My Top Ten Books of the Last Year

It's the time of year when I like to look back at the books I've read over the last twelve months and make a totally subjective choice as to which have been the ten best. It's sort of a useful exercise in so much as if I'm keeping a reading notebook (blog) I should check over it form time to time - and actually it's been a really helpful reminder of some excellent books. There was one year when this was really hard but this time I was surprised at how many really good books there were to choose from. I re-read 'Pride and Prejudice' this year but opted not to put it on the list because - well because I've read it so many times before that it didn't really feel like it should count again.

So in no particular order here are my top 10 books of the last 12 months starting with Sara Maitland's 'Gossip From The Forest'. Maitland was my introduction to feminist fiction and Virago books (many years ago) but this was the first one of hers I've picked up in a long time. It was inspirational. I've looked at trees and fairy tales differently since. As an older sister I was particularly taken with her theory that fairy tales were originally mostly told by older sisters but basically you can't beat a book that makes you look at something familiar with fresh eyes.

Amy Sackville's 'Orkney' got some mixed reviews but I loved her take on legend and folklore and the darker side of love. The older narrators obsession with one of his students becomes increasingly oppressive but also left me wondering if their marriage is imagined. The shifting light and landscape of Orkney is the perfect backdrop for Sackville's tale and I also thought she did an excellent job of catching something of the spirit of the place.

Rumer Godden's 'A Fugue In Time' is one of three of her books that I read this year, all of them wonderful and disconcerting in equal measure. I thought I knew Godden reasonably well but exploring the titles re-issued this year have made me reassess her. 'A Fugue In Time' is the least obviously shocking of the trio (no rape and no exotic Indian location) but still managed to unsettle me as a reader. It's the story of a family and their home through almost a century. For want of a better description the memories have an independent life within the house and document the small triumphs, tragedies, injustices, cruelties, and loves that go to make up a family history. It's the sort of book that begs discussion.

Helen Hull's 'Heat Lightning' was a book that far exceeded expectations, it also has a particularly good introduction. It's another multi generational look at family life (which as a description is exactly the sort of thing which will make me pass over a book) and marriage. Amy Norton's marriage has hit a rough patch and she's gone home to lick her wounds. It's the beginning of the great depression and whilst she's home her uncle and cousin come off the rails in a way that threatens to take the whole family with them, her grandmother also dies. It isn't a depressing book - Amy and her husband look like they'll be able to make things work and the family will manage to re group and carry on somehow. What's really stuck with me though is the rising sense of tension against a background of oppressive heat. This one is a real Persephone gem.

Lindsey Bareham's 'The Trifle Bowl and Other Tales' is still sitting in my books to be dealt with pile, I got nowhere near doing it justice when I wrote about it and still haven't spent much time looking at the recipes yet. One way or another (River Cottage Fruit, anything that Prospect ever choose to publish, and Fiona Cairns 'Seasonal Baking' are notable exceptions) I haven't found many really inspiring cookbooks this year. Maybe it's because I no longer have a good local bookshop to discover things in but far to many of the cookbooks I've seen this year have felt like more of the same. The Trifle Bowl stands out because it looked at equipment as much as recipes, I love my kitchen and all it's bits so a book that puts those bits front and centre really appeals to me. The kitchens we have define the way we cook, eat, and entertain, I don't like anybody else cooking in my kitchen (they do it wrong) but I loved reading about somebody else's kitchen.

Georgette Heyer's 'The Grand Sophy' probably shouldn't count in the same way that 'Pride and Prejudice' didn't count but re reading it was something of a revelation (as were all the Georgette Heyer's I re read this year). I knew she was entertaining but I'd forgotten what very positive female role models Heyer wrote. Sophy isn't conventionally beautiful, she has a temper, and she's prone to tears at inconvenient moments but she's also smart, capable, and independent. I'm very glad these were the books I was devouring when I was 14.

I'm half way through Trollope's Palliser series now and so far 'The Eustace Diamonds' is easily my favourite. Lizzie Eustace is by far the most interesting woman I've found in Trollope, had he sympathised with her just a little more the book would have been even better (in my opinion). I know it's not everybody's favourite Palliser but for once this was a moral dilemma that I could really sympathise with, one where doing the wrong thing would come very easily (I'm not to be trusted with valuable diamond necklaces) and so much happens that Trollope doesn't repeat himself as much as usual. Entertainment aside it also has a lot to say about the position of women in Victorian society and the attitude of decent but conservative men like Trollope.

