A great bookish weekend

This is more a quality than a quantity Phineas Redux' (I love reading Trollope, but it does sometimes feel like a battle to make serious progress with him), the latest 'Slightly Foxed' also turned up on Friday which is always a treat and most definitely a nice way to spend a grey and wet Sunday.
thing, but whatever saint keeps an eye on readers (the internet suggests that it's likely St Jerome) deserves my thanks for this weekend. I've got more than half way through '

Best of all though on my way home I stopped in Waterstones (because I can't help myself) they had copies of Diana Henry's 'A Change of Appetite' and now so do I. It's officially published tomorrow but I know when the boxes arrive in Waterstones so went along specifically in the hope that it might be on the shelf. Henry's books have all been brilliant, I've browsed through most of this one over the weekend and it's no exception. This one is basically about healthy eating, it makes for excellent reading without feeling in the least bit worthy or preachy. I can't wait to start cooking from it and now I'm back home I don't have to.

Last but not least I've been looking up Leicester Book Festival so this year there's a good chance I'll actually get along to some of it (expect to hear a lot more about now that I'm aware of it) most exciting from my point of view is that Meike Ziervogel will be there. This is a timely spur to read a couple of lurking Peirene books and the chance to hear what a woman who is something of a publishing/literary heroine to me has to say about what she does. Basically it's been a very good start to Spring.

Alice Thomas Ellis

Or Anna Haycraft as I should probably learn to think of her, although I rather like the name she choose for herself – it feels of a piece with her writing. Alexander Lucie–Smith (goggling him was a fascinating diversion) has written about her for the latest issue of 'Slightly Foxed'. (And how I wish I’d thought of that name first.)

Anna/Alice was a Catholic, she was also a wife, mother, writer, cook, hostess, editor, and almost a nun but of all these things it’s her religion that she chooses to mention and generally draw attention to in so many of her books so it’s no surprise that the article is called ‘From Convent to Kitchen Table’ or that as well as being her friend, and she his editor, Alexander Lucie-Smith is also a priest. I found Alice Thomas Ellis through Virago, firstly with ‘Fish, Flesh, and Good Red Herring – A gallimaufry’ and later when I picked up a book in Waterstone’s because it had an apple on the spine. This was ‘The Sin Eater’ and was swiftly followed by ‘The Summerhouse trilogy’ (which is a masterpiece that I cannot recommend highly enough). These were re printed around 2004 but since then not much has appeared.

Lucie-Smith wanted to re-read his friends novels but found her unavailable from his favourite second hand book shop and in his library, not only unavailable but unknown (I hope he looked on amazon next where her books are cheap and readily obtainable). I think what surprises me is that these books aren’t that old. ‘Fairy Tale’ which is wonderfully disturbing was written in 1996, one of her books was shortlisted for the Booker (admittedly in 1982 which is longer ago than I like to admit given my own age) some of the books were televised, and according to Wikipedia Charles Dance was looking to turn ‘The Inn at the Edge of the World’ into a film in 2009. So how is it that a writer who was clearly popular, as well as critically acclaimed can disappear so quickly?

I will be forever grateful that Virago have a soft spot for catholic lady authors (Carmen Callil’s convent education was certainly good for something). I’ve found so many writers to admire who have this one thing in common. It’s not the religion that attracts me, at least not directly, but something in the way the world is shown that’s deeply attractive however dark it gets (this goes for male catholic writers too; Evelyn Waugh exemplifies many of the things I love about Alice Thomas Ellis).

I can’t put it better than Lucie-Smith did so I’m quoting part of his conclusion:

 “She would not have cared in the least if her novels died, but I think they deserve to live: they are sharp, beautifully observed, well written and above all true – true to life, true to what comes after life and often overshadows it. They are never entirely without hope, though they resist the modern temptation to think overmuch of human nature and human possibility.”

I think so too and hope that ‘Slightly Foxed’ does for some what Virago did for me – introduce them to a really wonderful writer.

Quarter days

I actually looked up quarter days this evening, because yes, that’s exactly how exciting my Saturday night gets these days – Dr Who, food, looking up stuff, and very soon now sleep. I’m not sure what I’ll do now Dr Who has finished, probably look up more stuff, or go to bed earlier.

Quarter days are on my mind because service charges are due (1st June, 1st September, 1st December, and 1st March dates which don’t match up with either the traditional quarter days of England, Scotland, or the modern quarter days) but the bills haven’t been sent out – the fat bank balance is attractive to look at but the snitty demand for cash which will be eventually forthcoming really annoys me, that and who ever enjoyed chasing up bills?

Another and much nicer reason to look forward to the quarter falling is the arrival of 'Slightly Foxed' and now 'Hortus'  ("The most intelligent gardening magazine in the world"!)  which feels like the perfect fix for a gardener without a garden. I’ve sat on the fence regarding ‘Hortus’ for about four years but finally gave in after a recent article in the Saturday Telegraph magazine. ‘Hortus Revisited’ the collection of articles put together in book form for their 21 year anniversary has been a favourite for as long as I’ve had it (and how I hope that there will be another archive volume to celebrate this year’s 25th anniversary). I like these journals more than I can say, or at least more than I can say quickly and it is a Saturday night and almost past my bed time.

The quality of ‘Hortus’ from the paper to the writing is decidedly set at luxurious. It feels good, looks good, and is a in every way a pleasure to read (always assuming you have at least a passing interest in plants) not least because of the lack of full colour and glossy pictures. In an age where almost everything is lavishly illustrated there is something very restful about a nicely set out page of text (which is maybe why I like reading so much, and possibly another reason why e readers don’t really appeal to me) it lets me think. Pictures are more likely to make me drool.

