tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73608831115664300562024-03-05T11:27:58.498+01:00 The Runcible PenNotes on an eclectic lifeThe Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.comBlogger202125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-46432331127382414942022-01-15T16:11:00.001+01:002022-01-16T22:06:00.805+01:00QuickLit January 2022: Reading year review<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-january-2022/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> once more for QuickLit reviews. Time to look back on my reading year. Last January, I declared that my goal was actually to read fewer books, but more mindfully. I did end up down on the 2020 count, but not really for the intended reason. I just ran out of steam by October - Covid fatigue, I guess. I even stopped remembering to note down which books I'd read, but luckily they were almost all on Kindle, so I could figure it out. So, as far as I know, my stats are:</p><p><b>Total:</b> 41 books (I was averaging a little over 50 the past few years)</p><p><b>Print books:</b> 9</p><p><b>E-books:</b> 31 (Due to Covd restrictions, I only had one trip to the UK to stock up on print English language books.)</p><p><b>Audiobooks:</b> 1 (But it was the enormous <i>Clan of the Cave Bear</i>. I also listened to a lot of podcasts.)</p><p><b>Fiction:</b> 36</p><p><b>Non-fiction: </b>5 (I prefer to read non-fiction in print form so that I can flip back and forth, so this one is obvious.)</p><p><br /></p><p>Here are my favourites of 2021:</p><p><b>Taylor Jenkins Read - <i>Daisy Jones and the Six</i></b></p><p>My parents grew up in the 60s, so our house was full of sixties music, which is why I'm a Stones and Kinks fan. This book nailed the 60s/70s rock scene - it felt like I was reading a non-fiction memoir. An investigative journalist tracks down members of the iconic band Daisy Jones and the Six to find out why they split up at the height of their meteroic rise to fame. Absolutely read if you're a fan of this musical era!</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs-r_e3U__yiGQXT6IHjEFysOAto4VFrPBxN_18gwF1nDgMMeZTbL1j8dfWgjZx2w-JkU5yGkIYvx4DwwU6xH9p9KY2gktFehMZMD43d6FnCwiPWPY7-6F1N6YakkRwk29Lm5iG0S89RliZoToT1mp8jKK2InxJfP_M64zAw_OaVgd4x_pZBp2kfhw=s252" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="189" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs-r_e3U__yiGQXT6IHjEFysOAto4VFrPBxN_18gwF1nDgMMeZTbL1j8dfWgjZx2w-JkU5yGkIYvx4DwwU6xH9p9KY2gktFehMZMD43d6FnCwiPWPY7-6F1N6YakkRwk29Lm5iG0S89RliZoToT1mp8jKK2InxJfP_M64zAw_OaVgd4x_pZBp2kfhw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothy Dalton is THE Mr Rochester, and I'll take off my corset and fight anyone who disagrees ;)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Charlotte Bronte - <i>Jane Eyre</i></b></p><p>I read through all of Charlotte Bronte's novels this year. It began with <i>Jane Eyre</i> - I always name it as my all-time favourite book, but I hadn't read it for a while, and I was afraid to find out if it had lost its charm. Reader, fear not. Fierce, independent Jane, who holds fast to her integrity whatever the world throws at her, is a timeless heroine. And I still get a deep thrill at the words, 'Reader, I married him.'</p><p><b>Kazuo Ishiguro - <i>The Remains of the Day</i></b></p><p>I totally hated the ending of <i>The Buried Giant</i>, and there's no way I'm going to frighten myself with Ishiguro's dystopian novels, so it took me a while to try this one. In the 1950s, a butler takes a road trip to meet a former housekeeper, and reflects on his life of service to a high-minded but ultimately misguided lord. A beautifully written, bittersweet reflection on lost love and lost causes, but with a little hope at the end.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtbi_0GxTqkmI4sUD8Ns5cTNvkhpt0eI4jhikMlj5UlFUwmqawgI4NjAszSavQvECjvB44VaimAfgqnWnXZ8qz4CWJaZm7XIe9u5BTJWBGK9esxreiyfMNkvKp2QYXYNLR2jmExW8vb2ZY6P8B1zNw3n86iORxBT50nkZHnostg_MpsIou9ukcxLWW=s612" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtbi_0GxTqkmI4sUD8Ns5cTNvkhpt0eI4jhikMlj5UlFUwmqawgI4NjAszSavQvECjvB44VaimAfgqnWnXZ8qz4CWJaZm7XIe9u5BTJWBGK9esxreiyfMNkvKp2QYXYNLR2jmExW8vb2ZY6P8B1zNw3n86iORxBT50nkZHnostg_MpsIou9ukcxLWW=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The iconic New Forest ponies</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Edward Rutherford - <i>The Forest</i></b></p><p>Rutherford seems to have carved out a niche penning huge tomes that cover centuries of history. I'd read the more well-known<i> Sarum</i>, but I think I enjoyed this even more. The novel tells the stories of the families (and trees and animals) who inhabited the New Forest over a thousand years of history (yes, in Britain, a forest gets to be called new when it's only a thousand years old). This, and <i>Sarum</i>, is really a series of interlinked novellas, so they're a good choice if you love historical fiction and/or want to tackle a large book for a reading challenge.