When I'm next inclined to damn Christmas and all the crap that comes with it I should remind myself of how many good books appear at this tome of year - there have been some beauties in the last few weeks for which I'm truly grateful. The most hotly anticipated (on my part at least) was John Wright's 'Booze', it didn't disappoint. Wright is a charming presence on the page and the book is packed with useful and interesting things to know.

Philip Hook's 'Breakfast at Sotheby's' is the funniest thing I've read in a long time. For anybody with an interest in art this book deserves serious consideration. Looking at the art world through the art market puts a slightly different slant on things, it certainly underlines why the great public collections are so important as well as being an interesting indicator of taste.

And finally Michael Alexander's 'The Wanderer: Elegies, Epics, Riddles ('Micheal Alexander seductive is registering as a search term in my stats which I find slightly disconcerting). I expected this book to be interesting in a slightly dry sort of way so was mildly surprised at just how much I enjoyed it. I really liked Alexander's translations of Anglo Saxon poems and other fragmentary bits - there's some beautiful pieces in here, things that I'll go back to over and over (especially 'The Dream of the Rood'), it's reignited a long dormant interest in poetry and will make sitting through the second instalment of 'The Hobbit' somewhat more bearable.
 

Booze - John Wright

A new River Cottage handbook is, as far as I'm concerned, a cause for celebration. A new River Cottage handbook from John Wright is most certainly cause for a double celebration (he's brilliant). I've almost certainly mentioned this every time I've written about a River Cottage book but the thing I like most about the brand is the number of people involved in it - all of them clearly talented, passionate, individuals - it'a all very inspiring.

'Booze' is a subject dear to my heart, basically because it's also my job - at least selling it is and with that comes the expectation that I know what I'm talking about. Generally I do, though one of the really exciting things about wine is that there is always more to learn (sometimes it's irresistible just to make stuff up). Where I'm going with this is that I know a lot about the theory of making wine, beers, spirits, and cider but reading this makes me realise that's not quite the same as knowing how to actually make it.

My home made booze has been confined to infusions - I'm quite conservative in my drinking preferences so it's a definite yes to sloe or damson gin or vodka, general approval for blackberry whisky, and a marked ambivalence to the thing I think I made out of rhubarb which smelled like cabbage and ended up down the sink (I have learnt since then to label bottles). The sink also ended up claiming the virulent red poppy liquor I once bought and should claim the holly eau de vie that was really quite expensive (presumably not easy to make as holly is poisonous) and  is - well lets just say probably an acquired taste.

All the ordinary safe infusions are in here along with useful information about fruit sugar and alcohol (one early experiment on my part with brandy and plums went badly wrong because I didn't use enough alcohol) and then Wright starts to explore the more colourful. Lulled by talk of pomegranate rum (Wright doesn't care for pomegranates in the ordinary way) he leads the reader through making their own absinthe (by infusion, not distillation - it's illegal to distil your own alcohol in the UK without a licence) and from there to the oldest drink in the world  - vodka infused with amber, a romantic and beguiling idea. The good thing about infusions is that they're basically simple to make requiring only something to stick them in and somewhere suitable to mature them, and the base ingredients don't have to be the most expensive - even people in small flats can tackle this sort of thing.

Wine, cider, and beer production demand more equipment and space. If I had the space to make any of them it would be beer, mostly because it used to be one of those basic housewifely skills that any country based woman would have had a handle on. I don't have the space but I'm filling some embarrassing gaps in my knowledge from this book. The cider bit is fascinating too, we have a lovely local supplier for cider (Rob of the Bottle Kicking Cider Company) who has shown me around his cider making operation (all done in the shed at the bottom of his garden) it started as a hobby and has turned into a business which is something else I find inspiring (also it's good cider, as well as drinking it I like to cook with it - it's great with mussels and pheasants). This is another romantic and beguiling idea - that you can start with the knowledge in a book like this and end up living the good life.

Regardless of intention to infuse ferment or brew this book is also a damn good read. John Wright is an engaging writer, he has a wonderful talent for relating funny anecdotes along with all the technical detail. His instructions are clear and thorough - another thing I really like about the River Cottage Handbooks is how well they explain not just how to do things but why you have to do them, it makes all the difference. This book will be bed time reading for quite some time to come, it will also likely form the basis of my Christmas shopping - everyone's getting a copy!

