march-april 2025 books…

The Bloomsbury Group (Frances Spalding): I’ve previously read Spalding’s excellent book about Vanessa Bell and a number of other books relating to Bloomsbury/Charleston artists/writers. This is a relatively short book about the Group, but one that provides an excellent résumé of both its activities and the people involved. More than half the book comprised fascinating brief biographies of the key players – some of whom (eg. Frances Partridge, Margery Fry, Gerald Brenan, EM Forster, Bertrand Russell) I hadn’t previously come across or associated with the Group. An excellent book.
Spring Unfurled (Angela Harding): Harding is a printmaker and illustrator and this rather beautiful, short book celebrates the Spring through her art (mainly linocut+silkscreen, but also some wood engraving). Her studio is at the bottom of her garden in Rutland – looking out onto sheep fields and farmland. Wildlife is her prime subject – birds, hares, dogs and plants (and the occasional building) – all set within the landscape. In past years, I’ve vaguely thought about trying out some linocuts… but, those who know me well, know that I’m not one to try new things or experiment (I know!)! It’s a beautiful book and is part of her ‘Seasons’ series (‘Summer Hum’, Falling into Autumn’ and ‘Winter’s Song’).
The Notebook: A History Of Thinking On Paper (Roland Allen): This book (published in 2023) is a fascinating study of notebooks throughout history. Who doesn’t love a notebook?! It’s a long, wide-ranging, amazingly researched book – over 400 pages – covering all sorts of issues and writers. Although I did end up reading it cover-to-cover, I did so fitting it in between reading other books (the only way I was able to take in and reflect upon the mass of detail and stories it contained?). From Da Vinci’s sketchbooks to scientific breakthroughs recorded in Marie Curie’s still-radioactive notebooks; those old Letts’ diaries; recipe books; journals; sketchbook/notebooks; being reminded of my many years of daily Filofax use and my list-making ‘codes’(!); the creative notebooks of the likes of Bob Dylan, Joan Didion… and SO much more. Brilliantly fascinating… “the joy of jotting things down”.
Three Days In June (Anne Tyler): I’ve previously read a couple of Tyler’s books and, although reasonably impressed, have never had the urge to read lots more (she’s written a LOT of books!). I suppose, in part, I read this one (published in 2025) to get away from all the rubbish going on in the world at present (again!). It features a 61-year-old woman who loses (or quits) her job the day before her daughter’s wedding… and, on top of it all, her ex-husband turns up at her door expecting to stay for the festivities (and he brings with him a cat looking for a new home). It’s about relationships, infidelity, trust and happiness. Tyler writes impressively; it’s a beautifully-observed book; and, yes, it’s an ‘easy read’ (I read it in a day)… but I also found it all a bit predictable too. Enjoyable nonetheless.
Highway Cello (Kenneth Wilson): I REALLY enjoyed this book… it was SUCH a pleasurable experience reading it (that sounds a bit strange doesn’t it!). Wilson sets out on a ‘mission’ (he doesn’t think the word ‘pilgrimage’ quite describes it) to cycle from Hadrian’s Wall to Rome… carrying his carbon-fibre cello strapped on to the back of his bike (together with his other ‘luggage’). Incredibly, he achieves his goal in 40 days… some 1,400 miles and climbing some 3.5 Everests in the process… and busking/giving concerts en route. Wilson is a poet, a cellist and (in his words) a “dreamer”… and, incidentally, an ex-vicar. I’m not sure how old he is (in his late 50s?), but he must be bloomin’ fit! Moira and I first came across him when hosted a Lenten ‘Quiet Day’ at Bristol Cathedral recently… and were really impressed with his music, his poetry and the man himself. I loved his writing style and his natural humour. His journey descriptions convey the scenery, the weather, the people (and their generosity and hospitality), his health (struggling with ‘carpal tunnel wrist’?), the language difficulties… and his naivety when it came to planning/appreciating his journey. I found the whole book hugely uplifting (and slightly, wonderfully mad!). I absolutely loved it.   

