18 Thursday Jun 2020
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This story was told to me years ago, one summer afternoon, in a centuries-old library in Mantua. It was whispered by an elderly scholar, as we took a short break after hours of patient, careful philological work…
It begins with a boy of eighteen, the shy, bookish sort, with the kind of passion for Ancient Greece that makes one court girls by lending them books of Greek poetry. Continue reading
29 Thursday Nov 2018
How my father happened to lose his own old copy of Gösta Berling’s Saga, I have no idea. When it came to books, the Colonel was an odd mix of jealous worship and carelessness… But somehow or other the book was lost.
What I know for sure is that, many years later, I found an old copy of the Saga in a second-hand bookshop in Pavia – an old, tiny and delightful place named Il Parnaso, the kind of place where one can while away a rainy afternoon making discovery after wonderful discovery… oh, you know what I mean. Now, my found Saga was not the same edition my father had lost – but it was old, a little worse for wear, and bore an ex-libris explaining how it had been saved during some flooding or other of the Ticino, Pavia’s river. Continue reading
21 Thursday Jul 2016
Posted in Books
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Last night, over dinner, we discussed reading and re-reading. At one point I said that re-reading is the proof of how Knowing What Comes Next is not the key to the pleasure of reading. It sounded nice, and it worked well in the discussion, but the matter is less straightforward, I think – so here are a few thoughts.
First of all, we don’t all re-read. My father was one compulsive re-reader, and the books that were his show it with much wear and broken spines. My friend Clementina, on the other hand, never re-read a book in her life, because “once read, it’s read. What’s worth remembering I’ll remember, what I won’t remember isn’t worth it.” And they say that in his (admittedly brief) life, Vendean general Henri de la Rochejaquelein only read again and again the memoirs of I don’t remember what 17th century strategist. Perhaps he didn’t know Thomas Aquinas, who found the Man of One Book so unnerving…
Then, not all books are of the re-reading sort. This, again, varies hugely from person to person, but some books become members of the family, to which one returns again and again for comfort or guidance. Of the beauty of some other books, one never tires – each re-reading like that visit at the National Gallery whenever one is in London. Other books are tied to a moment, a memory, an atmosphere – and that’s what one seeks re-reading. Then there are those plots, or characters so perfect, one goes back to study how on earth the writer did it, and there are seasonal books that grow into yearly rituals, and favourite chapters, scenes and descriptions, and those books one read too early to truly appreciate them…
On the other hand, there are all the ugly, annoying, disappointing books, the ones we had to read or study, the ones that gave us nightmares, the ones too intense for comfort, the ones that came to highly recommended – or just the forgettable ones. The ones we’ll never want to re-read. 
Whatever the reason, though, my theory is that reading and re-reading are to hugely different activities. A first reading is an exploration, a matter of thrills and surprises – a combination of the wish to know What Comes Next and the enjoyment of the way there. It’s a matter of discoveries, very much like meeting a person or visiting a place for the first time. It’s the kind of experience that, at its best, keeps on up at all hours of the night. It’s like a first love – and, once gone, it’s gone.
Re-reading, now… Ah, re-reading is another kettle of fish. One re-reads more analytically. One goes deeper. One savours, sifts, observes, peels layers and enjoys nuances and complexities. One knows the general lay of the land, and revisits leisurely, enjoying the familiarity and digging for new beauties. Much like renewing an acquaintance, or returning to a place. It has joys of its own – its own set of pleasures.
The snag is, of course, that reading-time is finite, and one either reads or re-reads… Which is, in the end, why I don’t re-read as much as I’d like. Still, my Reading Week is approaching (perhaps), and I have half a mind to make it a Re-Reading Week instead. Just this year…
We’ll see. But what about you, O Readers? Are you Re-Readers?
17 Thursday Mar 2016
Posted in Books
I’ve been asked about the first book I ever read…
I’d love to name something especially significant, that marked me with an enduring love for books – but frankly, I don’t remember for sure. I was very, very young – all of three – when my family, craving relief from my constant badgering for stories, stories and more stories, thought it would be nice to make me at least a little autonomous on the matter, and taught me to read. I think I hazily remember some picture book with an adventure of Gyro Gearloose, of all things, but really, it’s been more decades ago than I care to count. Continue reading
28 Thursday Jan 2016
Posted in Books, Eccentricities
“Imagine you can spend a day inside a book,” was the prompt – one of those things going around on Facebook, you know, that a friend passed on to me. “What would you choose?”
