Six-Thousand Ship’) sometime in the 22^nd century. The crew is made up of both humans and humanoids. The spaceship never sees light of day. A number of strange objects from a newly-discovered planet have been introduced and these have a produced a feeling of yearning from the crew (both humans+humanoids). The Board of Directors is keen to learn more and so instructs a commission to interview each of the employees. The book comprises page after page of their numbered ‘Statements’, compiled over a period of 18 months. A whole mix of things (all occurring in the context of work): nature+loss of humanity; identity; social relations; passage of time to suggest just a few. It took me some time to ‘get into’ the book (and, even now, after a second reading of it, I’m still trying to come to terms with this weirdly wonderful, haunting novel)… but I’ve enjoyed the journey.
The Place Of Tides (James Rebanks): This is a beautiful, extraordinary book. Rebanks is a Cumbrian sheep farmer (and an excellent writer - I’d previously read a couple of his books) but, years ago, he’d visited remote Norwegian island, where he’d met a woman, Anna, who made a living caring for wild Eider ducks and gathering their down. Some 10 years later(?), he wrote to ask if he could visit her again. She told him to come quickly as she was in failing health (she was now in her 70s… and it was to be her last winter on the island). The book tells the story of this second encounter with this remarkable woman… about how they (and an old female friend of Anna’s) work together – under Anna’s strict orders – clearing storm damage, making repairs and building nests for the ducks’ annual Springtime reappearance… and about their conversations and reflections. It’s a wonderful, moving story about a wise, indomitable woman and her legacy (‘seeing the world through her eyes’)… but it also serves as an opportunity for Rebanks to ponder, re-charge and re-assess his own life and hopes.

may-june 2026 books

High Wages (Dorothy Whipple): Another Persephone book (first published in 1930). The novel begins in 1912 and tells the story of Jane Carter who gets a badly-paid job in a draper’s shop in Lancashire. She’s a determined, hard-working young woman whose ideas for improving the shop are rejected by her uncompromising employer and, eventually, thanks to the help from a friend (the wonderful Mrs Briggs), opens her own dress-shop. It’s a shop-girl-made-good story about the values of hard work and stubbornness; about class and discrimination; about the growing importance of fashion and the shifting nature of shopping; about the status of women; about WW1… and about love. It’s a fascinating story about social issues and changing times. I really enjoyed it.
Peace Talks (Andrew Motion): Another poetry book from my read-out-loud-to-myself early morning musings… This is a book of meditations on combat and the people caught up in it (particularly relevant in the light of Trump’s decision to launch air strikes on Iran in February… and which is currently ‘ongoing’). It’s a powerful, moving depiction about the futility of war and its consequences.
Salt Water (Andrew Motion): Yet another early morning read-out-loud-to-myself poetry book (sorry!). Actually, it’s only the first part of the book that contains the poetry (a mixture of musings evoked by recollections about family and friends – with the occasional historical figure thrown in) I was particularly drawn to ‘Fresh Water’ – an elegy written for a friend who drowned on the Marchioness. In the second section, Motion retraces (in a sailing boat with a broken engine) the voyage that John Keats made by sea from London to Naples in the autumn of 1820 (he died at the end of the journey) – including the perils of the Bay of Biscay. Another beautiful book.
Another World: The Oxford Years (Melvyn Bragg): I’m a great lover of Bragg’s writing and was particularly drawn to this memoir (published in 2026) because it focussed on his ‘Oxford Years’. Yes, I absolutely appreciate that his and my lives are/have been very, very different (he’s intellectually brilliant, for a start!), but we do share certain aspects of life: both from working-class backgrounds; both the first of our respective generations to go to university; and both studying at Oxford (ok, the School of Architecture is a far cry from Wadham College… and he was starting his Oxford studies 9 years before me, but…). I really rather loved this memoir – a reminder of that sense of ‘finding oneself’; taking the next steps into adulthood; making new friends; being besotted by all the beautiful, imposing buildings; making naïve errors and misjudgements; revelling in the new challenges…). The book is full of insights on class and culture, but also thoughtful, open and generous in celebrating his contemporaries’ talents (while forgiving their foibles!)… together with poignant reflections about his family, his love life and, of course, Oxford.
Despised And Rejected (Rose Allatini): A quite remarkable, brave novel, first published in 1918, which tells the story of war, conscientious objectors… and being gay (ie. almost 50 years before homosexuality was partially decriminalized in England and Wales). Indeed, in September 1918, the publisher was on trial accused of being ‘likely to prejudice the recruiting of persons to serve in His Majesty’s Forces, and their training and discipline’… and was convicted, fined, and the remaining 230 copies of the original run seized. The two main characters are Dennis (a hugely-talented composer - with a dominant father and socially ambitious mother – and who doesn’t fit in with his smugly conventional family)(…and he’s a conscientious objector and is love with a young mining engineer named Alan) and Antoinette (who comes to terms with her own sexuality, realizing her attractions lie with women rather than men, whilst also experiencing unrequited feelings for Dennis – for whom, throughout the war, she acts as a loyal and supportive friend). As you might imagine, it’s complicated(!)… but a powerful story and beautifully-written that I really enjoyed.