flow…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed yesterday afternoon to see Latvian director Gints Zilbalodis’s rather beautiful, Oscar-winning, story about a lone cat in a flooded (post-apocalyptic?) world.
There are signs, in the lush forest, of human habitation and the remnants of civilisation; the cat lives in a house that appears to have once been home to a sculptor; a half-finished carving remains on a workbench. Has the former inhabitant been relocated or even long since dead? What about the rest of humanity? We’re left to decide for ourselves.
The cat’s solitude is interrupted by a sudden environmental disaster: rapidly rising flood waters submerge the house and the forest surrounding it. A reprieve comes in the shape of a drifting boat, but annoyingly (for the cat) the cat discovers that the vessel must be shared with another passenger – an imperturbable, chilled-out capybara… and, as the boat drifts, it takes on other creatures: a ring-tailed lemur, a secretarybird and a dog (a whale also features but, obviously, not as a passenger!).
The film is something of an eco-parable. The dialogue-free animation (produced on a tiny budget of some £3million – apparently £3m IS tiny in the film world). The animation is utterly stunning (except, perhaps, that fur doesn’t look much like fur – or was that just me?). Initially, being in our mid-seventies, I felt just a bit conscious that perhaps an animated film would be geared much more towards family audiences. But I needn’t have worried because the ages of the audience (and the film was well-attended for a matinee performance) was pretty wide-ranging (from young people in their 20s to old codgers like us!)… and, although it’s an animated film with adorable animals and stunning visuals, I don’t think it's the kind of film you’d want to take young children to - due to its potentially distressing themes.
This is ultimately a film about collaboration and community… and it’s one of those films that I think you need to see. It’s rather magical.

february-march 2025 books…

Ascent (Chris Bonington): I hate heights, but love mountains and stories about mountains. This is Bonington looking back on his extraordinary life and his fierce ambition to climb mountains. I’d read one of his previous books (‘Everest The Hard Way’) and found this book equally compelling. He writes well and seems like a decent bloke, but also (perhaps it comes with the territory?) rather selfish (he’s very much a ‘leader’), driven, hugely ambitious and with a certain degree of arrogance… plus lots of determination, skill and drive. In the ongoing quest to bag yet another “unclimbed peak”, several lives were lost en route. The book (first published in 2017 and 420 pages long) is an open, frank account of his adventures but also, towards the end, the devastating fatal MND condition of his wife (of 52 years). Frankly, I felt sorry for his wife - who was constantly ‘abandoned’ for months on end as Bonington dreamed up (or was persuaded to join) another adventure. There’s a poignant passage where his wife overhears a conversation he was having with another mountaineer about an imminent ‘project’ – which she knew nothing about; needless to say, she was deeply upset. Bonington described the next challenge as “unfinished business”, but his sons were less forgiving: “But you promised. You can’t go back. What about Mum?”… but he went anyway. There were times when the book made me quite angry but, overall, I found it absolutely fascinating.
Enchantment (Katherine May): I’d previously read May’s ‘Wintering’ book - ‘the power of rest and retreat in difficult times’ – which I found, at times, both sensible and wise (without being mind-blowingly fresh or original). A friend recommended this book (written during and immediately after the pandemic lockdown) and its cover describes it as ‘reawakening wonder in an exhausted age’. The cover also contains lots of endorsements – ‘life-affirming’… ‘the book your soul needs right now’…and such like. Well, I hate to disappoint you but, although the book did contain a few interesting observations, my overall impressions were: a) I didn’t think it even came close to achieving its objective (‘reawakening wonder…?’); b) I didn’t think it was well written or articulated; c) it contained an awful lot of ‘padding’/’waffle’ (it badly needed editing) d) I honestly feel I could have written a better book (it was THAT bad!!). By the time I’d finished it, I felt both annoyed and somewhat cheated… and that I’d wasted my time. I think my own personal ‘enchantment’ journey is much more alive than her own haphazard and somewhat random journey into ‘reawakening wonder’. Not impressed, I’m afraid!
Inside The Wave (Helen Dunmore): I’ve been re-reading Dunmore’s book of poems as part of my early morning ritual (I think I must have previously read the book 3 or 4 times… and continue to find her poetry enthralling. Dunmore died in 2017, aged 65. This book of poems is her final collection… they’re concerned with the borderline between the living and the dead. They relate to her interest in landscape and the sea but, crucially, about her personal experience of dying (she knew she was dying of cancer)… “To be alive is to be inside the wave, always travelling until it breaks and is gone”. A lovely book that I’ll continue to re-visit in the future. Dunmore and I shared two connections: living in Bristol and loving St Ives.
Small Things Like These (Claire Keegan): Another re-read. This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection… and with a rather lovely twist – in that we’ll also be watching the film at ‘20^th Century Flicks’. The novel is a mere 114 pages long, but is simply stunning… haunting and yet hopeful. It’s set in 1985, just before Christmas, in an Irish town in County Wexford. The story’s main character is Bill Furlong, a coal merchant with a wife and five daughters. As an infant, Furlong and his mother were taken in by a wealthy Protestant woman living just beyond the town. There’s a convent at the edge of town and, attached to it, a training school and laundry where young women live and work. There are all kinds of rumours about those in attendance… I think I’ll leave it there (I would hate to spoil it for you). It’s a beautiful, breath-taking and tender book that has remained with me over the past two years and will, no doubt, continue to do so. The film, starring Cillian Murphy, does the book total justice.
Reasons To Be Cheerful (Nina Stibbe): It’s been a long time since I last read a Stibbe book (8 years according to my blog) but, with all the horrible stuff going on in the world, I felt I needed a book that made me laugh! Sadly, I was a little disappointed. In this book, Lizzie Vogel (featuring the child and then adolescent protagonist of Stibbe’s previous two novels, ‘Men at the Helm’ and ‘Paradise Lodge’ – I’d only read the second one) has just turned 18 and moved out of the family home and has talked her way into a job as a dental assistant, and is at last living by herself in the big city (Leicester), in a flat above the surgery that comes with the job. Yes, the story might evoke English provincial life in 1980, but the plot is absurd and, although Stibbe’s humour is entertaining (most of the time), I ended up finding the novel just too ridiculous for my liking. I absolutely loved Stibbe’s ‘Love Nina’ book - made up of a series of letters written by writer Stibbe to her sister in the 80s, while she was working as a nanny – but I’m afraid this book wasn’t for me. Sorry. 

