It's the 23rd January, and I'm freezing. I don't usually feel the cold, but I've spent all day in a conference about educational innovation. I think a useful innovation would have been to turn the heating on. It was a good conference, but the temperature in the hall (Senate House, University of London), was lower than it was outside.
So, a brisk walk brings me to St Pancras station, and the branch of Hatchards there. (As an aside, if you ever want a signed book, Hatchards is the place to go. Foyles has a few, and other bookshops have them occasionally, but Hatchards has the most, and all the time.)
I'm now going to switch to the past tense.
I started looking in the non-fiction section, and an assistant came along, sat on a stool, and asked me if I was looking for anything in particular. I wondered if she thought I looked like a shoplifter! Anyway, I told her I was interested in Why we sleep, by Matthew Walker. She took me straight to it, and told me why she liked it. I asked her if it was fairly scientific, rather than anecdotal, and she assured me it was.
So, I bought it, and the young lady at the till was charm personified.
It was a nice experience. It left me feeling a lot warmer inside than when I entered, and not merely because of the temperature.
I like Amazon, but I don't think any algorithm can replace well-informed and pleasant bookshop staff.
I’m familiar with a few of the stories in this volume, which features some well-known names such as Raymond Carver, George Saunders, Grace Paley, Ursula Le Guin and Susan Sontag.
I love the subtitle: A history of thinking on paper (my emphasis). I do think there’s much to be said for writing on paper, and there is no paucity of research showing the benefits of analogue over the digital approach.
A few months ago I wrote about Barnabees Books, in Westleton, Suffolk. It’s a lovely warm place, not only heat-wise but atmospherically, not least because of its delightful owner, Ty.
Since I read Northanger Abbey when I was in my twenties, I have to say that in the interim it has much improved. Clearly, Jane must have taken a creative writing course or two because it is now much funnier, more cutting and more modern, what with her stepping outside the story to comment on her characters and the novel form itself.
If your interest in the Oulipo goes beyond simply trying out their techniques, and you wish to learn about the context in which it was conceived and the developments in went through, you will find this book very useful.
A very timely publication. The first section is replete with anecdotes about trigger warnings and similar. Some of these are, in my opinion, ill-informed (such as the charges levelled against Jane Austen) while others are ridiculous (like the rewriting of parts of the Noddy books).
The Book at War is a fascinating study of how books and other reading matter have variously influenced politics, propaganda and history over time.
Elborough’s central premise is that artists’ travels have always influenced their art – albeit more obviously in some cases than others.
The shelves in libraries or bookshops labelled Science Fiction and Fantasy interest me only for the former, not the latter. Games like Dungeons and Dragons have never appealed to me, and much as I like maps and strange lands, the works of Tolkien leave me cold.