</p><p><b>Molly Martin - <i>The Art of Repair</i></b></p><p>I read this in May, but still keep turning to it. This slender volume is part clothing repair manual, part paean to the art of caring for our belongings. Her few methods are simple (well, OK, I don't feel up to tackling Swiss darning yet), but her love for mending is infectious. And slowly Sashiko stitching a patch on my son's trousers, when I could replace them for a few euros, feels like a subversive act of rebellion in our throwaway society.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxYzjTdasEP0hQ3Vyu-yLUmVuI-1xxpRuC5CJcV44DNvA4hb8xYC1b1W70phGdFCjUg0ALBieJTf5DsyxrmqVoiGQ9eRdnt-sNjrGQMacfhJqnIsNJ0E7BaR9W8jFpjSiIP6C3ZYC4JmtP_A8O_c7yO2KYzSsI6xQlxdx_wnJIiYZsXqi2bnp_MTGq=s450" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="315" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxYzjTdasEP0hQ3Vyu-yLUmVuI-1xxpRuC5CJcV44DNvA4hb8xYC1b1W70phGdFCjUg0ALBieJTf5DsyxrmqVoiGQ9eRdnt-sNjrGQMacfhJqnIsNJ0E7BaR9W8jFpjSiIP6C3ZYC4JmtP_A8O_c7yO2KYzSsI6xQlxdx_wnJIiYZsXqi2bnp_MTGq=w280-h400" width="280" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Phillipa Langley and Michael Jones -<i> The King's Grave</i></b></p><p>As a teenager, I was a devoted Ricardian, reading everything about Richard III I could get my hands on, fiction and non-fiction. I even wrote 'Richard III is innocent' on the front of my school history notebook! <i>The King's Grave</i> is Langley's account of the excavation of the Leiceistershire abbey that led to the discovery of Richard III's grave in 2012, interspersed with Jones's revisionist biography of this controversial king, England's last monarch to die in battle. I have a more moderate view of Richard now, though I'm still inclined to think he did not order the murder of the Princes in the Tower. And for 2022, I'm exicted to put Nicola Cormick's new novel <i>The Last Daughter</i> (US: <i>The Last Daughter of York</i>) on my reading list, a historical fantasy take on the fate of the younger prince.</p><p>I think 2022 is going to be a slower reading year, as my main goals are more Slovene classes (got to get fluent in the language since I live here) and finishing the sequel to my novel <i>A Dorset Summer</i>. But my six-year old is now into longer chapter books, so I'll have more interesting kiddie reading. We're currently up to <i>The Voyage of the Dawn Treader</i> in the Narnia series. How was your 2021? Do you have 2022 reading goals, or, like many of us, have you ditched your usual plans? If you have a review, I'd love to link to it!</p><p>A roundup of 2022 Quicklit reviews:</p><p>Katie @ <a href="https://katiegilley.com/2022/01/10/2021-bookish-highlights/comment-page-1/#comment-32941" target="_blank">The Cozy Burrow</a></p><p>Shannon @ <a href="https://shannanenjoyslife.com/2022/01/14/quick-lit-next-page-please-best-books-of-2021-edition/" target="_blank">Shannon Enjoys Life!</a></p><p>Elena @ <a href="https://elle-alice.blogspot.com/2022/01/10-favorite-books-of-2021.html" target="_blank">A Beautiful Hope</a></p><p>Susan @ <a href="https://susanbowers.typepad.com/in_the_storm/2022/01/favorite-books-2021.html" target="_blank">In the Storm</a></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-61567592255247906482021-11-15T15:49:00.000+01:002021-11-15T15:49:33.569+01:00QuickLit November 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-november-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy </a>as usual. October was not a big reading month for me. One reason was this (sorry for the bad photo - it's from Messenger):</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oE_m0Q1mdakej_ih4gnGZsA_IwZF809O7lGppTEgyWkCrEat1hh8Z2-27nSHvbDZTtP_Lfou1QatX43UrKHUCxpI8AqH5VPjDzBjjTyswEEgxx4Hpdiy29PkAJlek66MoTh25ecp_Oo/s663/Breughel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="663" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oE_m0Q1mdakej_ih4gnGZsA_IwZF809O7lGppTEgyWkCrEat1hh8Z2-27nSHvbDZTtP_Lfou1QatX43UrKHUCxpI8AqH5VPjDzBjjTyswEEgxx4Hpdiy29PkAJlek66MoTh25ecp_Oo/w400-h244/Breughel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>We bought this puzzle, Breughel the Elder's Children's Games, in the Kunsthistoriches museum, <a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/2021/11/vienna-there-be-dragons.html" target="_blank">Vienna</a>, in August, and I decided that the advent of autumn was a good time to get it out. It took my husband and I about a week, during which we neglected many other things (like reading). I also learned that a mathematician (husband) has a very different attitude towards doing a puzzle than an arts scholar (me). To me, it was about enjoying the emerging picture, to him, solving the problem as soon as possible. And P.S., if you like doing puzzles, I really recommend a puzzle mat.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OE-ihOLZvi2wYj1xI3i5xBipdZ9NxuSCHuAmFDJWb9yi8BgBhVBGkRYuz3wGlla4mDeuATGqzCjLW6IPfCZX-Rm_dxxdlJuBqm6WSn0czOqFsmNL_WyXFtemuIfnimBGYvSxGfXX3dM/s2048/Pieter_Bruegel_the_Elder_-_Children%25E2%2580%2599s_Games_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1488" data-original-width="2048" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8OE-ihOLZvi2wYj1xI3i5xBipdZ9NxuSCHuAmFDJWb9yi8BgBhVBGkRYuz3wGlla4mDeuATGqzCjLW6IPfCZX-Rm_dxxdlJuBqm6WSn0czOqFsmNL_WyXFtemuIfnimBGYvSxGfXX3dM/w400-h291/Pieter_Bruegel_the_Elder_-_Children%25E2%2580%2599s_Games_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original for a better look.