barbara walker MBE RA at the arnolfini…

I went along to the Barbara Walker ‘Being Here’ exhibition at the Arnolfini today (I’d been meaning to go for some time!). She and I share the fact that we were both born in Birmingham and grew up in Handsworth (albeit she’s 15 years younger than me!).
The exhibition presents almost 60 extraordinary artworks, including rarely seen early paintings of Walker’s family, friends and community in her home city, along with her Turner Prize nominated monumental drawing series ‘Burden of Proof’, which illustrates the impact on the lives of those affected by the Windrush scandal.
Stunningly beautiful, powerful drawings and paintings.
The exhibition runs until 25 May. See it if you can. 

the winter’s tale at the tobacco factory…

Moira’s birthday celebrations included seeing Shakespeare’s “The Winter’s Tale” at the Tobacco Factory Theatre last night (Ru joined also us, which was lovely). The other bonus was that ‘our’ Felix was playing the leading role of King Leontes – how on earth are actors able to learn SO many lines?! – and he was superb.
We think we’d previously seen the play at the RSC in Stratford perhaps 30 years ago (long before I began blogging reviews!).
I knew the basic story… jealousy, redemption, the enduring power of love and the cyclical nature of life, as marked by the seasons. The programme notes summed things up perfectly: “Driven by unfounded jealousy, King Leontes accuses his wife Hermione of infidelity, triggering tragic consequences. Years later, through acts of forgiveness, reconciliation, and the miraculous power of time, a chance at renewal and hope emerges. This timeless tale moves seamlessly between tragedy and comedy, offering a rich exploration of human emotion and resilience”.
It's a hugely impressive production (directed by the Tobacco Factory Theatre’s Artistic Director, Heidi Vaughan) and the quality of the actors (every member of the company is based within a 25-mile radius of Bristol) is consistently high.
The Winter’s Tale reminds us that even the harshest winter can give way to the hope of spring, delight of Summer and the tender Autumn of our years (in these crazy Trump-dominated days, I just hope that holds true!).
We really enjoyed it and I would urge you to see it for yourself if you live in the Bristol area (it runs until 29 March).

bournemouth symphony orchestra at bristol beacon…

Thanks to Dave+Sarah, I was given a ticket to another classical concert at the Bristol Beacon last night (two concerts there within a week!). The programme consisted of:
Brahms Symphony No. 3
Hough Piano Concerto, ‘The World of Yesterday’
Elgar Variations on an Original Theme, ‘Enigma’
 
I hadn’t heard the piano concerto (which was impressive, but not quite my cup of tea) before last night, but was familiar with the other pieces. The evocative Brahms Symphony (which I do like – especially the third movement) is apparently, according to the programme notes, rich with references to his own thoughts about life and love in its striking mixture of passion and pessimism, of restlessness and serenity – we certainly need LOTS of passion and serenity at the present time!
And, like most people, I also love the Elgar Variations… but hadn’t realised was that they take the form of a portrait gallery of the composer’s friends, family and neighbours… and, last night, these were elaborated upon through spoken excerpts from Elgar’s own writings.
Another excellent evening with an impressive, full orchestra in full voice.

