october-september 2026 books...

Midsummer Night In The Workhouse (Diana Athill): I’ve read a number of Athill’s celebrated memoirs and have really enjoyed them (she was ridiculously posh, but seemed to have a wonderfully decent attitude to life). So, this book of short stories (written mostly in the late 1950s and first published by Persephone Books in 2011) is the first of her fiction I’ve read. They’re essentially all told from a woman's point of view - exploring female sexual desire, independence, regret, and introspection with refreshing honesty – and are set in England, France, and Italy. Her prose, just like her memoirs, is unsentimental, sharp, perceptive, and darkly funny… and containing several pieces which draw subtly on Athill's own life experiences. I very much enjoyed them (they provided some of my ‘holiday reading’ while we were away in Tenby).
A Refiner’s Fire (Donna Leon): I picked up this in a charity bookshop while on holiday. It’s another Commissario Brunetti Mystery set in Venice. This one involves two teenage gangs clashing violently in one of the city’s squares… and the son of a local hero is implicated. But, when Guido Brunetti is asked to vet this man, he discovers he might not be such a hero after all. As ever with Leon’s books, this one was very readable (and another perfect holiday read) and I consumed it in 2 days.
I Curse The River Of Time (Per Patterson): Another charity shop purchase while on holiday in Tenby (the second Norwegian novel I’ve read in the past couple of months!). The book is set in Autumn 1989 (English translation first published in 2010). Arvid Jansen is in the throes of a divorce; at the same time, his mother is diagnosed with cancer. Arvid is struggling to find a new footing in his life… everything around him seems to be changing fast; he recalls beach holidays with his brothers; his early working life devoted to Communist ideals; his courtship… and, inevitably, his relationship with his tough, independent mother (a relationship of distance and unspoken pain)(and Arvid himself is a pretty awkward character). So, obviously, not a bundle of laughs!! But, I have to say (given Petterson’s revelation as a writer), I was a little disappointed. I found it had too many repetitive, fussy details (probably in line with Arvid’s character, but hey…) and that the varying timescales were often quite confusing. A book for re-cycling methinks.
Imogen Imagine (Steve Couch): This is the third book written by my good friend Steve (always a bit special when creative friends do such things!). It’s a novel about music, celebrity, love and treachery. The book’s title is the name of a song written by a young musician immortalising the breakup of a cherished relationship from his youth. That musician has now become a huge pop-idol but, sadly, thanks to world of social media and money-focussed management, the girl in the song becomes a target of hate and vitriol. She tries to take back control, but only succeeds in creating a vicious, frightening backlash… (I’ll leave it there… *no spoilers*). A powerful, thought-provoking novel. I really enjoyed it.
The Harold Nicolson Diaries 1907-1963 (ed. Nigel Nicolson): I first read (and very much enjoyed) this book (published in 2004) in 2011 and have recently been reminded of his fascinating life while reading ‘The Assassin’s Cloak’ (which contains numerous extracts from his diaries). Nicholson (1886-1968) was a fascinating man and lived an extraordinary life – which spanned the two World Wars, the rise of the Nazis in the 1930s and Churchill’s time as prime minister. He was a diplomat, an MP, writer, broadcaster and a gardener… and, although there were lots of things I found difficult to reconcile with regarding his life (eg. his upper-class background; his friends in all the ‘high’ places; his essentially Conservative politics - although he did end up joining the Labour Party), he struck me as a very decent man. Hugely intelligent; articulate; gracious; and a very supportive friend (with friendships right across the political divide). He and his wife Vita Sackville-West seemed to have had a very loving, special marriage… and I loved their various beautiful, tender letter exchanges. I was SO pleased to come back to this book and enjoyed it enormously (again).