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The second reason was I felt unsettled for most of the month. Maybe it was the approach of the season where we tend to cosy up indoors, but I found myself dipping into two home-oriented books on my shelf/Kindle. Marie Kondo's <i>The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up</i> obviously sparks joy because I still have it on my bookshelf - honestly, I love it as a quirky memoir as well as inspiration for tidying. The other was <i>The House Witch</i> by Arin Murphy-Hiscock. It's new-agey, but I'm a little that way inclined myself, so I like contemplating the spiritual aspect of keeping the hearth, even if I no longer have a house with a physical hearth.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXv3Jv7nM068Y6msag4gv22VPok2j9mfnrprQ5AfFU02lU3uFds0wsiQmVd39oYBeeFmiNJ5DdyCHJVIsS88KTgWqBnNyovxIB2qfRZHDCeCZkF7XBBCIUmBL3l4id7486uEfUyAPFWGs/s2048/81KxshNXWwL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1233" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXv3Jv7nM068Y6msag4gv22VPok2j9mfnrprQ5AfFU02lU3uFds0wsiQmVd39oYBeeFmiNJ5DdyCHJVIsS88KTgWqBnNyovxIB2qfRZHDCeCZkF7XBBCIUmBL3l4id7486uEfUyAPFWGs/w241-h400/81KxshNXWwL.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The final reason was my choice of audiobook: </p><p><b>Jean Auer - <i>Clan of the Cave Bear</i></b></p><p>I've never read this ground-breaking historical fiction from the 80s, but Chirp a dirt cheap deal, so I gave it a go. It took a little while to get into it, partly because the audio narrator did not seem especially suited to the book, and partly because the actual narrator is some sort of omniscient anthropologist, who gives all the technical and scientific details behind the story. But once I was into it, I was hooked. Usually, I have a reading book on the go at the same time, but I just couldn't think of anything that really complemented reading such a different book for me, so I stuck with this - over 22 hours of audio.</p><p>It tells the story of a Cro- Magnon girl, Ayla, rescued after an earthquake by a Neanderthal clan and adopted by their medicine woman and her shamen brother. Although loved by her adoptive family, she is always the outsider, her very DNA making her think and act differently than her new misogyistic tribe, and hated in particular by the clan leader's son. Through her we trace the final struggle taking place between these two branches of humankind. Interestingly, I've seen it <a href="https://slate.com/culture/2014/05/clan-of-the-cave-bear-and-feminism-dystopian-precedent-to-the-hunger-games.html" target="_blank">described</a> as a precursor to YA dystopias like <i>The Hunger Games</i>.</p><p>So there we go. Anyone else ever had the problem of not being able to pair a book and audio book? Are the others in the <i>Clan of the Cave Bear </i>series (<i>Earth's Children</i>) worth reading?</p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-21366514950254916642021-11-05T21:59:00.000+01:002021-11-05T21:59:04.008+01:00Vienna: There be dragons<p> Resisting the urge to title this "Oh, Vienna" or "Waltzing through Vienna"</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVOrvDdXO8RiCUC2jKDSdb0Q08eZTMdRmFoTEF5m28AhaiK4y5PGlVReirqd1MW_CgmJSrQdiq2hGDtvEHPX4LnoHeSBeNE4Ky9T6sOqnfCFWeUP409oa5RgU9O2ddUOksPV17Qw6mxXU/s914/Vienna3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="686" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVOrvDdXO8RiCUC2jKDSdb0Q08eZTMdRmFoTEF5m28AhaiK4y5PGlVReirqd1MW_CgmJSrQdiq2hGDtvEHPX4LnoHeSBeNE4Ky9T6sOqnfCFWeUP409oa5RgU9O2ddUOksPV17Qw6mxXU/w300-h400/Vienna3.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Stephen's Cathedral</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Only the adventurous make international travel plans in 2021. Well, OK, going over the open border to Austria, the stakes were pretty low. There was one thing we were gambling on, though: that the rule stating that over-6s needed to have a negative test to visit many venues in Vienna, would be dropped for the school holiday period. It was not, but we vaccinated adults didn't let our son's discomfort get in the way of a family holiday.</p><p>To be honest, I have overlooked Austria as a travel destination, as it never really sparked interest. Somehow, it did not click with me that VIENNA WAS THE CAPITAL OF THE AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN EMPIRE, even though I spent a lot of time studying said dynasty in school. But about ten minutes of internet research got me really excited about visiting.</p><p>We stayed in our usual sort of shabby-chic city apartment close to happenings in town - across the road from the underground and trams, and a few stops into the main tourist area. Also, literally next door to a Covid rapid testing centre.