I’m still here…

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon (prompted by Wendy Ide’s 5-star review in The Guardian). I wasn’t disappointed.
Walter Salles’s film is a true-life saga of a Brazilian family torn apart by military rule. A former congressman and civil engineer, Rubens, is abducted from his beachfront home in 1970s Rio. His wife (Eunice Paiva, played by Fernanda Torres - who is utterly BRILLIANT) and five children are left reeling… for decades. One day, men with guns arrive at the door and take Rubens to make a statement. Who they are and where he has been removed to remain a mystery. Eunice and her 15-year-old daughter are also questioned (Eunice ends up being kept in a filthy cell and subjected to repeated interrogations over 12 days).
 
Despite it all, for the sake of her children, Eunice puts on a brave face (understatement) and campaigns for her husband’s safe return. But, over time, there’s a slow realisation that her husband has gone for good (she later hears from an associate of her husband the unconfirmed rumour of Rubens’ death) and that, for the sake of her children, she needs to remain ‘strong’. Eunice ends up deciding to relocate the family to São Paulo and to go back to college (in real life, she went on to become a human rights lawyer). Lots of incredibly poignant scenes that sum up the despair and the horror of it all – including a heart-breaking scene when the youngest of the Paiva children sits on the doorstep, as the last of their possessions are loaded into the car, and finally realises that her father was never coming home.
For me, the film was a frightening, sobering reminder that such regimes and governments continue in various forms to this day (see my footnotes below).
It’s a brilliant hard-hitting film, brilliantly acted… and you definitely need to see it (Oscar-winning performance by Fernanda Torres?).
Footnote: In Chile, Pinochet was a brutal authoritarian dictatorship that seized power through a coup in 1973, violently suppressing political dissent, implementing severe human rights abuses like torture and disappearances, while also enacting significant economic reforms based on free market principles, causing social and economic disruption for many Chileans (democracy wasn’t restored until 1990).
Footnote: In Brazil, dictatorship reached the height of its popularity (my bold type) in the early 1970s with the so-called ‘Brazilian Miracle’ - even as the regime censored all media, and tortured, killed and exiled dissidents… and yet, despite all this, 20 years later, Bolsonaro was elected Brazil’s president 2019-23 and (according to Google) his government was characterized by the strong presence of ministers with a military background, international alignment with the populist right and autocratic leaders, and was recognized for his anti-environmental, anti-indigenous people and pro-gun policies. He was also responsible for a broad dismantling of cultural, scientific and educational government programmes, in addition to promoting repeated attacks on democratic institutions and spreading fake news… (does this sound vaguely familiar?). 

