Findings…

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I’ve been at it again. Another impulse buy today, but one which I might just impulsively read straight away… or at least as soon as I’ve finished the latest review books. And Book Group books. Oh dear.

Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife met me for lunch, and after a rather yummy broccoli and stilton soup (in a cafe, not my handiwork, I’m afraid) we browsed through the QI Bookshop. For any UK readers who also watch the QI television programme with Stephen Fry, yes, this is researched in the rooms above the bookshop. I’ve not been in before, and it might be my last chance, as apparently it’s moving to the top floor, alongside the exclusive QI-members-only restaurant. Shame.

They have a small stock, but an interesting one – a stock which bears the signs of being selected by a discerning buyer. Some successful sellers; others more obscure. They even had a Persephone Book, so I was impressed from the off (The Wise Virgins by Leonard Woolf, since you ask) – my eye was drawn towards Findings by Kathleen Jamie. I haven’t heard of her before, but I could tell immediately that this was A Sort Of Book. I don’t mean that there was some ambiguity as to whether it was a book or a mantlepiece, nothing like that, Sort Of Books are a publishing house – ‘distributed by Penguin Books’, so they might be an off-shoot, I don’t know. They publish the beautiful, beautiful Tove Jansson translations, and I thought I probably couldn’t go wrong with another of their books. And so I bought it…

Findings is non-fiction, Kathleen Jamie (a poet) travels around her native Scotland watching, listening, observing – and these observations are in this book. Not the biggest fan of travel literature, or even books set in other countries, because they have so much extraneous detail. I find an author noticing her/his own surroundings afresh much more involving. Have already heard from e-friends that this was a favourite read, hope others have come across Jamie too. Perhaps I’m the last? Anyway, will let you know when I’ve read it, but I can’t imagine not really liking Findings.

TBR

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Chances are, if you read this blog frequently, that you understand the acronym ‘tbr’. It probably brings tears to your eyes a little… that’s right, I’m sure most of us have to-be-read piles, whether in reality or mentally. On the dovegreybooks Yahoo Group recently we were discussing the number of unread books we had on our shelves – I happened to mention that I had about 300 unread books (unread by me, that is – most of ’em have been read by someone). This was met with aghast amusement by another member, who couldn’t stomach the idea of resisting books for so long, while a little bit later I was trumped by someone who estimated they had 4000 unread books in their home – ! Wow.

Here is my defence, if defence is necessary. During university I rarely had time to read books for pleasure (though I did derive a lot of pleasure from the books I had to read – subtle difference), but my buying rate didn’t slow down… Secondly, when I’m in a charity shop and the books are 50p each, anything I *might* one day want to read, or loan to someone, or refer to, ends up being in my hot little hands. And the money goes to charity. It’s like a generous donation, only I get something in return. (Denial is, they say, the first sign – am I right?) Also (I have no end of excuses) I try to read borrowed books as quickly as possible, thus leaving my own spoils to fester.

How about you? A backlog which would suffice for years, should someone dig a moat around your house, or just enough to keep you going until the kettle’s boiled?

This is a long-winded way of saying that a whole new heap of books has entered my house… the nicest cover being the one displayed above, A House of Air by Penelope Fitzgerald. Lynne would be proud. Having heard so much about it, I couldn’t resist donating some money to Oxfam, and receiving this book as a total coincidence.

The Harvest by Christopher Hart – not heard of it, but my friend Clare says it’s one of her favourite books, and she loves A Lifetime Burning and Tom’s Midnight Garden – how could I wrong with £1?

The other four were birthday presents, thanks guys!
-Love In A Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford, from Barbara-in-Ludlow – have read The Pursuit of Love but none of the rest, so thanks Barbara, and get well soon!

-Shakespeare by Bill Bryson, kindly given by The Carbon Copy, who knows me very well. My literati offering was a Mr. Funny T-Shirt. Only in our minds are Shakespeare and Roger Hargreaves akin.

-When We Were Very Young by AA Milne – of course I have a copy of this, but my lovely friend Mel bought me a 1925 edition, published less than a year after the first edition.