</p><p>I'm not going to comment too much on coronavirus restrictions, because hopefully you will read this in happier times, but, for reference, the Viennese were far more (although not universally) strict about checking our "papers" as our eldest termed it, compared to attitudes here in Slovenia. Rules for private attractions were also, strangely, stricter than for public ones. </p><p>This was a short visit, and we chose a destination for each morning and afternoon of our full days there (Tue-Thu). I think in retrospect, we should have had at least an afternoon or morning to stroll or hang out in a park. To be honest, I'd been hoping our hyper-organised eldest child was going to produce a holiday spreadsheet for us, but she got busy, so we only got about 3/4 planned. Anyway, as opposed to a blow-by-blow account of each day, here are the highlights of our itinerary, in order.</p><p><b>Aquarium (Haus des Meeres)</b></p><p>(Don't ask me how to pronounce any of these names. I steadfastly refused to even think about it because I still have so much trouble with Slovenian.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZa4xIBHjzxHnWCDEA5SE1mb_GpuF6pCimCfhraWeoX_gY-fCfxQsXo1Y0wZGBi8Er10HOcoWjzLS65NqsEqlbOrpwzin3EWzIy3FBlx6La6DKQu7e2lq5lsybEn2r255tdRDXj9xhvUQ/s4032/IMG_20210817_121002089.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZa4xIBHjzxHnWCDEA5SE1mb_GpuF6pCimCfhraWeoX_gY-fCfxQsXo1Y0wZGBi8Er10HOcoWjzLS65NqsEqlbOrpwzin3EWzIy3FBlx6La6DKQu7e2lq5lsybEn2r255tdRDXj9xhvUQ/w300-h400/IMG_20210817_121002089.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The <a href="https://www.haus-des-meeres.at/en/Home.htm" target="_blank">aquarium </a>was first on the list, partly to console the six year-old for having a stick shoved up his nose. It's built inside an old flak (anti-aircraft) tower, a pretty ingenious interpretation of "swords into ploughshares". This means twelve floors of exhibits, plus some amazing views of the city on the way up. Defintitely worth the price. The main draw for us were the Komodo dragons (on the 9th floor) and the gila ("heela") monsters, but we saw some pretty cool exhibits on the way up. On several floors, they have tubing going around the walls in which you can watch a colony of leafcutter ants going about their work. There were also some of the biggest anacondas I have seen, thankfully looking like they had just been fed. The open monkey enclosure was pretty exciting - you get to walk bridges and climb among monkeys, birds, and fruit bats! - I love bats! Only one phone got pooped on by our flying friends. Going one up on fish petting, they also had a tank full of doctor fish, where you could stick in your hand for a fishy manicure. We thought that was so cool that when we got back home, we went to a fish spa in nearby Piran and all got pedicures.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xDzjHUqSBAWJlIF4WNAGJWJpd0QhbZy5Y363AmLMcnp3vA3SRymNtGDrcT4zg9vBO2fWYvMizC_2La79EYW2aWi7MEEOnWrXgMNCg1kiNPh9CuZdv8V7U0H_eercOWYdc3H1-DFWcC4/s403/Vienna2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="302" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xDzjHUqSBAWJlIF4WNAGJWJpd0QhbZy5Y363AmLMcnp3vA3SRymNtGDrcT4zg9vBO2fWYvMizC_2La79EYW2aWi7MEEOnWrXgMNCg1kiNPh9CuZdv8V7U0H_eercOWYdc3H1-DFWcC4/w300-h400/Vienna2.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why are you all lined up, taking my photo?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Saint Stephen's Cathedral</b></p><p>Like Milan's cathedral (so maybe there is a trend going), you could only access part of the <a href="https://www.stephanskirche.at/" target="_blank">cathedral</a> as a tourist unless you paid or were attending a service. We had not planned for that, and would have had to wait too long for the option that interested us - a trip to the vaults - so we opted to leave and visit the Imperial Crypt instead. On departing, I could not help but reflect that the cathedral now stands smack in the middle of Vienna's upmarket shopping area.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uYBKb9KPiTEDcdMJNQdRD3hGrKNrHeffa2YMiE2MD96AN92-GanBQf4rYI34Y56T3YFgF6jr0Lp3tpIlDus6dOSwotbhKavGdCzw2qhiFsm_g613NH45j-P3xDB17Gaj_Ws4KIW7R3k/s4032/IMG_20210817_152801578.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uYBKb9KPiTEDcdMJNQdRD3hGrKNrHeffa2YMiE2MD96AN92-GanBQf4rYI34Y56T3YFgF6jr0Lp3tpIlDus6dOSwotbhKavGdCzw2qhiFsm_g613NH45j-P3xDB17Gaj_Ws4KIW7R3k/w400-h300/IMG_20210817_152801578.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Imperial Crypt (Kapuzinergruft)</b></p><p>If you are a history buff, or like contemplating how "the paths of glory lead but to the grave", this is for you. Row upon row of ornate sarchophagi housing the remains of four centuries of emperors and empresses. Maria Theresa, of course, has one three times as big as all the others (she made sure of that before she died). They are apparently guarded by Capuchin monks, so we were a little disappointed not so see robed, hooded security here. Also, for lovers of history or old films, there is the tomb of Crown Prince Rudolf - remember <i>Mayerling</i> with Omar Shariff? Rudolf and his young mistress were found dead at Mayerling in an apparent suicide pact (the truth is still a mystery). The line of succession had to change to his uncle, father of the fated Franz Ferdinand, whose assassination launched the First World War. Also, there are enough skulls, skeletons and weapons decorating the sarchophagi to keep a small boy relatively interested, but only with the promise of cake to follow...