Home From Home

I remember two revelations dawning on me in my early school years – the first was that girls don’t all like each other. Goodness knows why I’d think they would, but up until the age of 8 or 9 I’d naively and contentedly been under the impression that all girls were friends. Perhaps females thought the same of boys, at that age? When I discovered that Amy and Emma and Felicity and Faith were not all amicable, my life changed a little bit… but the next revelation did not come until I was 11 or so. Guess what – teachers don’t all like each other either! Who’d have thought?

After these learning curves, it came as no surprise that tutors might no like each other in Rosy Thornton’s Hearts and Minds. Though it’s set in The Other Place (Cambridge) Rosy T is a Fellow there, and we can’t hold it against her. Something of my naivety has remained unsullied throughout the battlefield of life, and I tend not to notice the animosities that whirl around me – I remember being asked by my tutor if the “situation” in my English group had settled down, and had to confess ignorance as to its existence. Seems I was blessed by not giving or receiving any of it. And thus it may be that Magdalen was a hotbed of back-stabbing and internal politics, but it all just passed me by.

Similarly, I’ve not met this sort of thing in fiction. When Rosy offered me a review copy of Hearts and Minds, I had to confess to not having read any campus novels. Ever. Apparently they are a male-dominated beast – so setting one in an all-female college is doubtless an intriguing twist to the genre, but I’m afraid it’s the only part of the genre that I’ve read.

I say all-female. Hearts and Minds opens with the controversial arriving of James Rycarte as Head of House at St. Radegund’s College. He’s the first non-female (or ‘male’, if you will) Head of House they’ve ever had, and is even known as Mistress for a while. From Oxford I am familiar with the vague nomenclature for this position – Magdalen has a President, but other colleges opted for Master, Rector, Provost, Principal, Dean, Warden or Regent. Rycarte, as well as being a man, comes from the world of media – perhaps the flipside of the coin from academia.

Joining James on centre stage is loveable Dr. Martha Pearce, the Senior Tutor whose administrative tasks have meant her academic pursuits have slipped, and who struggles to motivate a high-school dropout daughter and inactive husand who writes occasional poetry in Italian. There are a host of others, most notably Rycarte’s nemesis, the cunning uber-feminist Ros Clarke, who bitterly opposes the appointment of a Master rather than a Mistress. What drives the novel forward is the announcement that an old media friend of Rycarte’s, Luigi Alvau, wants to make a donation of £1,000,000 to St. Radegund’s. Oh, and his daughter is applying as well, just thought he’d mention it.

Is it ethical to accept a donation, even if the daughter will be interviewed on her own merits? Must one be seen to do right, as well as actually doing it? At one point the Admissions Tutor is asked what the kids from comprehensives (oo, like me) would say –
“I think they would laugh at us, to be honest – laugh at this whole discussion. It would never cross their minds for a moment that anyone would turn down the offer of a million pounds.”
It is to Thornton’s credit that the reader doesn’t dismiss the dilemma as silly – nobody works harder than Oxbridge to encourage admissions from all sectors and conduct admission honourably, yet nobody is more speedily censured. (Just Google ‘Laura Spence’ for the most ridiculous example).

I was keen throughout to find how Rycarte et al would solve the predicament – but the personal levels were as gripping as the professional. Martha’s attempts to organise and understand her family, without nagging, is depicted honestly and movingly. To be honest, the cover and title of Thornton’s novel don’t do her any favours – it looks and sounds like ‘chick lit’ (for want of a better term) whereas Hearts and Minds is a witty, well-thought-out and excellently structured novel. A perfect glimpse not only into Oxbridge university life, but into the minds of humans doing the best they can in tricky situations.

Keeping it in the family

I got carried away, yesterday, spreading the merits of Helen Thomas’ books, and forgot to add the bit that I meant to write about afterwards. I sort of hinted at it in the title to the post – “My Husband, The Poet”. Today’s title might make it even more obvious – I fancied chatting about the proliferation of families which spread the wealth when it comes to authorship. Some progress alongside each other (yes, those Haworthians are the archetype); some, like Helen, emerge as a consequence of their relative’s writing prowess.