february 2025 books…

Among The Cities (Jan Morris): I love Jan Morris’s writing. This book (first published in 1985) is a compilation of 37 essays, written over a period of 26 years (1957-1983), describing her experiences of the cities she travelled to. Although I read it from cover-to-cover, it’s also one of those books one could just dip into. Typical of Morris, these are very different travel essays - definitely not ‘travel guides’, but providing wonderful insights into the joys (and frustrations) experienced on her journeys - taking in descriptions of shopkeepers, cafés, colours and smells et al. These are no reflections compiled from ‘long weekend’ excursions, but often the result of extended stays (or frequent re-visits)… indeed, one of the essays (Spanish Cities, 1963 – Franco was still power) resulted from her American publishers’ invitation “to spend 6 months in Spain and write a book about it”. Of course, some of these cities have changed beyond recognition… for instance: Beirut (essay: 1956) after its destruction in 1982 and Berlin (essay: 1957) after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Entertaining, illuminating and fascinating.
Everyman’s Poetry: RS Thomas (ed. Anthony Thwaite): I bought this book in 2010 (first published in 1996), but had previously only ‘dipped into it’ from time to time. For the past few week, I’ve been gently working my way through this book as part of my pondering time at the very start of each day (usually reading it aloud to myself)… and I’ve found it surprisingly compelling. Thomas (1913-2000) was an ordained priest who served in six different rural parishes in Wales over a period of 40 years. His poetry is frequently quite dour, even gloomy – often about isolation (and written in isolation) and the people within his parishes and the landscapes of the remote depths of rural Wales. He was troubled by religious doubts throughout his life… and perhaps, given my own faith issues, that’s what I found resonated for me.
Hard Rain (Mark Edwards+Lloyd Timberlake): Dylan’s 1992 song (written during the Cuban Missile Crisis… and the 13-year-old me thought the world was about to end) forms the backdrop to this powerful book Edwards’ and Timberlake’s text, some stunning photographs and, of course, the lyrics to Dylan’s “A Hard Rains A-Gonna Fall”. Today, of course, we know that it’s not just nuclear war that could wipe out civilisation… climate change has the potential to be equally catastrophic. Back in 2006, the authors maintained that the world was in collective denial… it seems that we just weren’t able to get these issues on our political radar screens. I’ve had my copy of the book from shortly after it was published (in 2006) and it’s just so sad to reflect that, nearly 20 years later, awareness of the environmental crisis has improved, its impact has arguably only worsened. Beautiful, powerful, sobering book.
Hijab Butch Blues (Lamya H): This is our Storysmith bookgroup’s latest book… in recognition of ‘LGBT+ History Month’. The author is a queer, brown-skinned Muslim (‘Lamya H’ is a pseudonym – presumably to protect her own identity and the fact that her family are unaware that she’s queer). It’s an unflinching memoir about reconciling faith, life circumstances and her own ‘queer experience’ in a world where racism, Islamophobia, homophobia and transphobia are familiar issues. It recounts Lamya’s life after she moves from a ‘Muslim country’ to the U.S. for college with the stories of the prophets and figures in the Quran that help her understand, contextualize, celebrate, or heal from the traumas and tribulations of her life. The book provides an insight into her personal journey and growth in both her faith and herself, broken down into three essays: grappling with the various intersections of their queer, Muslim, immigrant identities; addressing the difficulties of coming out and navigating the world as queer, Muslim, and brown; and illustrating the ways in which her faith has helped guide/create a life for herself. In many ways, it seemed to me that that the book was written as a form of therapy or self-counselling… as well as a vehicle for encouraging others. A fascinating insight into the struggles and challenges that face the likes of Lamya… fascinating but, for me, without being compelling.
Foster (Claire Keegan): This is our Bloke’s latest book choice (selected by me!)… so this is another re-read! I love Keegan’s writing and this book was probably my favourite of 2024. This short story, which takes place in the hot summer of 1981 in rural Ireland, is narrated by a young girl… who is taken by her father to live with relatives on a farm, not knowing when or if she will be brought home again. In the relatives’ house, she finds affection and warmth she has not known and slowly, in their care, begins to blossom… but (in the words from the book’s cover), “there is something unspoken in this new household – where everything is so well tended to – and the summer must come to an end”. It’s a novel of a mere 88 pages, but it is profound, beautiful and utterly lyrical. I absolutely loved it – one of those books that stay with long after the final page has been read. It’ll be interesting to see what the ‘blokes’ think about it! 

LSO playing mahler at the beacon…

I went to the Bristol Beacon last night with my good friend Ed to hear/see the London Symphony Orchestra (LSO)(conductor: Sir Antonio Pappano) performing Mahler’s Symphony no.1 and Walton’s Cello Concerto (soloist: Rebecca Gilliver).
I love Mahler’s music and last night’s performance was wonderfully impressive… so brilliant to witness the sight and sound of a large orchestra at full tilt.
I was less familiar with the Walton piece, but very much enjoyed Rebecca Gilliver’s mesmerising performance.
A really excellent evening.
PS: Somewhat embarrassingly, the last time I was at the Beacon (or Colston Hall as it used to be) for a concert of classical music was in May 2018 – to see the wonderful Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla conduct the CBSO… although I’ve attended other classical concerts elsewhere in the meantime.
PPS: Although Walton’s Cello Concerto isn’t my favourite cello piece, the cello IS almost certainly my favourite classical instrument. It reminded me of the time I first remember hearing/watching Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ played ‘live’. I’d been invited to a special concert at St Hilda’s College, Oxford (I designed some student accommodation for the College during my time working for The Oxford Architects Partnership). The world-famous cellist Jacqueline Du Pré was an Honorary Fellow at St Hilda’s College. She was forced to stop performing in 1973, due to Multiple Sclerosis, and died in 1987, aged 42. The Jacqueline Du Pré Music Building was subsequently built in Oxford and opened in 1995 (St Hilda’s had been one of the joint fundraisers). That concert probably took place in 1973/4 - over 50 years ago (I know!) - and I still have goose-bumps when I recall the sound of the cello that night (the last performance of Elgar’s Cello Concerto I attended – at St George’s, Bristol in 2019 – brought tears to my eyes… soft man that I am). I think I need to attend another performance of that Elgar piece before I die! 