september 2026 books (more!)…

Unto Us A Son Is Given (Donna Leon): Apparently (according to my blog), this is the 10^th Leon book I’ve read… ridiculous. She’s definitely not an Agatha Christie, but I do enjoy the way she writes (well, I like Guido Brunetti and his family!)… and, of course, I just love feeling I’m back in Venice again.
Put Out More Flags (Evelyn Waugh): I’ve always liked Waugh’s books and bought this one on a whim at a second-hand book store… and then promptly slotted it on to one of our bookshelves and forgot it! Fortunately, I recently re-discovered it (while looking for another book, as you do!) and really enjoyed it. It’s set in the opening months of WW2 and is “a sharp, transitional satire about upper-class English idlers navigating the absurdities of the early ‘Phoney War’” (as Wikipedia puts it)… and focusing on social posturing, bureaucratic incompetence, and evacuation schemes. The book was first published in 1942 (my copy is 1943) at a time when Waugh was a Captain in the Royal Marines. It’s both hilarious and shocking. I loved it.
The Living Mountain (Nan Shepherd): This is our next Storysmith book selection (I’ve read it twice before, but never tire of it). Nan Shepherd (1893-1981) was a rather special woman. She was born and lived almost all her adult life in the village of West Cults, three miles from Aberdeen and worked for 41 years as a lecturer in English at what is now Aberdeen College of Education. She was a keen hill walker and lover of nature. She wrote ‘The Living Mountain’ (the Cairngorm mountains of Scotland) during the years of WW2, but the manuscript lay untouched for more than 30 years before it was finally published (in 1977). I found it breathtakingly beautiful in its quiet simplicity; it’s not a mountaineering book or a travel guide (and doesn’t contain a single photograph or illustration), it’s a book that reflects a life lived within these mountains – the sounds, the senses, the air, the light, the colours, the plants, the climate… and much much more. It’s a very gentle book that one needs to take time reading… digesting her words and realising (yet again) the importance of looking+seeing, listening+hearing, stopping+digesting… just as Shepherd took her time to fully appreciate the environment in which she lived. Utterly beautiful.
Where The Streams Come From (Chris Goan): I keep coming back to this book by my good friend Chris (first published in 2018) - as part of my daily, early morning, read-out-loud reflections. It certainly works for me!
Windswept (Annie Worsley): Worsley was an academic: a physical geographer whose specialism was landform. She and her family had visited the Highlands of Scotland for many years - especially the more remote parts of Wester Ross. A decade ago, she and her husband decided to trade in their lives in the north-west of England, and settle on a couple of old crofts in South Erradale, to the west of the Torridon mountains. They both enjoyed walking and climbing, and looked forward to getting better acquainted with this remote area… but Worsley developed a debilitating autoimmune condition, as a result of Lyme disease, which hugely limited her ability to explore the landscape - as a result, she’s been ‘forced’ to focus on the ‘small details’… and this is one of the delights of her writing. The book (published in 2023) takes us through the seasons - starting at the autumn equinox - and so I’ve gently been following its journey over the past 12 months. Worsley is a brilliant writer and her descriptions are beautifully lyrical in character. It’s an enriching, wonderful book… and I’m really going to miss my regular meanderings with her (and it was lovely that finishing the book coincided with my re-reading of Nan Shepherd’s ‘The Living Mountain’… similar writing styles and outlooks and both set in Scotland).

september 2026 books...

The Music Shop (Rachel Joyce): This is our next Blokes’ book… about an old music shop – jam-packed with records of every genre (classical, jazz, punk…) as long as it’s vinyl. The owner has a magical gift of finding the music his customers need. One day a German woman asks him to teach her about music… and so the story develops. The woman is not what she seems and the shop-owner is reminded of the old wounds of his past. I’ve read a number of Joyce’s books and this one, again, contains a blend of quirky characters, the appreciation of everyday life and the resilience of the human spirit. Joyce is a great story-teller and I very much enjoyed this novel (which I consumed in 2 days) - it’s tender, funny and uplifting (although I did find the ending perhaps a little too predictably ‘unreal’).
The All-Nite Café (Philip Gross): Another of my early-morning-read-out-loud books of poetry. I think this is the third of Gross’s books I’ve read (he apparently lives in Bristol). There’s a strangeness to his poems (the ghost of a railway station and a negative uncle, punk mermaids and a deadbeat circus…) which I’ve concluded, perhaps unfairly, aren’t quite my cup-of tea.
Olive Again (Elizabeth Strout): I just LOVE Strout’s writing. This one (first published in 2019) is a follow-up to her ‘Olive Kitteridge’ novel (published in 2008 and which I read last year). Like many of her books, this tells stories of ordinary people in Maine, New England – here, focussing once again on a retired schoolteacher, Olive Kitteridge (now in her late-70s/early 80s): indomitable, unpredictable and uncompromising character (“Olive Kitteridge had never in anyone’s memory felt inclined to be affable, or even polite…”!). It is two years since Olive’s husband, Henry, died, and grief has not mellowed her: she is still brusque, unforgiving, formidable. But beneath it all there’s compassion, empathy and vulnerability, as Olive starts to feel aware of her own mortality. The book comprises 13 tales which explore Strout’s preoccupations with grief, loneliness and familial torments. Much of the book is about life’s regrets – especially those concerning Olive’s family. Once again, a beautiful, powerful novel – which I absolutely loved. Can’t wait for her next book to come out in paperback…
The Cinder Path (Andrew Motion): I’ve enjoyed a number of Motion’s books of poetry and memoirs over recent years. This collection (first published in 2009) includes works as diverse as the last surviving veteran of the tranches and parallel lives glimpsed in paintings… but, for me, the highlight was the final set of autobiographical poems about the life and times of his father. Honest, poignant and moving.
Cat Among The Pigeons (Agatha Christie): One of the very few Agatha Christie books on our bookshelves (and there are dozens of them!) that I hadn’t previously read. First published in 1959, this one is set in one of England’s most exclusive girls’ schools and involves jewels, secret agents and, of course, murder. Was the culprit one of the staff or, maybe, even a pupil? Hercule Poirot enters the fray (after being consulted by one of the pupils) pretty late in the day, waves his magic wand and the case is solved!! Not one of Christie’s most impressive mysteries, but clever and entertaining nevertheless.