So we have Emily, Charlotte and Anne scribbling away together – their lives have become romanticised more than any other authors’. I’m frankly astonished that there hasn’t been a film about them in the recent spate of author-films. Scripts must come up all the time, and they can’t all be awful. Half of Hollywood’s finest would be battling over the chance to play Cathy-oops-I-mean-Emily or Jane-sorry-Charlotte. Or The Other One. (What is it about the meeting of the Brontes with commercialism which brings out the cynic in me?) I’m thinking Maggie Gyllenhaal for Emily, Cate Blanchett as Charlotte, and Emily Blunt stepping into Anne’s neglected shoes.

What other literary families are there? Denis Mackail and Angela Thirkell were brother and sister; Colin McInnes is the latter’s son. EM Delafield’s mother – Mrs. Henry de la Pasture (see where Delafield got her penname from…) – was a famous children’s author. The Amises, of course. Mary and Percy Shelley. Charles Dickens and his granddaughter Monica. Leonard and Virginia Woolf. The Powys family. More recently, Jane Gordon-Cumming and Kate Fforde (Jane’s novel A Proper Family Christmas, which I read a while ago, is due to come back into print at some point… will keep you posted). I’m sure I’ve missed out dozens of obvious ones, so do let me know…

What I find even more interesting is the ones, like Helen, who follow in their relative’s footsteps, or who starts writing as a direct and overt consequence. Christopher Robin Milne wrote his wonderful autobiographical trilogy The Enchanted Places, The Path Through The Trees, The Hollow on the Hill to banish some demons, and went on to write some other poetry and stories. Milne’s niece, Angela, also wrote a few bits and pieces. You might have noticed I didn’t include the Mitford sisters in the section above – would Jessica and Deborah have written if Nancy hadn’t led the way? Who knows?

There is something about a family writing together, or writing because of each other, which collides the private and public in a fascinating way – publishing is, of course, nothing if not public. I daresay the etymology even has something to do with it. But if they can show manuscripts to each other beforehand; discuss ideas; become influenced by someone who shared both a nursery and a mass market – just another of those lights which illuminates a little bit of authorship.

I bought Living With An Writer a while ago. Wonder what they have to say…

My Husband, The Poet

Number 19 in the 50 Books You Must Read But May Not Have Heard About is a double-whammy. Actually, since the 1930s these books haven’t been published separately, as far as I’m aware, so hopefully I shan’t be done for false advertising or anything.

Step forward, Helen Thomas. No, not my aunt (though I do have a very nice aunt of that name) but rather the widow of poet Edward Thomas. Y’know, the ‘Adelstrop’ one. After Edward was killed in the First World War, she wrote As It Was, an autobiographical (though pseudonymical) portrait of their courtship and marriage, up to the birth of their first child. She wrote it cathartically, and was only approached with the idea of publishing a while later (1926). This she did, and followed it a few years later with World Without End (1931), which started where As It Was left off, and continued until David (Edward) leaves for war.

What beautiful books! Helen’s writing is the very opposite of pretension – but she is a natural born storyteller. She raises a family, moves through several small house, joins and leaves communities. Very little that I can see or analyse why she is so good, but these books lilt along with bathos and pathos and every sort of -thos. The final paragraph had my crying:

A thick mist hung everywhere, and there was no sound except, far away in the valley, a train shunting. I stood at the gate watching him go; he turned back to wave until the mist and the hill hid him. I heard his old call coming up to me: ‘Coo-ee!’ he called. ‘Coo-ee!’ I answered, keeping my voice strong to call again. Again through the muffled air came his ‘Coo-ee’. And again went my answer like an echo. ‘Coo-ee’ came fainter next time with the hill between us, but my ‘Coo-ee’ went out of my lungs strong to pierce to him as he strode away from me. ‘Coo-ee!’ So faint now, it might be only my own call flung back from the thick air and muffling snow. I put my hands up to my mouth to make a trumpet, but no sound came. Panic seized me, and I ran through the mist and the snow to the top of the hill, and stood there a moment dumbly, with straining eyes and ears. There was nothing but the mist and the snow and the silence of death.
Then with leaden feet which stumbled in a sudden darkness that overwhelmed me I groped my way back to the empty house.

Wow.

Throughout Helen’s writing, Edward/David doesn’t come off as the best husband, but what saturates these books is Helen’s passionate, loyal and unshaking love for him – the sort of love which would seem a bit far-fetched in fiction, but is obviously true here. Such simple books, but will move you a huge amount, I guarantee it.