</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnwitoIeGHe31U-7YfqRUqccuMKBPaHWE059-tAEX2qJuVB1LNYE6lpAymwW7QUUdeu-oM3mAU08B66Zai-aHQ3apITZ759XDt294ttl_HMNBj-px9NZyxJXOflIhT6Md5UZ8gE_8R8I/s4032/IMG_20210817_163312579.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnwitoIeGHe31U-7YfqRUqccuMKBPaHWE059-tAEX2qJuVB1LNYE6lpAymwW7QUUdeu-oM3mAU08B66Zai-aHQ3apITZ759XDt294ttl_HMNBj-px9NZyxJXOflIhT6Md5UZ8gE_8R8I/w300-h400/IMG_20210817_163312579.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rewards for Covid testing and boring crypt visits</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Demel cafe</b></p><p>We went for one touristy experience that we knew might be overpriced: Vienna's eighteenth century cafe, and one of the places that lays claim to the invention of the sachertorte. Even in these times of Covid, there was a queue, but not long enough for total rebellion on the part of the small and hungry (i.e. all of us). As a bigger party, we were lucky enough to get a seat inside to enjoy the decor and see the bakers at work, when most people were being funnelled to the smaller outside tables. The drinks and food (including sachertorte, of course) were tasty - but served with plastic strips around the slices of cake, which rather detracted from the elegance. Also, the service experience was not as advertised online, and they make you pay at the till so that you have to walk through their shop. Call me snobbish, but it's exactly the same as has happened with Fortnum and Mason - now a parody of itself. But we are still glad we tried it. (<a href="https://www.demel.com/en" target="_blank">Website.</a>)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vrdLHVTXEVUk_8Bvub4BB_VLbo0GnQtlIkjAkgEwJoTPd2jtuY3Gd2OGuGGSHFDAfdq5u-uBsWGw6EHTs2MIBzNTHpwPmBxuU2asTFfTWoAENwnUK538-HoN2hQ28aXAwfhzt7-ljRk/s4032/IMG_20210818_103010060.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vrdLHVTXEVUk_8Bvub4BB_VLbo0GnQtlIkjAkgEwJoTPd2jtuY3Gd2OGuGGSHFDAfdq5u-uBsWGw6EHTs2MIBzNTHpwPmBxuU2asTFfTWoAENwnUK538-HoN2hQ28aXAwfhzt7-ljRk/w300-h400/IMG_20210818_103010060.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><b>The Natural History Museum</b></p><p>On a par with London (not quite as big, and not multiple shops to strip you of money as you walk around). It has an animatronic allosaurus to scare and delight your little ones, part of a good dinosaur collection. The gemstone and mineral and the early human exhibits were pretty notable, too - who doesn't like staring at huge lumps of gold and shiny things, or human skulls? But we were dubious about having to walk through several rooms devoted to reducing waste. Middle child and I also spent time in veneration of the Venus of Willendorf. However, by this day two, Alcuin had cottonned on to the fact that he was getting lots of treats as compensation for having to be tested, so he started pushing to get to the gift shop pretty early in. It took some persuasion to prolong his education and make for the loot, but even we had to agree that we didn't have the stamina to see the entire upper floor. In his defence, most of us also bought stuff (yes, I have a mini Venus of Willendorf on my bookshelf now). And his (directed) choice of a tube of dinosaurs made for fun for the whole trip, and many a prehistoric battle across restaurant tables. (<a href="https://www.nhm-wien.ac.at/en" target="_blank">Website</a>.)</p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Imperial Treasury (Kaiserliche Scahatzammer)</b></p><p>Not top of my list, but on my husband's and eldest's. If you like splendour, then you can ooh and aah at the imperial and ecclesiastical riches of the empire. Or spare a thought for the work that went into all that embroidery. We also spent a lot of time pointing out ceremonial weapons and reliquaries (body parts keep kids interested) - especially fun were the ones that were 'coded' with the saint's method of martyrdom. I was going to say that we escaped the gift shop, but then I remembered the red feather pen... (<a href="https://www.kaiserliche-schatzkammer.at/en/" target="_blank">Website</a>.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL49Mw_fdo7SWyNevgG36gfkUYavWJ9nRiBeOSjl0vGLtbbdJcZxnDKLdadl_Ic5DyBzAzPmKw2ni3dlc48I363p0B59L3ataukh7eVLNXf1GKht-ZmHXPaCwXp9BOhbmBuClWZm72sbw/s1218/Vienna6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1218" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL49Mw_fdo7SWyNevgG36gfkUYavWJ9nRiBeOSjl0vGLtbbdJcZxnDKLdadl_Ic5DyBzAzPmKw2ni3dlc48I363p0B59L3ataukh7eVLNXf1GKht-ZmHXPaCwXp9BOhbmBuClWZm72sbw/w400-h300/Vienna6.