Herbs - Nikki Duffy

A river cottage handbook. About Herbs. By Nikki Duffy - whose 'Source It' column was my favourite thing about 'The Guardian'. That's the sort of hat trick that makes the pile of other books about herbs I've got quite irrelevant. Happily the River Cottage Handbooks always have something new to add (I've been comparing with  Jekka's Herb Cookbook). I've been a fan from the beginning of this series, it's full of unexpected joys and really excellent writing. The strength of the whole River Cottage thing is in its community approach, because whilst I'm a fan of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall it's in a mild sort of way and definitely enhanced by his ability to find really good people to collaborate with (John Wright's contributions have been my high points but they're all good).

I made grand plans after reading the veg patch and fruit books (Mark Diacono) but I only have access to my partners garden and I'm not there enough to make large schemes practical (he doesn't like to water, and last year hired a mini digger when my back was turned - both to the detriment of the roses). I might still get my way regarding a Quince tree (or possibly a damson...) but the great thing about herbs is that a) they're growable on my windowsill, b) plenty of them positively like dry and arid conditions, though probably not mini diggers, c) the results are pretty much instant, and d) the plants are generally cheap to buy - roughly the same for a plant or seeds as a packet of cut herbs which is quite satisfactory really. 

I'm a little bit evangelical about fresh herbs, they were my gateway plants into gardening, are my concession to the good life, and are useful, and beautiful, both to me and bees. I bought a myrtle last year which has spent the last few months sitting on a windowsill all but ignored (it seems happy though) reading about it made me go and crush a leaf - the smell was as good as it was unexpected. I could have looked it up elsewhere but the joy of a new book like this is in how it makes familiar and overlooked things suddenly fresh and obvious. I can't tell you how excited I am by this book. 

I can tell you that it's nicely laid out - the information is useful but concise, isn't overly preachy, feels good to hold (Bloomsbury's design team nailed it with these books) and read, and has lots of good advice with regard to both growing and using. The recipes are imaginative (white chocolate and basil truffles) but not to challenging for those who look askance at a few petals scattered in a salad - I plan to insert the thin end of the wedge into that particular prejudice by introducing lamb loin with lavender. This is a really good book.

Hedgerow – John Wright

This was another amazon purchase (and another source of high street frustration.) ‘Hedgerow’ should be easily available - it’s been well publicised, and yet I couldn’t get it in town at all. I know I keep coming back to this, but bear with me; for the last 2 years almost all my book shopping has been second hand, I’ve found brilliant books which I would never otherwise have had the pleasure of owning, reading, or even knowing about this way, but sometimes a book comes out that I’ve waited for, wanted, and scrimped to good effect over, and when this happens I want to walk into a shop (supporting the local economy) and walk out again with my purchase. It’s much more satisfying than waiting for, and then missing the post (unless someone’s sent me the book free, that’s a good feeling too).

‘Hedgerow’ is just such a book; I’ve been looking forward to its publication for months. I love John Wrights writing, it’s funny, warm, and informative, and although I’m not much more than an armchair forager every time I pick up one of these books ('Mushrooms', 'Edible Seashore', and now ‘Hedgerow’) I feel inspired and comforted in equal measure. In short ‘Hedgerow’ has more than lived up to my expectations, and now for the longer way of saying that...

The comfort comes in a few forms; not least being that the book is a delight to look at and handle, nice size, tactile cover, well illustrated, and an easy to use format (I think much of the credit for this belongs to the publisher, in this case Bloomsbury). I also find comfort in knowing what’s around me and what I can use it for – it leads to a very pleasant feeling of competency (doesn’t go amiss for small talk either). I love books that can be pulled out at will to be dipped into, and ‘Hedgerow’ is perfect for that, along with purely practical information there’s plenty of anecdote and folklore as well – it was my handbag book for my recent Derbyshire trip with the blonde. She laughed at me, but being in company there wasn’t much time for satisfactory novel reading, plenty of time to be absorbed by the history and mythology of the elder though (as well as edible things that can be made from it).