I thought they’d gone out of print, but managed to find a new edition called Under Storm’s Wing, which has the two novels alongside some photographs, letters and memoirs. Haven’t looked at the letters and memoirs yet, but I await them with pleasure. They can only add to the touching honesty with which Helen Thomas has written simple, beautiful, affecting works.

Book Through Thursday

Booking Through Thursday on a Wednesday?

Well, I started writing this post last night, with the intention of waking up early in putting it out there before the good people of the world woke up, but I overslept and so that didn’t happen. Oops. But at least it’s still a Thursday! This week’s question:

All other things (like price and storage space) being equal, given a choice in a perfect world, would you rather have paperbacks in your library? Or hardcovers? And why? Toowoomba storage facilities provide the best service in the self storage.  The ipswich self storage has been designed for easy access, with the highest level of security.

Hmm. Not as simple as it sounds. Ideally, I’d have a mix – old hardbacks and new paperbacks. Nothing I love more than a 1930s hardback (except for God, family, sleep, sandwiches… ahem) but I have little time for modern hardbacks. So cumbersome and attention-seeking. Some beautiful paperbacks, though, add colour and diversity to my mellow shelves. If I had to choose between the two, and not be allowed my compromise… hmm… well, I’m biased in that my favourite authors aren’t available in paperback and never were, so I’ll have to choose hardback. I could always add colour with soft furnishings…

Over to you…?

The Homeland

As promised, a photographic telling of the trip The Carbon Copy and I took to Bredon Hill. This involved quite a lot of walking, as public transport, though good in Worcestershire, isn’t a door-to-door sort of service. We walked from train station to bus stop (1.75 miles?) then from Eckington’s bus stop to the hill (2 miles?) and then the walk proper began!

The most beautiful day of the year so far – intensely blue sky, not a cloud to be seen, and all with a nice brisk breeze to prevent overheating on the upwards slog. Couldn’t have asked for better weather. Here’s the target:

The walk starts with a fairly wide track, which meanders up through a few fields. The grass alongside provided ideal sledging ground in Winter, being neither too steep nor too tame – and with plenty of space for crash-landings. Yes, that is the moon in the background.


It is essential to stop and “admire the view” often – especially in the steeper areas.

Once up the track, and across the long lumpy-field, we enter a little woodland area. (There used to be various routes up, including one alongside a reservoir and then up a near-sheer bit, involving clutching onto clumps of gras… I don’t miss that…) That’s the wonder of Bredon Hill – something for everyone. For the incautious, or newbies, it is very easy to overshoot a turning in the wood, and end up many miles away…

The summit! This may look ugly to you, but it is Parson’s Folly, and to The Carbon Copy and me represents the symbol of Parson’s, our ‘house’ at First School (and, coincidentally, unquestionably the very best one). Rumour has it that the Folly was built in order to tip the hill into the mountain category, but not sure how true that one is.

Traditionally, children write their names in stones in this big dip on top of the hill. Many a time and oft I have done it, but The Carbon Copy vetoed the idea. I presume ‘Peggy’ made a recent visit, and has not had her handiwork left untouched.


The Elephant Stone – for obvious reasons. A natural climbing frame, and used as such by the intrepid.

Back on flat ground – this is taken from the road, but is more or less the view I had from my bedroom when we lived in Eckington. We had a lovely day, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey!

The Homeland

As promised, a photographic telling of the trip The Carbon Copy and I took to Bredon Hill. This involved quite a lot of walking, as public transport, though good in Worcestershire, isn’t a door-to-door sort of service. We walked from train station to bus stop (1.75 miles?) then from Eckington’s bus stop to the hill (2 miles?) and then the walk proper began!

The most beautiful day of the year so far – intensely blue sky, not a cloud to be seen, and all with a nice brisk breeze to prevent overheating on the upwards slog. Couldn’t have asked for better weather. Here’s the target:

The walk starts with a fairly wide track, which meanders up through a few fields. The grass alongside provided ideal sledging ground in Winter, being neither too steep nor too tame – and with plenty of space for crash-landings. Yes, that is the moon in the background.


It is essential to stop and “admire the view” often – especially in the steeper areas.