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Spanish Riding School</b></p><p>No, not even in Covid times, did we manage to get affordable tickets to an actual performance, but went for the popular and much cheaper morning training session (1 hour). The riders are still in costume, and you get commentary, so it's worth it. So was the chance to sit down after two days of walking. It did not occupy our youngest as much as we thought it would, but at least he didn't realise there was a gift shop. When you <a href="https://www.srs.at/en/" target="_blank">book tickets</a>, be aware that the seating plan makes it look like it is all tiered, whereas the upper rows are in a balcony, so you don't get a 100% view of the arena (though close). And remember, the original stud farm is here in Slovenia, in <a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2019/11/lipica-all-pretty-horses.html" target="_blank">Lipica</a>, and well worth a visit.</p><p>Any by the way, if you're wondering why my descriptions are flagging as I go on, it's reflective of the fact we were wearing ourselves out, plus the memories are starting to blur.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zfyxt6TdSWWV7cRhdzlvZmN8p9i5ea2LUk9XUwMlrde5u3gFOjwAg3ZU4Al9dHwXxhLadRD5tSTpYG_Y75cGIpKu5AGs-2EWLWVppWTZaRWSljN72Js_vcGIShTjQ5zPPARl1-d2Aak/s4032/IMG_20210819_172359802.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zfyxt6TdSWWV7cRhdzlvZmN8p9i5ea2LUk9XUwMlrde5u3gFOjwAg3ZU4Al9dHwXxhLadRD5tSTpYG_Y75cGIpKu5AGs-2EWLWVppWTZaRWSljN72Js_vcGIShTjQ5zPPARl1-d2Aak/w300-h400/IMG_20210819_172359802.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Upper Belvedere</b></p><p>There are three museums in the Belvedere complex, two of which are part of a former palace complex, and the other is a Modernist building (the Lower Belvedere is currently shut for renovation). We opted for the Upper Belvedere because of course you have to see the Klimt collection, even if The Kiss is ubiquitous. We arrived by tram, and enjoyed the tour of the city (OK, Alcuin complained a lot because he wanted to ride the underground - he'd evolved some ritual about the journey). There was almost a crisis when the children's activity material we promised turned out not to exist, but an audio guide saved the day, combining art and maths. I admit to liking Klimt's Cottage Garden with Sunflowers best of the paintings on display. And of course, the museum houses (one of several copies of) Napoleon on his rearing horse. Somehow we managed to persuade Alcuin to share a gift of Klimt origami paper with a sibling. I admit to a Cottage Garden with Sunflowers notebook just because. Fun and freedom afterwards running up and down the terraced Castle gardens.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Kunthistoriches Museum</b></p><p>This is the equivalent of the British Museum. It was the last morning, and we probably pushed ourselves too much, trying to do one last thing instead of heading home. But it was also Ted's birthday, so he got in free (and got a discount in the shop). Also, hurrah for a free children's audio guide. Sadly, a lot of the ancient civilisation exhibits that we wanted to see were closed for renovation. I went for the Breugel the Elder paintings, though, and was not disappointed. However, after about an hour we met in an exhausted heap on a bench, ready to go. We used the shop discount on a Breugal puzzle, which <strike>looks hard enough to tax our failing eyesight in the winter evenings</strike>. Update - I took so long to write this post that we did the puzzle - it took about a week of neglecting other tasks.</p><p>Somehow, we forgot to visit the Butterfly House, which was on our initial to-do list. Still, I expect we'll be back, though Salzburg is the next Austrian city on our list.</p><p>I thought I'd round up with favourites and tips from the family, since we're multi-generational. </p><p><b>Me.</b> Favourite: for intellectual satisfaction, the Venus of Willendorf and Breugel, but I have to admit that the aquarium was really fun. Tip: take time to hang out, even if you think you want to see it all.</p><p><b>Ted.</b> Favourite: Dragons and monsters (Komodo and Gila). Tip: Be aware that Google Maps will not show you all the parking garages, and there is some cheap parking (see below); also, consider the Museums Card if you intend to visit a lot of them.</p><p><b>Eldest (20s).</b> Favourite: Klimt collection in the Upper Belvedere. Tip: take the underground (subway)</p><p><b>Middle (teen).</b> Favourite: Venus of Willendorf. Tip: have some basic German phrases, e.g. entrance, exit, train station, "May I have..."</p><p><b>Youngest (6).</b> Favourite: Komodo dragon, of course, plus almost limitless loot. Tip: I'm guessing he'd say, milk parental guilt for all it's worth.</p><p>Our experience was that the main tourist areas were still quite busy, but step just a street or two away, and it was almost deserted. I recommend bringing a young adult who is used to negotiating maps and transport online - we just followed her around, and got on and off trains and trams as commanded.