-Unbeaten Tracks in Japan by Isabella L. Bird – know little about this, but my dear English-student-friend Phoebe sent it, all the way from Japan, in fact. An autobiographical account of an Englishwoman touring Japan in 1878 – sounds wonderful, and may move nearer the very top of the tbr pile. And right now I have to leap out of bed with some vigour, to avoid the besieging books…

Adventageous

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Happy Advent, one and all – although 10, Regent Street remains sadly undecorated, it has warmed my heart to see electric snowflakes appear over the lampposts of Oxford, candles materialise in people’s windows, and holly, wreathes, tinsel, miniature soldiers playing miniatures parcels as though they were drums – the whole Christmas bumpf. As a Christian, Christ is always going to be the most important and exciting part of Christmas, but I love the tack and the good cheer which goes alongside. Yesterday I experienced one of my favourite Christmas pasttime – watching a domestic cat around a Christmas tree for the first time. I remember Bundle’s reaction every year, (Bundle being our cat, who was with us from 1993-2006) bewilderment as the humans brought a tree inside, gradual recollection that we did sometimes do that, sniffing around the tree, playing with a few low-lying decorations, then generally accepting the incident as one of the many irrational things humans will do, like not feed cats when they’re hungry, and get cross when you sit in the lovely bed they’ve prepared for a cat just because it’s called “clean laundry”. What a long sentence that was!

So, how have I been spending my Advent? This evening I have baked, washed up, and mopped the floor. Why, you ask? I’m not auditioning for Househusband of the Year (nor, indeed, am I a husband) but rather preparing for the visitation of Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife tomorrow. Our Vicar hasn’t seen my house yet, so I thought I’d give the illusion that we live in cleanliness and hygiene. Well, we manage the hygiene bit, anyway. I’m only one pair of hands and there are three other males in this house… Before you award me Son of the Century, never mind Year, I must confess -I accidentally double booked the parents’ visit with my library Christmas dinner, and thus shall only be seeing them for 2.5 hours. Bad son. These were placatory measures, which hopefully will be noticed by at least one of my parents…

The next chunk of Advent will be spent in Reader Services – as I mentioned, I’ve finished in the Science section – so it’s a case of impressing new colleagues as well as parents. Better get some sleep then. Oh, and I hope you like my advent calendar – it’s on a little card, bought by Our Vicar’s Wife. The advent calendar used to be something Granny always provided for us, and it’s still nice to have one, even if the pictures behind each door get increasingly tenuous. Even the specifically Christian ones tend to lose inspiration after star, donkey, angel and plump for items like holly, pigeon, wheelbarrow which seemed to have been missed out of my New Testament…

What’s The Time, Mr. Wolf?

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Another week of being rather lax with blog posting – as I scroll down the section in the column which categorises posts by months, I’m astonished that I managed 28 in October and May. Well, 24 isn’t bad for November. Especially since 30-days-have-September, April-June-and-November (do they still teach children that in Primary School? It all tails off in ‘except for February alone, which has 28, unless it’s a leap year…’ – not so much with the scansion, there).

I’m currently at ‘work’ in the Bodleian – my Saturday duty, which I do once a month. Except term ended yesterday, and only the very dedicated have shown up to study once everyone else has gone home. Not run off my feet. And all this got me thinking about the blogging schedule – what time do you blog? What time do you read blogs, or go through the daily blog-crawl? Same time everyday? Whenever you have a moment?

With some exceptions (like today), I blog between 10.30-midnight just before I go to bed. That’s because the mornings are invariably a rush, and the evenings seem more flexible – but also explains why I never had photographs taken in the light, and why I’m often ineloquent and sleepy-sounding…

My blog-crawl comes at about 10.00, when the morning rush is over in the library and I have time to look through some websites. That might change when I start in the main Bodleian on Monday… I’ve already talked about the blogs I visit daily, and it’s nice to know which ones will have something new. Dovegreyreader seems to update at early o’clock, with Random Jottings not long after – Cornflower will be mid-morning, usually, and so it goes on. All gets a bit more confusing with US blogs, which probably get updated while I’m asleep, but a check at 10.00 will generally insure something different has arrived.