Once up the track, and across the long lumpy-field, we enter a little woodland area. (There used to be various routes up, including one alongside a reservoir and then up a near-sheer bit, involving clutching onto clumps of gras… I don’t miss that…) That’s the wonder of Bredon Hill – something for everyone. For the incautious, or newbies, it is very easy to overshoot a turning in the wood, and end up many miles away…

The summit! This may look ugly to you, but it is Parson’s Folly, and to The Carbon Copy and me represents the symbol of Parson’s, our ‘house’ at First School (and, coincidentally, unquestionably the very best one). Rumour has it that the Folly was built in order to tip the hill into the mountain category, but not sure how true that one is.

Traditionally, children write their names in stones in this big dip on top of the hill. Many a time and oft I have done it, but The Carbon Copy vetoed the idea. I presume ‘Peggy’ made a recent visit, and has not had her handiwork left untouched.


The Elephant Stone – for obvious reasons. A natural climbing frame, and used as such by the intrepid.

Back on flat ground – this is taken from the road, but is more or less the view I had from my bedroom when we lived in Eckington. We had a lovely day, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey!

Blame the quiz…

Sorry – too late for a proper post. My housemates and I were at a pub quiz (we came 4th… or second last, depending on which way you look at it). Tomorrow I’ll give a little description of Bredon Hill walk with my brother The Carbon Copy – today you’ll just get a sneak preview with my favourite photo from yesterday, somewhere on top of the hill. Oh, and do try out Caroline’s eight-word-synopses in the comments from yesterday.

Brief Encounters

The Carbon Copy and I spent the day in sunny Worcestershire, walking around our old haunts (we moved from Worcestershire 2.5 years ago) and generally wallowing in a bit of nostalgia and climbing Bredon Hill, our local hill. More on that soon, but will tantalise you with the fact that ‘Bre’ means hill; ‘don’ means hill; of course ‘Hill’ means hill. And thus Bredon Hill means hill-hill-hill. Just in case you couldn’t tell at a first glance.

Following on from yesterday, I thought it might be amusing to think up some 8 word book reviews. Well, more synopses. If that. But it’s quite fun – try and work out which books they are, or leave your own 8 word book synopses in the comments! Who said it isn’t sophisticated here?

1) She bought flowers; had party (someone else died).

2) Does he love her or previous wife? Oh!

3) Struggling writer; poor girls; rich Americans – all sorted!

4) Matchmaker gets it wrong, then marries her brother.

5) Plain governess ousts madwoman from the attic… eventually.

6) Kill or not? Fakes mad, goes mad, dies.

7) Man makes up old lady; she appears: chaos!

8) Some Irish people wander around for a day.

9) Hot air balloon accident; stalker; some awkward situations.

10) Someone’s always watching. Anarchy… but then the rats…

 

Short Review


The Carbon Copy is here for the weekend, so no time to write long posts at the moment. He also pointed out that ‘Reading Between The Covers’ post sounds like I’ve never actually read a book, and just look at the covers and “how many birds I saw on the day I bought the book”… oops, if I came across as a bit of a dullard! Succinctly, what I meant was that if I want to enjoy a book, I’m more likely to do so.

Being a brief post, I’m going to tell you about the book I’m reading in as few words as possible. It’s Yes Man by Danny Wallace.

Review in 10 words: Man starts saying yes to everything. Non-fiction. Very funny indeed!

Hmm. Verbose. Let’s try 5 words: Man always says yes; funny!

3 words: Comedian says yes!

1 word: YES!

Booking Through Thursday

Time for some Booking Through Thursday fun, methinks. Still a few minutes left of Thursday:

Here’s something for Valentine’s Day. Have you ever fallen out of love with a favorite author? Was the last book you read by the author so bad, you broke up with them and haven’t read their work since? Could they ever lure you back?
Well, the short answer is “no”, so this is more to discover your experiences than to disseminate mine. Then again, I did write yesterday’s post with the intention of sparking off a wildfire discussion… two comments! Perhaps you’re all better people than me, and only ever allow the contents of a book to inform how much you enjoy it… ;-)

I did write a bit about Second Book Syndrome here – by which I mean reading a second book by a beloved author (not necessarily their second book, just the second you’ve encountered). And I can’t think of any author’s books which have stopped me in my tracks and caused our relationship to break down…