may 2026 books…

Muscovy (Matthew Francis): Another book of poetry (from our local £5 bookshop). I’d never come across Francis before, so it was something of a random/cheap purchase. He writes well – lots of wonderfully vivid descriptions, frequently coupled with a sense of irony – but I can’t say I was absolutely captivated by this collection of his work. Hey ho!
The New House (Lettice Cooper): Another Persephone book (first published in 1936). The author was Jilly Cooper’s husband’s aunt (JC writes the preface in this edition). The story relates to the events of one long day in the lives of a (somewhat privileged) family, when some of them move house (from an imposing family house in extensive grounds to a small one overlooking a housing estate). There’s the ageing, somewhat selfish, mother (still recovering after her husband’s death); her son (in a somewhat struggling marriage, with a young daughter and living relatively close by); a daughter (confident, ambitious, engaged and living+working in London); and a second (older) daughter (living at home under the spell of her mother – will she ever leave?). It’s written in such a way that you feel that you ‘know’ each of the characters; you might not necessarily agree with some of them, but I found myself really caring for them in their respective circumstances. There’s an awful lot crammed into a single day, but I was completely hooked by it in the end (and by the author’s talents).
Notes From An Island (Tove Jannson+Tuulikki Pietila): I’d previously read ‘Tove’ Jannson’s ‘The Summer Book’ and ‘A Winter Book’ (she was the creator of the Moomin stories, but they’re definitely NOT my ‘cup of tea’!), but had never come across this one (first published in 1996 – although her essay ‘The Island’ was written in 1961)(which I enjoyed very much). For 26 summers (they eventually had to stop in their mid-70s), she and her graphic artist+life partner, ‘Tooti’ Pietila, lived on a small, rocky island of Klovharum in the Gulf of Finland. With initial help from “maverick builder-fisherman (Brunstrom), they built a cabin. They retreated here to live, paint and write “energised by the solitude and shifting seascapes”. This small book of notes/observations/photographs is something between a diary and a memoir (plus Pietila’s rather beautiful etchings) and I found it rather beautiful (and frequently quite funny). The never-ending battle with the elements; the constant fishing for food; the wildlife (Tooti frequently had to do her art under an umbrella to avoid bombardment from seabirds!); the routines they developed (and their list-making!); and the solitude. I really enjoyed it.
Animal Farm (George Orwell): This is our next Storysmith bookclub’s book (theme; ‘animals in literature’). I first read this book (first published in 1945) more than 30 years’ ago and then re-read it three years ago… so, I’m quite ‘familiar’ with this ‘biting satire upon dictatorship’ (as my book’s cover puts it). You’re probably well aware of the story: a farm is taken over by its overworked, mistreated animals. With fierce idealism and stirring slogans, they set out to create a paradise of progress, justice, and equality. This wonderful, satirical book records the evolution from revolution against tyranny and, in turn, the devastating converse. The book includes the famous words: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”. Times might have changed, but the message is still powerfully (+frighteningly) fresh – and, somehow, even more relevant with the likes of Trump ‘in charge’). Scarily brilliant.
In Secret (David Harsent): Another book of Harsent poetry. This one somewhat different to the books of his I’d previously read – based on some of the poems of the (unknown to me) Greek poet Yannis Ritsos (1909-90) he much admired (who wrote “in the face of ill health, personal tragedy and systematic persecution by successive hard-line right-wing regimes that lead to many years in prison or in island detention camps”). These feel like very compressed narratives… and yet, despite their fragmentation, they make for powerful reading.

the christophers…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed this morning (yes, morning… AND at the weekend too!) to see Steven Soderbergh’s film 'The Christophers', starring Ian McKellen and Michaela Coel.  

In the 1960s, Julian Sklar (McKellen) was a fixture of the London art scene, but he now lives in cluttered, self-imposed seclusion – something of a forgotten man (he’d been reduced from an illustrious household name to a man who sells spiteful video messages on ‘OnlyFans’!). Meanwhile, Julian’s estranged children (concerned that their inheritance was being depleted by Julian’s extravagant tastes and lack of output over the decades) have discovered an unfinished series of portraits in their father’s attic from Julian’s most prolific and successful period – inspired by his relationship with a man he called Christopher. They would like Lori (Coel), an ‘art restorer’ and an old art school acquaintance, to restore the canvases… and by ‘restore’ they mean forge them. I think I’d better leave it at that (* no spoilers)…

In fact, although the storyline had some merit, I thought the film’s main value related to the excellence of the acting and the chemistry between them. McKellen was predictably brilliant in a role that brought out the wealth of his acting talents – self-obsession/self-pity, charm, acidly witty observations and casual cruelty. I’d never previously come across Coel, but I thought she was perfect in her calm, ‘art restorer’/potential faker role. All played out by the two of them in a lovely, gentle, entertaining way.
The other aspect of the film that I found absolutely enchanting was Julian’s chaotic bohemian townhouse… someone must have really enjoyed themselves creating a film set of such convincing (and fascinating) clutter!
All in all, a very entertaining, enjoyable and rather lovely film.
PS: Perhaps my only gripe (and Moira agreed with me) was to do with the clarity of the dialogue at times (a regular issue with films for me these days)(American movies are the worse offenders!). I know my hearing isn’t 100%, but there were times when I did yearn for sub-titles (I know!).