And all this is by way of a sort-of apology – because I daresay my regular visitors hope to see something arrive before midnight (or, rather, be there in the morning) so those of you who checked in early this morning… sorry. I was asleep!

And to offset an apology with a thanks – three of you lovely people offered me a cutting of the Guardian bit mentioning me, so thanks Julie, Carole and Peter (I assume Dark Puss can’t read?) and especial thanks to Julie who was first, and thus to whom I responded first, and is responsible for the article now on my desk at home!

Tom’s Midnight Garden

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I’m very bad – despite a teetering pile of books to be reviewed, a nostalgic conversation with a friend led me to take a break and read Tom’s Midnight Garden. What is more astounding is that this is the first time I’ve read the book. Astounding because I know every word, more or less, already…

I have very vague recollections of watching Tom’s Midnight Garden the first time it was shown on the BBC, but since I was 3 or 4, I’m not sure how genuine those memories are – but Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife wisely taped the programmes, six in all, and they joined a small filmography of videos to be Watched When Ill. Alongside the Chronicles of Narnia and Pride and Prejudice, this drama was akin to medication, and no day of lying convalescent was complete without one of them. Because I’ve seen it so often, it came as quite a shock the other day when I realised that I haven’t seen Tom’s Midnight Garden for about a decade – but it didn’t take long before every detail came swarming back. My friend Clare and I had a conversation littered with squeals and ‘oh yes’s while each bit of the drama slotted back into place. They just don’t make kids’ shows like that anymore…

Anyway, before this becomes a 1990s nostalgia (or 1989, to be precise) I should probably fill people in. Some of you may not have heard of Tom and his Midnight Garden, and be wondering what on earth I’m talking about. Philippa Pearce’s 1958 children’s book, now a classic, is about a boy called Tom who must spend the summer with his Uncle Alan and Aunt Gwen to avoid his brother’s measles. They live in a flat within a large, old house, one which, to Tom’s disappointment, has no garden. He is bored, and cannot sleep – but his strict uncle ensures he’s in bed for ten hours a night. The house has an old grandfather clock in the hall, which strikes loudly and inaccurately throughout the building. At night, Tom hears the clock strike thirteen (like the beginning of 1984, isn’t that?) and reasons that he has been granted an extra hour to the day – and thus can spend ten hours in bed and get up now. When downstairs, he can’t read the clock face, and so opens the door to get the moonlight… and reveals an enormous and beautiful garden.

The book takes us through Tom’s adventures in the garden over the course of several months, and his friendship with Hatty, a little girl in the garden who can see him although the others can’t. Some wonderful twists and events, and gradual comprehension, but I shan’t spoil any of that for people yet to encounter Tom.

Having now read the delightful book, I am amazed at how accurate the BBC version was – my memory of it is not sharp enough to know whether or not they added things, but there was scarcely a line in the book which didn’t make it onto screen. Impressive. If anyone’s not read the book, do so now. If anyone’s not seen the BBC version, I’m afraid you’ll have to have deep pockets – the video goes for about £50, secondhand…

Presents and I-Wish Presents!

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Thank you Danielle!

You may remember that I recently offered Miss Hargreaves up for a book swap, having happened upon her in a secondhand bookshop in Oxford, and she was sent off over the Atlantic to Danielle. Danielle has her own blog here, and it is great fun, and very popular. The amount she manages to read and blog about puts me to shame, truly. Anyway, she very kindly reciprocated with not one but two books – here they are:

The Haunted Bookshop and Parnassus on Wheels by Christopher Morley. I haven’t read either of them, but have heard about Morley, and The Haunted Bookshop has been mentioned to me with glee a few times over the years. So glad to have beautiful copies of them, and they’ve slotted right into the tbr mountain. What with review books, and lovely gifts, and impulse buys, I’m not making the dent in the pile I envisaged for this season… especially since I keep getting lured off on side-tracks. Wait until you hear what I’ve been reading at the moment…


So, those are the genuine gifts. And what is it I wish I had? Only available in America so far, but…

How could you NOT want this?? Amazon.com, you are too tempting…

To Loan or Not To Loan?