august-september 2026 books...

A Century Of Poetry (Rowan Williams): Another early morning/read out loud book. A hundred poems from a hundred years (Williams was keen to point out that they’re not intended to be the ‘best’ poems – simply ‘good’ poems which, in his view, “open the door to some fresh, searching and challenging insights about the life of faith”) and I read them (out loud to myself) on a daily basis over a 100 days (with Williams’ own reflections accompany each poem). I’m a great admirer of Williams and, while I found some of the accompanying notes quite helpful, I also felt (for me, at least), they were often much more than I needed (eg. two pages of detailed notes/sermon on each brief, half-page poem) and I ended up trying to focus on the poems themselves – which, in all honesty – I generally found pretty disappointing. Perhaps, given my own labouring faith journey, I expected too much? All in all, not for me I’m afraid. 
Night Swimmers (Roisin Maguire): I came across this novel by chance. 50-year-old Grace lives alone in a coastal village in Northern Ireland… filling her days with wild swimming, fishing and quilting. She’s quite a character – grumpy, irascible and sharp-tongued! A father arrives for a week, grieving the recent death of his infant daughter, but becomes trapped there by lockdown… he’s joined there by his 8-year-old son (who is deaf and with whom he has struggling relationship). A rather beautiful story evolves… mental health and marital struggles, compassion, community, loneliness and nature. I really enjoyed it (with one or two reservations)… and particularly loved the Grace character.
Up Late (Nick Laird): Yet more read-out-loud-early-morning-poetry. I hadn’t previously come across Laird, but really enjoyed this collection of his poetry/musings. In particular, I loved his piece that formed the title sequence ‘Up Late’ – a profound meditation on a father’s dying, written over the course of his final days. Incredibly powerful and hugely moving.
Sorolla And The Paris Years (Ed. Blanca Pons-Sorolla+Maria Lopez Fernandez): My good friend Tony introduced me to the work of Spanish artist Joaquin Sorolla, 1863-1923 (after I’d posted a note about the British artist Harry Watson on FB). Very embarrassingly, I have to admit that I knew virtually nothing of his work (I know!) – despite the fact that he was an internationally-acclaimed artist who produced some 2,200-3,000 paintings during the course of his career (not to mention more than 20,000 drawings+sketches – including nearly 2,000 oil sketches!!). Thanks to our neighbour, the Central Library, I’ve now read this illustrated book about his life and his art (during his time in Paris) – which, I have to say, I thought was quite wonderful: confident brushwork and dazzling colour. Sorolla visited Paris for the first time in 1885 (shortly after turning 22) and he went on to flourish there – winning prizes and exhibiting in prestigious galleries. A very impressive and illuminating book on a brilliant artist.
This Is Happiness (Niall Williams): I read this on the recommendation of my very good friend Tony - big thanks Tony, AGAIN! (I’d begun to be somewhat melancholic in my observations about the world!). It’s a novel that recounts the story of the 17-year-old Noel Crowe (written from the perspective of now-78-year-old old man) who, after dropping out of the seminary, finds himself back in Faha, a small Irish parish “where nothing ever changes, including the rain”. The book is full of wonderful phrases, observation, humour and sadness – like many from Ireland, Williams definitely ‘has a way with words’! One reviewer described it thus: “Williams has the eye of a poet and the raconteur’s knack for finding a tale in the most unpromising nook of everyday life, as a now-adult Noel, summoning the Faha of his nostalgic imagination…”. It’s a beautiful, uplifting novel which I enjoyed immensely – one of those books you just don’t want to end. 