My first reaction was one of eager glee – entering books having always been one of my fondest imaginings, together with, or even a little ahead of, time-travel. So this was a game I was most happy to play… or so I thought, until it came to really choosing. Continue reading
23 Thursday Jul 2015
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Ben Jonson, Books, Dino Buzzati, Jack Shalom, Johannes Brahms, Patrick Rambaud, Ralph Vaughan Williams, reading habits, reading meme, Umberto Eco, Victor Hugo
There’s a reading meme abroad – and Jack Shalom, over at Jack Shalom – Music, Memories, and Magic, nominated me to answer ten questions about… well, basically about reading habits. And since there are very few reading-related things I can resist, thank you, Jack – and let us begin.
1) Do you have a certain place at home for reading? Continue reading
05 Thursday Feb 2015
Posted in Books
Do you remember a time before the Internet, when looking for a book could entail a good deal of leg-work, physically visiting bookshops, bookstalls and suchlike places?
I am old enough to have spent my adolescence doing just that: always wanting something that was, hard to find at best, but more often not available or no longer in print – and forever scouring bookshops and bookstalls… Continue reading
16 Thursday Oct 2014
Posted in Books
Once upon a time, years ago, I sat in a railway waiting room in Nantes, France, reading a life of Henri de la Rochejaquelein as I waited for my train. I was so absorbed in my book, in fact, that it took me a while to notice someone crouched right before me, busy rummaging through one of those large duffel bags. And rummaging. And rummaging. And rummaging…
I did notice in the end, and stole a glance over the book’s rim – and there was this bespectacled boy about my age, pretending fascination with the contents of his bag, and desperately trying to get a peep at what sort of story held my attention so thoroughly.
So I gave him a smile, and tilted the book to show him the cover. Caught in the act, the boy jumped a mile, blushed furiously, grabbed his bag, and fled – but not before stealing a glance at the title, much to the amusement of two of three rows of fellow travelers.And yet, you know, the French boy had no need whatsoever to blush and flee: I am just the same. I cannot see a reader without itching to know. On a train, at the airport, at the vet’s… I just can’t help myself. I turn as nonchalantly as I can, I pretend to retie a boot, I risk dislocating my eyeballs, I blush to interesting hues when I get caught. I do it all the time.
Curiosity? Yes and no. It’s hard to resist the temptation to decipher someone based on what they read… And I know that one single book means little – and even less when traveling. One reads strange things, when traveling: gifts bought for someone else, or the one decent title found at the duty free, or the small volume that fits in the hand-luggage, or a fellow traveler’s loan… Or not. It’s hard to tell, it can mean very little. And yet, we all do it. Or at least, I do – and like to draw conclusions.
Which is why, when I catch someone peeking at my books, I understand it very well, and always tilt the book to show them the cover. Sometimes I do inobtrusively, sometime I exchange a grin with the peeker. After all, we belong to the same tribe, don’t we -just like that boy in France, once upon a time. Those Who Peek At Other People’s Books.
27 Thursday Feb 2014
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I have this recurring fantasy of being snowbound somewhere, with my Kindle and little else…
Yes, I know, usually it is a desert island, but I’m not partial to desert islands. For one thing, being ridiculously phobic, I don’t want to even begin imagining the insects… Then, how do you recharge your eReader on a desert island?* I’m most definitely not the Crusoe-ish sort who devises a power-cell with a bowl of fruit and a pair of sunglasses – which also raises questions of more immediate survival, such as shelter, food, water… Frankly, unless it were a very Shakespearean island, complete with a practical-minded Ariel, odds are I’d be dead long before recharging the Kindle became a concern.
Snow, on the other hand… You can be snowbound in lots of very nice, well supplied places, most of them sporting a fireplace and a working generator, just in case. Plus, I love snow and snowfalls to distraction.
