Tonight is my last night in the family home - I finally move out tomorrow, after months of just talking about it!
I'd probably be a lot more excited, had I not been laid low by a stonking cold (and cough) and if I'd done an iota of packing. C'est la vie - I'm not moving very far, just up the road in fact, so that should be a blessing when it comes to carting my things.
So, to commemorate this last night, I thought I'd take you on a tour of my favourite book of the year, so far .... even though I read most of it in 2009.
I've struggled with A.S. Byatt in the past - I always stop at the same place when reading 'Possession', and I've not been able to settle into anything else of hers. Also, I went right off her personally when I read her comments about Harry Potter readers 'Ms Rowling's magic world has no place for the numinous. It is written for people whose imaginative lives are confined to TV cartoons and the exaggerated (more exciting, not threatening) mirror-worlds of soaps, reality TV and celebrity gossip.' Bah humbug.
Happily, this did not put me off picking up 'The Children's Book' , and just as well, because it is a revelation to me. Starting out in 1895 and sweeping right through to the end of world war one, it is a portrait of half a dozen free thinking families whose lives all intertwine. At it's root is an adherence to Fabianism and artistry, so that the reader becomes familiar with the inner workings of the Victoria and Albert Museum, pot making and the writing of fairy tales. A.S. Byatt is adept at turning her writing to other forms and so manages to weave these tales as well as the rest of her novel.
Nothing I was expecting to happen actually does so, and those characters I was so interested in at the beginning shift, so that their importance is lessened later, much like the lives of any normal family.
This is a book that will stay with one, the richness of it only fully being appreciated the longer you think about it. And I love the cover - what more do you need!
It's been an emotional week. I've decided it's time to move out of the parental home - I moved back in when finishing my MA back in 2007, and I suddenly feel like it's the right time. I've been to look at quite a few places, and found a couple I liked. One in particular was great, apart from the fact I would be sharing with three guys. Now; don't get me wrong - there's nothing wrong with guys per se (and these were all lovely, tidy and old enough not to behave like idiots all the time) but it's not something I've ever done. Lots of soul searching was required.
Today, I finally made up my mind that this was the right move, and emailed them to say so. A couple of hours ago I had an email back saying that the girl that was moving out had changed her mind for the time being. So it's back to the drawing board. Heigh ho, these things happen, and at least I've not signed the contract or am all packed up and ready to go!
Throughout this week, I have been reading a lot to take my mind off things, and have been luxuriating in the wonder that is Susan Hill. 'Howards End is on the Landing' has made it to my house and has been making its presence felt.
The cover is enough to comfort, let alone what can be found inside.
So - what does this book have to tell you? Firstly, it's a tremendous explanation as to why Susan Hill disappeared from the web over a year ago. I noticed around June last year that the link to the left of this post that had led to Susan's blog, now led to nothing. I hoped it was a glitch but nothing ever surfaced.
Susan had, apparently, gone on a search for a book, and although she'd not found it, she did discover an awful lot of books she had either not read at all, or not read in a very long time. If there's one thing I can relate to, it's that! My shelves are crammed with books I've bought, but not read.
We are taken on a tour, not only of Susans' house, but also her life, peppered as it is with encounters with some of the best known names of the twentieth century. It's a charming book, full of recommendations that are made with fervour and a keen insight. I found myself almost able to understand her dislike of Austen (Susan, I'm a Janeite and I hate 'Mansfield Park' and 'Northanger Abbey'!!), and discovered a hunger to get back into Grahame Green, Thomas Hardy, Dickens, and all those other classics that are languishing on my shelves. I've been introduced to a lot of authors I've never heard of (and even found myself whilst up in London last weekend pondering whether I should buy a book she had passionately talked about ... I put it back. If Susan has taught me anything, it is that one should read the books one has!)
Simon and I are going to hear her talk later in November, so I'm sure this book will pop up another time. I could relate to the subject matter, and Susan, so much, that it almost makes me want to rush up to her at the event and proclaim affinity (as well as a passion for 'The Lady of Shallot'). This would probably end up being my equivalent of her experience with Edith Sitwell. Not a good plan!
Anyway, it's a lovely little book, with plenty to make one think. At the end, she lists the 40 books that she would choose if she could only have have 40 to last her the rest of her life. The fact that 'Learning to Dance' by Michael Mayne is listed twice is perhaps testament to the fact that she really cannot live without that book. (Only it's actually a misprint ... but like she says, it gives her room to tinker with the list!).
Susan Hill's copy of 'Howards End' is on the landing .... where is yours? (Mine is in the spare bedroom!
There are times when I think I was born in the wrong era, and most definitely in the wrong class. It's all very well reading about people with big houses, holding wonderful soirees, having my portrait painted by John Singer Sargent or Joshua Reynolds. There are some wonderful houses in literature - Jane Austen has some fantastic examples, as do the Brontes, Henry James, Edwith Wharton and not forgetting some of our more recent authors, Agatha Christie, Evelyn Waugh, Daphne du Maurier and Kazuo Ishiguro - however, none of these compare to those in reality, and sometimes the stories that issue forth from places like Chatsworth are far more intriguing than anything an author could dream up.
Such a place is Cliveden - home of Waldorf and Nancy Astor, and the place where the infamous Profumo affair started. I went to lunch there yesterday (it's now a hotel) and feel that I can only belong in a place like Cliveden.
This is the entrance hall - not your usual setting for hanging your hats - and with Nancy Astor overseeing your every move, in the left hand corner, you wouldn't be cavorting too much.
A view from the upper terrace
This is Nancy Astor's butler - theirs was a volatile relationship, and on one occasion of his giving his notice (a regular occurrence) Nancy replied 'Where are you going to, for I shall follow you there.' Needless to state, he didn't go anywhere.
We sat in the middle window - a wonderful view ...
As can be seen below ....
One day - all this shall be yours*
It is, I think you will agree, beautiful and completely beyond most of our grasps. So it's back to the novels to give us what we want. Which literary mansion would you wish to live in? For my part, I think Dartington Hall, from 'The Remains of the Day' would be perfect!
*What, the curtains? (ten points for telling me where that's from!)
I went to Blenheim today for part of the Independent Literary festival (of which more later in the week).
The weather was a little odd though. After yesterdays sun, I was expecting more of the same, but I got up, opened the curtains .... and I couldn't see a thing! So as I got to Blenheim, this is what I could see ...
Errr - where's the house? I felt like Scarlett O'Hara as I ran up the drive (and run I did, because public transport on a Sunday is hopeless, and I was almost late!
Then, I had time between my events to walk around. I reasoned that two festival tickets meant I was more than qualified to go round the grounds without paying again, so off I went.
That's the lake. What do you mean you can't see the rolling hillside on the other side?
An hour or so later, however, I could finally see the palace.
And I finally spotted where the plinth was .... seriously, I thought I was going mad earlier in the day, because I couldn't find it. Was I getting confused with Windsor I wondered? No, turns out the mist was REALLY bad, because none of what is in this picture was available to be seen earlier in the day!
And there's the house again, taken from the train - beautiful weather!