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One of the things which came up during the How Clean Is Your Book? debate (sorry, that will probably mean nothing to non-UK visitors) was a question which links into the to-scrawl-or-not-to-scrawl dilemma. Well, not really a dilemma – don’t think I’ve encountered anyone who was indecisive or unsure on this point – whereas the subsidiary question provokes, I would imagine, rather less black-and-white reactions.

To loan or not to loan?

While we all agreed we wouldn’t write in books which were borrowed, do you borrow? Do you follow old Polonius’ advice and avoid being either a lender or a borrowed, knowing that one loses the friendship with the one, and something about keeping, or…. ok, I can’t remember the *exact* quotation, but I’m sure you know the one about which I’m talking. One of the defences for scrawling was that the book is for one reader’s eyes only – if they’re never loaned out, then nobody can object.

It must be the librarian in me – I love lending and borrowing books. Love it. Must admit, when I borrow books I tend to end up buying them anyway, since I like to have copies of books I’ve read – partly, to go full circle, because I can then lend them to other people. The main argument against lending books, of course, is that they somehow don’t find their way back – I must have been fortunate in the people I chose, because I’ve never had that problem. Each of my books is like a homing pigeon… yes, there is one person who’s had a pile of my books for four years, but I have had a pile of her books for the same length of time, and I know the piles will be exchanged in good time. Something about borrowing a book makes it even more special than following up a recommendation (though that is also great) – a real connection between reading friends.Exceptions and Problems…
1) I don’t lend Miss Hargreaves… she might be the only one. I’d be distraught if she went missing. While I’m on her, think there’s a UK copy on ebay at the moment… Just checked, there are actually two. Go to it!2) Isn’t it awkward when you lend to someone who isn’t as keen as they sound, and the weeks go by, and you know they’re never going to actually read it… how does one ask for it back politely? I tend to let book-love go about etiquette, and just ask for it back…3) And in reverse – when someone presses something on you. You quite like it, but don’t want to be trapped in a spiral of reading things by that author until your friend’s collection has run out. “I enjoyed it – will let you know if I’d like to borrow more, thanks” never sounds convincing, does it?

4) Please don’t lie to me. If you didn’t notice that about thirty pages are accidentally reprinted, then you didn’t read it… this happened to me once…

Despite these issues, I love lending and borrowing! By post, in person, all good.
Howsabout you??

Fame and/or Fortune!

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Just spent a very nice weekend at The Carbon Copy’s in Bristol, wandering the parks and getting lost, that sort of thing. Since his hair has grown a bit, and mine has been cut (the sketch is not quite accurate anymore) and we both have glasses now (for distance only, not reading, so the sketch is on the ball there) we look more alike than ever. I’ve missed those lingering ‘are-they-twins-or-aren’t-they’ glances, which we received in bucketloads over the course of two days. The novelty never wears off for me – I love people getting us mixed up, or staring, or commenting. Fun fun. Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife also popped up, and we had a first read-through of our Christmas sketch, to be performed at the village show. More on’t later…

And now to the FAME. Thanks, Lynne, for bringing this to my attention – I’ve been mentioned in the Guardian’s ‘From The Blogs’, follow this link and read down a bit. Lynne is mentioned too, I must add. Sorry for sharing my excitement so unsubtly, but it’s virgin territory for me, and I get a definite kick out of seeing my name in print. In fact…. I don’t know if this is just a web thing, or if it’s a copy of the Saturday paper – if the latter, does anyone have a spare copy of the article they could send me?? Shameless, I know, but it *would* be a lovely piece to keep in a scrapbook or something… let me know on simondavidthomas@yahoo.co.uk and receive my undying gratitude!

Dorothy Whipple, how I do love thee

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Though I now space them out, a new Persephone Books read is always a wonderful treat, and something to be treasured. When I first found out about this publishing company, through their publishing of Richmal Crompton’s Family Roundabout, I went on a bit of a rampage, and read lots. Though they cover quite a range of decades, genres, authors, forms – and, yes, some of the writers are even male! – there is something unmistakably Persephone about everything they issue, and thus something unmistakably great. The Closed Door and Other Stories, one of the latest batch of three, was no different. Nicola Beauman, who runs Persephone Books, very kindly sent me this to review when I made ingratiating noises in her direction – and, of course, I loved it.