january-february 2025 books…

The Perfect Golden Circle (Benjamin Myers): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection (albeit that I won’t be able to make our review meeting) – under the theme of ‘weather’. The novel is set in 1989 and, over the course of a hot English summer, two very different men – a traumatised Falklands veteran Calvert and a somewhat chaotic Redbone – set out in a clapped-out camper, under cover of darkness, to traverse the fields of England forming crop circles in elaborate and mysterious patterns. Over the course of the summer, their designs become increasingly ambitious and the work takes on something of a cult status (albeit that the men’s identity remains unknown). In many ways, it’s an unsentimental and yet realistic look at our world of today – changing weather patterns; global warming; and sober implications for the planet. The book’s cover/flyleaf is FULL of praise from a whole mass of gushing reviewers. Here’s just a flavour: “brilliantly constructed…”; “understated, plangent loveliness of Myers’s storytelling…”; “a strong, spiritual writer who sees and loves every dewdrop, old oak, soft little animal and buried sword…”. Well, although I warmed to the book towards the end, I’m afraid I didn’t find it particularly convincing… and I didn’t find either of the characters particularly believable. Unlike the army of book reviewers, I wasn’t particularly impressed by Myers as a writer and found many of his descriptions painfully laboured. I could quote lots of examples, but here are just two: “Redbone takes a drink. His throat is a Saharan sand dune, a dead riverbed of boulders. He is so thirsty that he swallows the water as if the lives of his unborn offspring depend upon it. He drains half the flask in a few greedy gulps so that non-existent children might one day live”… and “The owls are so owlish that they resemble a sound effect, a dusty vinyl recording found in the BBC’s audio archives. The tree trunks meanwhile create corridors as if a needle is stuck on the record that is playing continually in an empty office deep in an abandoned building guarded by a solitary nightwatchman for whom retirement cannot come quickly enough”. Really?? The book echoes some of the themes of the excellent BBC TV series ‘The Detectorists’ from 2014 – a secretive pursuit for treasure (or in the book’s case anonymous cult status?) undertaken by some rather strange, quirky enthusiasts… and yet, for me, it failed to really engage me. I found it mildly amusing at times and somewhat irritating at others! In a word: disappointing (although I know I’ll be in a minority).
Sentenced To Life (Clive James): I first read this 10 years ago and have been re-reading the book’s poems as part of my early morning reflections (a couple of pieces each day). The poems were written as if James felt his death was imminent and yet he survived another 12 years (first published in 2007 – he died in 2019)… but I again found his words/reflections/regrets/joys/guilt/memories really quite poignant and insightful – albeit sometimes overly self-pitying perhaps.
Night Waking (Sarah Moss): I’ve read a number of Sarah Moss books (this is quite an early one – first published in 2011) and enjoy her writing, but I struggled to get into this one initially… and came back to it after a 6-month gap. The main character, Anna, is a Research Fellow in History struggling to write without a room of her own… stranded on a Hebridean island where her husband is researching puffins. They have two young sons and Anna’s days are a round of abandoned projects and domestic drudgery – with husband Giles sadly lacking in his ideas of shared parenting due to what he sees as his far more pressing puffin obligations. The book becomes something of a mystery novel when one of the sons finds a baby skeleton buried in the garden. An investigation begins and Anna’s work changes as she endeavours to confront the island’s past while finding a way to live with the competing demands of the present. I ended up really enjoying the book… it’s brilliantly observed and frequently funny (I particularly enjoyed the rather wonderful way Moss was able to mix in the speech of small children and of adults talking to them so convincingly well). I loved one reviewer’s description of Anna as a “furious, self-pitying martyr, self-conscious to the point of satire about her particular niche in the pantheon of middle-class motherhood”!
Night (Elie Wiesel): January marked the 80^th anniversary of the liberation of German Nazi concentration and extermination camp at Auschwitz… and this book provides a horrifying portrait of the Holocaust. Elie Wiesel was 15 when the Nazis came for the 15,000 Jews of his hometown of Sighet, Transylvania, in May 1944. Upon arrival at Auschwitz-Birkenau, his mother and sister were murdered within hours, while he was put to work as a slave labourer. Eight months later, the Germans evacuated the camp and forced the survivors on a death march that ended at Buchenwald. Wiesel (now a Professor at Boston University) was one of the few still alive when the Americans arrived in April 1945. We all know about the horrors of the Holocaust but, still, Wiesel’s first-hand account makes the grimmest of reading… one is left with a sense of utter disbelief that man could commit such crimes. The book is disturbing in the extreme and yet, thankfully, also something of a beacon of hope. We must not EVER forget what happened.
Bad Island (Stanley Donwood): I bought this at the £5 Bookshop (Park Street). First published in 2020, this stark, graphic novel is about the end of the world(!) - which seems particularly pertinent at this time when we have Trump talking about ‘drill baby drill’ and the UK government regarding airport expansions as being more important than the environment. The book is a series of single image linocuts, building up slowly into an eons-old narrative of life, evolution and ultimate (self-)destruction. Stark, bleak and but with a powerful message. 