So, as I said, I have this fantasy of being snowbound somewhere nice, with my Kindle, plenty of tea, and little more. I have it every time I consider my arm-long To Read List. And every time I am either given a book, or tempted to buy one.** And every time I receive a parcel from the HNR. And every time I unearth from the Internet Archive something I’ve desperately wanted to read. And every time I can give myself one little reading afternoon. And every time I finish a book and peruse the list wondering what next… 
All of which means that, more or less, I daily dream of being snowed-in – and I’ll be the first to admit it doesn’t sound spectacularly sane. But I so want to read more, and you know those So Many Books – So Little Time thingies you find by the cartful on Pinterest? Well, they have ceased to be funny. Long ago.
I don’t suppose there is any point in asking, do you have reading lists of biblical proportions – because yes, of course you do… The question then is: have you worked out how to deal with yours – especially if you live in a place where it snows once in donkey’s years?
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ETA: It’s early afternoon, and two more books have just landed in my mailbox. Claire Groove and Stephen Wyatt’s So You Want to Write Radio Drama (and yes, I do), and a second/third hand copy of John Masefield’s Live and Kicking Ned. I clearly don’t have the smallest trace of sense…
Sigh.
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* And if you are thinking books would be a better alternative – as I did for a minute – think again: how do you get shipwrecked on a desert island with dry books?
** Which, considering my utter inability to resist temptations, usually results in one more book.
12 Saturday Oct 2013
In less than two weeks, James Aitcheson’s new historical novel, Knights of the Hawk will be out.
It is the third book in a trilogy, and I loved the first two volumes* – so I’ll most certainly buy and read the third instalment of the story of Tancred a Dinant.
They make for a great read, these novels: good, solid, exciting adventures in a post-Hastings England, from a Norman point of view, with a well-meaning hero, talented in the art of finding trouble.
Tancred is a half-Breton who serves under Norman colours, and does not know too well what to call himself. He very much means to be a good knight, a good vassal, a good Christian, and is brave, honourable and smart – but also far too ambitious, outspoken and headstrong for his own good…
Aitcheson chronicles his struggles and rise, and does it well. He writes with good rhythm, engaging characters, excellent dialogue, and his recreation of Medieval England rings rich and true without overwhelming the reader with needless detail. What is even more, his people think, feel, fight, believe and talk like XI Century people.
So yes, I really like these books – and this is why I was surprised by a few of the reviews on Amazon. Now, let me explain: I did this some time ago, when the second volume, The Splintered Kingdom was just out in the UK, and the reviews were just a handful, all of them good to enthusiastic, but…
But most reviewers remarked on the violence and brutality of the fight scenes. One reader described them as “high-octane stuff”.
And I was perplexed, because I’d found nothing especially gruesome in TSK – and I’m a wimp. I have trouble reading very graphic descriptions of violence, tire easily of too much grit and gore, and have been known to abandon books out of sheer revulsion.
And yet Aitcheson, while never glossing over the unpleasant realities of his time-period, does not strike me as a “brutal” writer. 
So I wonder. Have I developed a higher threshold for written violence over the years? It seems unlikely, and in truth I think it is something else.
I think it is that Tancred, hero and narrator, never shows a qualm when it comes to battle, killing and bloodshed. He has been fighting his whole life, with unabashed enthusiasm and a certainty of being on the right side. He enjoys it – and yes, it is a hard and chancy life, foes are in dead earnest, friends die, defeat and ruin are never far away, and yet to Tancred few things equal the battle-joy.
Not once in four hundred pages does he go through one of those crises of disgust and remorse. Fighting is his job – in a very unashamed and medieval way: he is good at it, he has developed a little of what he doesn’t know to be adrenaline addiction, and almost pities those who ignore the way of the sword and its dangerous joys.
Very politically uncorrect, very historically correct.
So I wonder: is this what creeps out reviewers? Not so much violence itself, as an attitude to violence? This brazen taste for battle – that works its high-octane charm on us, civilized people, even while we feel we ought to disapprove it?
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* Actually, the second one I also reviewed for the HNR.