more august 2026 books…

The Water Table (Philip Gross): I’ve only recently come across Gross’s writing and was particularly drawn to this book as it includes several references to the Bristol Channel - “with shoals and channels that change with the forty-foot tide” – which I know well. Overall, I found his works hauntingly vivid and elegant… but have to admit that there were some sections that I found difficult to read aloud (the words felt somewhat awkward) and to fully appreciate - but perhaps that’s just me! I’ll continue to explore his poetry over the coming weeks/months.
A Clockwork Orange (Anthony Burgess): Hard to believe that the film is more than 50 years old (1971). The novel (first published in 1962 – SIXTY-FOUR years ago!) tells the confessions of a 15-year-old delinquent, Alex, who – with his three friends – goes about creating violent mayhem in his wake. I bought the book second-hand a few years ago… started it, but didn’t finish it. I recall being put off by the ‘nadsat’ dialogue (eg. “Alex and his three droogs tolchock an old veck, razrez his books, pull off his outer platties and take a malenky bit of cutter”!). This time, I persevered (a little like attending a Shakespeare play and finding the first 5 minutes incredibly confusing and nonsensical… but then the words just suddenly start to make sense?). Brilliantly written and conceived – but a frightening portrayal of human choice between good and evil… and breathe!
Dog Day (Sarah Hayes): I appreciate that including a children’s book in my book blog might be regarded as cheating somewhat, but (thanks to Moira) I re-read this rather wonderful 2008 (blimey!) book – written by our good friend Sarah (Hannah’s mother-in-law!) and beautifully illustrated by Hannah to coincide with Hannah+Fee acquiring a dog (their cat Kitsu may have other ideas!). Goodreads described it thus: “Ben and Ellie have a new teacher. But wait a minute – the new teacher is a dog named Riff! With Riff in charge, reading, writing, and arithmetic are abandoned in favour of lessons in barking, scratching, and digging holes…”. I still think it’s a rather delightful book and re-reading it brought back lots of memories of doing so with our various grandchildren. Once again, it made me smile!
1989 (Val McDermid): Somewhat surprisingly perhaps, this was the first McDermid book I’ve read. Why has it taken me so long? As the title suggests, it’s something of a snapshot of a by-gone era – a time of Lockerbie, Hillsborough, when AIDS was ravaging the UK and when the Soviet Union was on the verge of collapse. McDermid’s fictitious crime story is set against this genuine history… featuring investigative journalist Allie Burns battling against the gutter of the UK mass media. She stumbles over a story about HIV/AIDS that ends up taking her into a world of “skullduggery in the medical research labs and seismic rumblings behind the Iron Curtain”… including murder. It’s a page-turning thriller and I found it utterly compelling!
Good Work (EF Schumacher): I first read this book in 1981 (45 years ago!) and, on a whim, decided to re-read it – essentially to reflect on what Schumacher said about the plight of businesses all those years ago (and whether his views had proved valid or way ‘off beam’). What I’d forgotten was that, ‘in those days’, I used to highlight paragraphs and scribble notes all over the text (something I would never dream of doing today!). Reading the book was a reminder about how much has changed in the intervening years. Schumacher frequently used his Coal Board experiences to illustrate his points; emphasis is placed on the ‘battles’ between the coal and oil industries – and, for example, very little reference to environmental concerns… and, of course, all this was well before the world of the internet and AI. Fascinating to reflect on that very fact alone. Schumacher was clearly a very intelligent man, with lots of sensible and insightful opinions but, for me, much of the time in this book, he failed to keep my interest (eg. he frequently used too many examples – sometimes more than four - to illustrate his points!)… I wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with him for a beer! 

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.