Most aficiandos of Persephone agree that Dorothy Whipple is one of their major finds. Crompton and EM Delafield were already firm favourites with me, and I was delighted to see them come back into the light of day, but it is Whipple who has been the nicest new face. Though decidedly a domestic-fiction-writer, she demonstrates that this need not mean anything derogatory about writing style. Nicola Beauman has had to fiercely defend Whipple against some critiques over the past few years, mostly from people who, bewilderingly, have been against niche publishing in any shape or form – but just pick up Someone at a Distance or They Knew Mr. Knight and it is indisputable that Whipple needed bringing back into print.

The Closed Door and Other Stories is different from any other Whipple I’ve read, not least because it’s short stories rather than full-length prose. The first story, ‘The Closed Door’, is easily the longest – 75 or so pages – and the other eight are snapshots of characters’ lives. I read them all together at a fast pace, which probably isn’t the ideal way to approach short stories, and I must confess I found a lot of them to be quite similar – a daughter (always a daughter) is repressed by her selfish parents who expect her to act like a servant, and dismiss any academic or romantic ambitions the daughter has. I like that Whipple doesn’t aggrandise either of these ambitions over the other, but sees both as valid modes of self-expression and fulfilment. Anyway, as you read more of the stories in the collection this scenario becomes very familiar – but each story presents a different ending/solution/irresolution. ‘After Tea’ is an especially nice contrast. When presented together, the particular culminations grow even more significant, playing off against each other, and become less ‘closing’, as it were – more problematic, occasionally more triumphant.

Against the stories which fall into this mould, a couple stand out as really beautiful evocations of character and predicament – ‘The Rose’ and ‘Wednesday’ particularly. The latter is quite a brave portrait – a divorcee adulteress (though one coerced into it by her husband, we are led to understand) on one of her monthly permitted visits to her children. Agonising and realistic and a painful gem.

In case you hadn’t ascertained this yet – The Closed Door is a book definitely worth buying! Just spread the stories out a bit.

Library Life

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Time for a bit of a library update, I think, before we plunge back into the world of literature – review coming up tomorrow of one of the latest Persephone books, so keep your eyes open for that. This week I have been shadowing one of the other library trainees, but have yet to leave the Science arena – but rather than the torrent of scientific subjects bundled into the aptly named Radcliffe Science Library, my usual home, these have been rather more specific. Started the week in Zoology and Ornithology (let me tell you, pictures of birds are rather more appealing than Heart Surgery Weekly or Dermatology Update) and now in Plant Science. Ever wondered how much forestation there is in Canada? Me neither, but it’s the place to be if you ever do. Having said that, it seems our indifference is shared by the populus of Oxford, as all of these libraries are fairly empty. In fact, I don’t think there was a single enquiry in the Plant Science library today – certainly not whilst I was around. Even without the general public milling around, though, I enjoyed today – I was processing books and journals. In the RSL this is all done by the cataloguing staff in a separate section of the library – the benefit of a smaller library is that it’s all hands on deck.

So, I’m sticking stickers, measuring spines, attaching plastic covers, gluing in date sheets, ya-dah-ya-dahhhhhhhhwaitaminutewhat?! I have to STAMP the SIDES of the BOOK?? With a rubber stamp? Emblazon ‘Oxford University Library Services’ on all three sides of a book which aren’t the spine? Oh dear. You’ll have gathered over the past few days that I’m not a big fan of writing in/on/near/over or under books. In fact the only preposition I’ll concede is ‘about’ – I love writing about books. But stamping dirty great rubber stamps all over them? Houston, we have a problem. And that is the central paradox to librarianship. Despite what we are told, I hope against hope that people becoming librarians love books. Yes, we have to love aiding research, and the latest technology, and guiding people, and making information accessible – all essential. But surely we should love books too? And there is a certain type of book-lover (not all) who cannot bear to see the poor things covered in possessive ink. So I had to screw up my eyes and stamp the thing within an inch of its life, feeling like a hoodlum… now I can feel the books in my room looking at me reproachfully… there’ll be warning posters distributed around my shelves soon.

Anyone concerned for my sanity, email mad@libraryboy.co.uk…