Slightly Foxed

I may previously have mentioned (several times) how much I love ‘Slightly Foxed’, but as my latest issue has just arrived I feel the time is ripe to mention it again. I put off subscribing to “The real readers quarterly” for a couple of years which is now a genuine regret as it’s bought such satisfaction through the letter box for the past two years. Tight finances were making me wonder how I would find next year’s subscription but happily the same post bought a generous birthday donation from my father which has now been ear marked for this very purpose (he may have mentioned something about intending the funds to go towards a new hoover, but I have priorities).

So dad, if you read this let me count the ways in which ‘Slightly Foxed’ deserves more support than the vacuum cleaner industry does. First impressions count and the name is a piece of genius and wit that promises to entertain me indefinitely, but just in case that’s not enough I would also like to mention it’s a delight to handle and fits neatly into my (admittedly oversized, but handy) pocket, and the cover illustration would be worth the subscription alone. This quarter features a Quentin Blake drawing which is making me smile even now as I look at it.

Still not convinced the money wouldn’t be better spent on eradicating dust bunnies from under the sofa? Well I’m not saying that it’s a job that doesn’t need doing but I expect I could manage the it with a broom and some sort of improvised face mask, and there is absolutely nothing under the sofa to inspire me whereas ‘Slightly Foxed’ is packed full of things I want to follow up. I’m feeling just a little bit smug about it this time as I’m already familiar with three of the authors mentioned and one of the contributors (I am a real reader, I think this makes it official); normally it’s all new to me. I’ve also found a couple of things to add to my wish list – James Lees-Milne’s entire output is beginning to sound like a necessity, and I’m definitely coveting the ‘Slightly Foxed’ printing of ‘Another Self’.

I’m going to the library to try and get hold of something by Eric Ambler after a very intriguing review, and will be dropping broad pre Christmas hints regarding Michael Burn’s autobiography ‘Turned Towards The Sun’. I could go on. Oh and okay, I will go on as far as to mention that there is now a book shop that I hope to make a pilgrimage to sometime in the New Year.

It occurs to me as I sit writing this in the manner of a slightly besotted school girl that one of the things which makes ‘Slightly Foxed’ so wonderful in my eyes is its relative uniqueness. I know of no other publication that combines this sort of quality of production and content (though it’s more than likely that there are dozens I haven’t heard of). These days I get the majority of my reading inspiration from other bloggers and from a really excellent online book group (Dove Grey Books) but I still don’t have an internet connection at home so my online time tends to be brief and hurried.

A quarterly journal is a great thing to have turn up; I can take my time over it and properly consider things I would often otherwise ignore simply because I’m pressed for time. It’s also reassuring to know that enough people share the same interest in reading over a broad spectrum of slightly obscure and often out of print books to make ‘Slightly Foxed’ a going concern. Even paperbacks, when new, are outside my budget at the moment (And why do I work exactly?) so the more tempting a review of a new release the more frustrating I find it, old books however are going to be either affordable or laughably out of range. Either option is preferable to just out of reach. The end result is that I’m more determined than ever to keep on blogging and looking for other readers with similar tastes, and similar circumstances – finding likeminded people will give me far more satisfaction than even a dust free floor would. So hopefully dad will forgive the slight misappropriation of funds and be pleased to know how much appreciated his present will be...

Distraction Tactics

Well the mincemeat is made and I am viewing it with a degree of suspicion normally reserved for spiders. The quantities involved turned out to be so vast that they wouldn’t all fit in a bowl, had to be decanted into the largest pan I own, and still threatened to escape. Slightly disturbingly it all disappeared into a very few pots, where squish it as I might there still seem to be little pockets for air (bad) and all I can see is suet and apple (unappetizing). It will be a few weeks until I know if it’s worked or if it’s the pickled herring all over again.

In the meantime I will be reading and trying not to stare. The perfect book would have been Sarah Caudwell’s ‘The Sibyl in Her Grave’ which I have sadly just finished. Sarah Caudwell was my Slightly Foxed discovery of last week, and ‘The Sibyl in Her Grave’ the cheapest on amazon. I liked the sound of Caudwell not least because we shared a university, although she went on to do a lot, and I went on to make Jam. Sadly she died from cancer in 2000 aged only 60, and having written only 4 books.

‘The Sibyl in Her Grave’ is the last of these, so I really started at the wrong end, but two more are on their way, and I get the feeling chronology isn’t going to matter to much. Caudwell is a relatively contemporary writer for me, I would think this book was written in 1998/99, and she worked on international tax planning for a major bank whilst she was writing, so presumably well into the 1990’s, but none of her young barristers have a mobile phone, there is no mention of computers, and they communicate by letter rather than email. Ironic how long ago the near past can feel.

Billed as a legal whodunit, the murder mystery aspect is satisfying in a vaguely Agatha Christie way, but it’s not as a crime novel that this book really works. The characters are sketched in quick light lines, they are easy to imagine but without any real substance, and the plot relies on the device of unfeasibly long letters to explain everything, but none of this matters compared to the sheer glorious wordiness of it all. The characters exist to say clever, funny things. Not jokes as such, just delightful, complicated sentences which made me laugh, but with the sort of elusive quality which makes quotation pointless – if I started a quote it would last for pages.

Caudwell is destined to join the select ranks of authors who I will read and reread whenever I want cheering up. Her combination of elitism, classical allusions (so glad I have a dictionary of Saints), lightness of touch, and humour all make for particularly satisfying reading.

The post has failed to deliver today, I hope tomorrow brings the next book - until then I will be trying not to prod the mincemeat and looking for another book to suit my mood.