a complete unknown…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed yesterday to see James Mangold’s ‘A Complete Unknown’ – about Bob Dylan’s rise to become one of the most iconic singer-songwriters in history. The 19-year-old from Minnesota arrives in New York in 1961 with his guitar and is destined to change the course of American music.
I recall my schoolboy days in 1962 when, in order to try to look ‘cool’ and ‘keep up with the music scene’ (I’m pretty sure I was the first person to actually discover The Beatles!), I used to subscribe to ‘Disc’ magazine or what later became ‘Disc Weekly’… and so began my fascination with Mr Dylan and his music. “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” 1963 album has always been my favourite.
As my good friend Tony suggested (after he’d seen the film last weekend), watching it was an exercise in ‘nostalgia’… in a very positive way. He was absolutely right. Unsurprisingly (on a Tuesday afternoon!), the vast majority of the pretty much capacity audience comprised lots of old couples in their 70s (like us!) – reliving their youth.
I feared that it would all be very disappointing… a number of people acting out and singing parts of some of my heroes. Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I thought the actors were absolutely excellent: Dylan (played brilliantly by Timothée Chalamet); Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro); Pete Seeger (Edward Norton); and girlfriend Sylvie Russo (pictured on the ‘Freewheelin’ album cover photograph)(Elle Fanning).
In the film, Dylan somewhat predictably (and convincingly) comes across as an arrogant, thick-skinned, selfish musical genius. The film includes the time of Dylan’s appearance at the 1965 Newport folk festival – where he rejects the traditional folk traditions in favour of rock and blues-inspired electric guitars… and I can well remember my own disappointment/disbelief of that time. But, hey, music is something of a journey – and Dylan is still going strong despite his 83 years (and thank goodness for that).
I’d strongly recommend that you see this film. It brought back lots of memories.
PS: Of course, I’ve been re-listening to Dylan albums all over again since seeing the film!
PPS: I think my favourite Dylan song is “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”… and its lyrics are featured in Mark Edwards+Lloyd Timberlake’s brilliant book “Hard Rain: Our Headlong Collision With Nature” (published in 2006)… a stunning photographic essay. I absolutely treasure this book. It’s sadly sobering that the book’s major theme – our headlong collision with nature and the pressing issues of climate change, environmental degradation and world poverty – applies even more today than it did then, 19 years ago… and Dylan’s lyrics (which at the time were inspired by the threat of nuclear meltdown) remain scarily prophetic – 62 years later. 