How inspiring I find this book (and indeed the whole series) is harder to put into words. I was bought up to take an interest in the countryside (still can’t whistle with a piece of grass though, despite my dad’s attempts to teach me) but it’s not nostalgia for a more innocent time – foraging is a competitive business (I’ve spent enough time in an English village to know better than to get between a WI member and a good blackberry at jam time), and of course if you forage the wrong thing you can do yourself some real harm. It’s not the idea of the good life either – not when even the things which are good for you can bite back (yes blackberries again).

I think what really inspires me in ‘Hedgerow’ is the sense of being rooted in a culture, a history, and in the seasons. The wild things you can eat or make use of, but not abuse (on Elder “There is one novice mistake that I must warn you about. Do not pick all the flowers from a tree, then go back expecting to find some berries. You won’t. Find any that is.”) are a rich part of our shared history, passing on that knowledge a fundamental part of country culture, as is teaching respect for the very things we hope to exploit.

One of the surprises about moving into a city was how much more in touch I got with the seasons again after a period of village life. Village life was generally about being on the bus to and from work, city life meant walking, and walking has meant being able to see, feel, and smell, what’s going on outside. It also provides reasonable foraging opportunities. Plenty of brambles, wild cherries, hazelnuts (though I’ve never beaten the squirrels to a nut, and if I did these are feral town squirrels who know no fear and are quite capable of retrieving nuts from me with extreme prejudice) mulberries – though ‘foraging’ for those was really a matter of outrageous flirting with the park gardener, and now I find there are a whole lot of other things that I had no idea were edible.

I might never make much practical use of some of this new found knowledge but I’m getting an increased appreciation of ‘weeds’, I’m inclined to look harder at what I see every day, and next time the Scottish one risks breaking his neck to gather me damsons I definitely won’t let them go mouldy before I do something with them (Gin not Jam I think). He’s well on the way to being as passionate about this book as I am – I suspect the joy of free food appeals to his thrifty Scottish soul, and deep down who ever grows out of a delight in the first blackberries of the season.

Mr Wright

After last Sunday’s promise of summer this has felt like a bit of a grim old weekend, not a feeling helped by working on Saturday and Monday, or an oncoming cold, or a sense of homework waiting to be done (caused by homework waiting to be done). To avoid the homework I started on a mission To Tidy Up A Bit, quickly followed by an escape to Waterstone’s, ostensibly to find a present for the Scottish one, but mostly to get me out. Foiled by a fire alarm I returned home bookless to a flat that’s at the point of ‘tided up’ that makes it look like I’ve been burgled.

Now several hours later the dust has moved about a bit, but hasn’t actually dispersed, and there is Jam on the floor – the best laid plans etc... Still the day hasn’t been an entire wash out, I’ve finished a book group book (A Month In The Country, which I would love to talk about here, but as it’s a postal group I don’t want to spoil it for the books owner), have put into action a long cherished plan for making Genoese sponge, and have been spending a good few hours with Mr Wright – John Wright’s guide to the ‘Edible Seashore’ to be specific.

(The sponge thing was long cherished but never executed because Leith’s technique Bible suggested it was tricky, Fiona Cairn’s said tricky, and so I thought it would probably be tricky, but ‘River Cottage Everyday’ said no problem, and I trust Hugh, and indeed he was telling the truth so I feel very competent right now.)

Post baking, and just before the jam disaster, when I should have been working out what wines go with a variety of made up dinner scenarios (and at a molecular level why that is) I retired to bed with ‘Edible Seashore’ (I can’t even call myself an armchair forager). My love of the River Cottage Handbooks is no secret, and frankly I could kiss the feet of the commissioning editor. Reading this book positioned so I could see as much sky as possible – and it’s been a suitably dramatic sky for looking at – felt like an adventure (bear with me on this one). The thing with the sky, especially on dramatically cloudy days, is that you really could be anywhere or anytime...

My absolute favourite book as a child was Enid Blyton’s ‘Island of Adventure’, closely followed by any famous five book you care to mention. John Wright’s River Cottage Handbooks appeal to the same part of me; he’s a terrific writer, funny and informative with the ability to make you feel you’re out and about discovering with him. As a girl who spent much of her childhood poking around on beaches he’s speaking my language when he talks about the heady excitement of pulling up lobster pots, or even turning over rocks to see what’s underneath (though I prefer it when it’s not eels), so I’ve spent an entirely blissful couple of hours reading about different types of edible seaweed and winkles, reliving numberless happy memories. Not a wash out weekend after all, now – about that jam...