january 2025 books…

The Fortnight In September (RC Sherriff): This is our next Bloke’s book. First published in 1931, it’s a simple account of a family’s two weeks’ holiday at the seaside. The Stevens’ family (mother and father; Mary nearly 20; Dick 17; and Ernie 10), who lived near Dulwich, had always holidayed in Bognor and always stayed at the same guest house. They were an ‘ordinary’, decent family and their holidays were planned by the father (who, every year, made a list of ‘Marching Orders’ to ensure that everything was ‘right’ in advance of their train journey to the coast)(we travelled by Sandwell Coaches’ charabancs), but with the family agreeing a basic itinerary on a day-to-day basis. Although there was something like a 25-year time difference, the book reminded me of our own family holidays in Blackpool each year as a child. My Dad was a list-maker (Ru and I have inherited the trait!) and, like the Stevenses, our holidays included beach cricket games (or to the park when the tide was in), theatre visits, the pier and amusement arcades… and we stayed at the same guest house every year – even after the people had retired. Nothing really happens in this book, except the simple pleasures and the decent ordinariness of (working class) life. The book won’t appeal to many perhaps, but I found it a wonderfully evocative reminder of life as it used to be.
The Last Devil To Die (Richard Osman): I’ve read and really enjoyed Osman’s previous three ‘Thursday Murder Club’ novels. There’s part of me that almost resents Osman’s ridiculous success in everything he seems to touch (but, hey, he’s a hugely talented bloke!) but, I have to admit, I really like his books! If anything, I think this is probably his ‘best yet’. Another clever, intricate storyline – featuring art forgers, online fraudsters, drug dealer and, of course, those wonderful, aged characters (Joyce, Elizabeth, Ibrahim and Ron – my favourite is Joyce!) from Cooper’s Chase Retirement Village. Effortlessly (at least that’s how it seems) entertaining and even quite moving (despite the body-count!). I read it within 3 days and found it rather wonderful.
Julia (Sandra Newman): This novel (published in 2023) is something of a re-telling of Orwell’s ‘1984’ (which I’d previously read three times before over the past 50 or so years - the last in 2017)… but, this time, from the very different perspective of the role women were forced to play – something that was clearly lacking in Orwell’s novel. Newman’s version is seen through the eyes of Julia Worthing, who works in the Fiction Department at the Ministry of Truth. I found it utterly convincing, complex and disturbing… and, somewhat worryingly (in my view), also a reflection of the world we currently live in – with its powerful (+hugely rich) oligarchs; its fake news; its blatant lies; and its potential ability to control the media/internet (but, so far, no apparent use of torture!?). It all felt scarily authentic and impressively written. Not a book that one ‘enjoys’ exactly… but it’s very difficult not to be hugely impressed.
Cork In The Doghouse (Macdonald Hastings): Another book from the Oxfam secondhand bookshop – largely on the basis that it was another of Penguin Books’ ‘green cover crime series’. It was first published in 1957 (I remember the author when he was a reporter for the BBC’s ‘Tonight’ programme back in the day!) but, frankly, I was very disappointed – it all felt very contrived and (perhaps unsurprisingly) very dated… and yet it probably would have been better to have been set back in the 1920s. Montague Cork is the General Manager+Managing-Director of the Anchor Accident Insurance Company (the author has apparently written a whole series of ‘Cork Adventures’… I personally won’t be reading any others!) and this one concerns a highly-insured pit bull terrier and a group of ne’er-do-wells. I’m afraid I found the book unremarkable and unconvincing.
Three Men In A Boat (Jerome K Jerome): I think this is the fourth time I’ve read this book (the last being in 2020)… somewhat pitifully perhaps, I took it off the bookshelf again on the basis that it provided some guaranteed ‘comfort reading’ at a time when the world seems to have lost its marbles. First published in 1889 (our/Moira’s copy 1969) is the well-known story of three men (and a dog) on a boat, making the journey from Kingston to Oxford along the Thames (and back again). It’s obviously incredibly dated and ‘of its time’, but it really is very funny and beautifully written. All accounts of their journey invariably get side-tracked by recollections of other, often completely unrelated, events – indeed, the first quarter of the book isn’t about things they encountered on their boat journey at all (instead: stories about their various health issues; what they should take with them; how they should pack etc). Some lovely references bemoaning the “pace of nineteenth century life”… and a rather pertinent comment about “people’s changing tastes” and things that had become “unfashionable”: “Will it be the same in the future? Will the prized treasures of today always be the cheap trifles of the day before? Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner-plates be ranged above the chimney-pieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd?...”. A lovely, enjoyable re-read.