</p><p><b>Touristy stuff</b> - I don't have specific recommendations, because there are lots of options depending on what you want to do, so I'd suggest making a list and then seeing what transport and sight-seeing offers are best for you. The sorts of deals offered include state museums, combined transport and sights, or transport. <a href="https://www.city-walks.info/Vienna/Pass-Card.html" target="_blank">This site</a> compares the current types of city cards. We scored big on a special discount for a <a href="https://www.bundesmuseencard.at/" target="_blank">federal museums card</a> - only 19 euros instead of the usual 59 - you can buy that online or at the first museum you visit. We bought separate one-week travel cards for the adults (children of school age are free in the summer holidays). They were easy to purchase at the underground station (several language options at the kiosk). The public transport system was very good - easy to negotiate and with frequent trains and trams. I don't know how crowded it would have been in a normal summer, though.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRUtpHN3AzU7GmDKxLsyQwVPETN_euhB4FeHDiY0-cD8Zf4ITqvPTxQoihYTdHOBePXvHHeDmd006EzJmrgEMmdf5U2k22qP6yV1gQH2w6zzMxoPV9H8JKK81a-rr3bQByE1IvpQiZfU/s4032/IMG_20210820_093921231.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRUtpHN3AzU7GmDKxLsyQwVPETN_euhB4FeHDiY0-cD8Zf4ITqvPTxQoihYTdHOBePXvHHeDmd006EzJmrgEMmdf5U2k22qP6yV1gQH2w6zzMxoPV9H8JKK81a-rr3bQByE1IvpQiZfU/w300-h400/IMG_20210820_093921231.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Randomly, this was on the wall of one of the bedrooms. No nightmares were reported.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/16950797?translate_ugc=false&federated_search_id=3319e8f3-b801-4b56-8819-cbbeef8e09d8&source_impression_id=p3_1632396604_oOFvqUW5W7Qs66H2" target="_blank">This</a> was our AirBnb. For city breaks, we go for cheap and convenient over some penthouse experience, so we tend to end up in older apartments in more residential areas, which suits us perfectly. This was opposite a shopping centre/indoor market (which had a covered car park that was about half the price we normally pay for city parking in Europe), next to transport (as I said above) and with lots of restaurants close by. The apartment had three bedrooms and plenty of space for us. This is the city, though - you might want earplugs if you don't go to bed late, and are used to silence at night. We would stay there again.</p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-63702235319743327612021-10-15T14:47:00.001+02:002021-10-15T14:47:36.888+02:00QuickLit October 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-october-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual. For some reason, I got out of the habit of keeping up my list of books read. Not sure if it signals that I need to perk up my reading life, or just that I'm getting absent minded. Luckily, all my books are on my shelf or Kindle as I'm not living in an English-speaking country, so here's a round-up from last month.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiws0sThI7ZVqUuND1sfdY4o2q4ATYbJFePz-ibmPgiUmXeoaSrGKM_FDiMHsQ61-lB6ykxyWkbneg-veNv9fPP2m8jwpEQZZ681HxkD3iZ3mJOSuboOIX_NTUhH4rEX7D6YLhoWqiWtrM/s2048/Queens+wedding.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1610" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiws0sThI7ZVqUuND1sfdY4o2q4ATYbJFePz-ibmPgiUmXeoaSrGKM_FDiMHsQ61-lB6ykxyWkbneg-veNv9fPP2m8jwpEQZZ681HxkD3iZ3mJOSuboOIX_NTUhH4rEX7D6YLhoWqiWtrM/w315-h400/Queens+wedding.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><br /><p>Jennifer Robson - <i>The Gown</i></p><p>This had been on my list of 'I'd read it if it came on sale' books - and my patience was rewarded. It's a three-way story, of two young women, Londoner Ann and Holocaust survivor Miriam who are embroidering the gown for Princess Elizabeth's wedding, and Ann's grandaughter, Heather, who is solving a mystery that Ann left behind. Although the plot was built on what, to me, was a bit of a flaw (that Ann's daughter never tried to find out anything about her father), I enjoyed the story, particularly the re-creation of postwar Britain. The modern day story, I felt so-so about. The trope of 'person finds photo/jewellery/diary and uncovers mystery' seems a bit ubiquitous nowadays.</p><p><br /></p><p>Barbara Pym - <i>Crampton Hodnet</i></p><p>Barbara Pym never disappoints with her comedies of manners. This is an early novel, but it was set aside when Pym became involved in war work, and left unedited until after her death, as she felt it was dated. Now, of course, it is a perfect period piece, set in Oxford in the 1930s. Elderly Miss Doggett likes to think she has her finger on the moral pulse of Oxford. She is eager to promote the romance between her great-neice, Anthea and a well-connected young man - and to quash the budding affair between Anthea's father and a young student. But the one liason she does not see is going on right under her nose, between her companion Miss Morrow and lodger, the curate Mr Latimer. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMBAjpgtu5X6sxQWhpPNf2O2q_0RjVRETV8xQ1SjJYSh62xmrn4m1egNEuu9GY8D9Uzt69_5Mb1H8Pe3CDDC0XNQ8AF8bq3c-Xu15Z26MA5v8QkinTs-CY5GqIbk4sfCmNOlFUSrN2Pc/s930/Pym.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="930" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMBAjpgtu5X6sxQWhpPNf2O2q_0RjVRETV8xQ1SjJYSh62xmrn4m1egNEuu9GY8D9Uzt69_5Mb1H8Pe3CDDC0XNQ8AF8bq3c-Xu15Z26MA5v8QkinTs-CY5GqIbk4sfCmNOlFUSrN2Pc/w400-h266/Pym.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbara Pym - brilliant writer, and cat lady</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Trisha Ashley - <i>The Garden of Forgotten Wishes</i> and <i>The Little Teashop of Lost and Found</i></p><p>In a spate of mental exhaustion, I put my feet up with two light rom-coms. <i>In The Garden of Forgotten Wishes</i>, Marnie returns to the UK after several years in France hiding from her coercive ex-husband. She takes a gardening job in the little Lancashire village her mother had fled years ago, but decides not to reveal her identity. One of her employers turns out to be a former fellow student who has his own reasons to be hiding. After a thorny start, if you will forgive the pun, relationships, of course, are restored along with the garden. I liked this best of the two, savouring its quiet pace.</p><p>In <i>The Little Teashop of Lost and Found</i>, Alice is reeling from the death of her fiance. She decides to sink her inheritance and grief into the project of reviving a little teashop in Haworth, near where she was found abandoned as a baby. As she seeks to work through her loss and uncover answers about her life, she also finds herself attracted to her antiques dealer neighbour, who will inadvertantly lead her to the truth.</p><p>I've got books lined up until the end of the year, I think, so I've put a cap on Kindle purchases - unless of course, another TBR bargain pops up...</p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-81166318426008818122021-09-15T16:26:00.001+02:002021-09-15T16:26:34.036+02:00QuickLit September 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-september-2021/?utm_source=convertkit&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=%F0%9F%93%9AWhat+I%E2%80%99ve+been+reading+lately%3A+the+new+and+the+notable%20-%206595616" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual. I skipped last month, as I spent August visiting and being visited by family, including a fun trip to Vienna! So here are some highlights of the past couple of months' reading (which looks better than it was, as I admit to zoning out with some 'brain-candy' novels, too).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnmxNWCVBqQlf38xhqniDnsMLmrLNTzwGZuYet3YjBNLoG2ylFlnmfuxVrdn3JsOE4YxPuXM57LpFGgTejmsG1JnhN1ZznIhvObGH5F8yqaMq8ipj5KYWkOb8EgoQ_AVMdQVtFLGo2GI/s4032/IMG_20210819_172359802.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnmxNWCVBqQlf38xhqniDnsMLmrLNTzwGZuYet3YjBNLoG2ylFlnmfuxVrdn3JsOE4YxPuXM57LpFGgTejmsG1JnhN1ZznIhvObGH5F8yqaMq8ipj5KYWkOb8EgoQ_AVMdQVtFLGo2GI/w300-h400/IMG_20210819_172359802.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Belvedere museum complex, Vienna<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>In order to snap myself out of the emotional funk caused by reading <i>The Remains of the Day</i> and <i>Villette</i> in succession, I went out of my comfort zone with the first two below, with mixed results.</p><p><b>Talia Hibbert - <i>Get a Life, Chloe Brown</i></b></p><p>After a brush with death, Chloe Brown makes an effort to shake up a life defined by managing chronic pain, and creates a "Get a life" list. Her first achievment is to move into her own flat, where she meets superintendent Redford. He seems her polar opposite, but he may be just the man to help her get through that list. MMD described this as steamy. Honestly, I'd say there is another phrase for this: "Mummy porn" (that's a description, not a judgement on anyone's reading choices). It has an engaging premise and a sweet couple, sandwiched together with erotica. You are now forewarned...</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Tobly McSmith - <i>Stay Gold</i></b> [audiobook]</p><p>In this YA debut, trans teen Pony goes "stealth" (presenting himself as a boy, not trans) in his new high school, and immediately falls for cheerleader Georgia, who is cultivating her popular girl image at the expense of what she really wants from life. Georgia seems to reciprocate his feelings, but what will happen when she finds out the truth? I enjoyed the romance element of this novel, between one person hiding what she is, and another hiding what he is not. I did not agree with the presentation of some of the issues - there is a lot of stereotyping - but it is written for teens, after all, who have a much more black-and-white outlook on life. Despite that, I got very invested in the story, and was in tears at the climax (there are some very dark moments in this book). I think the audio version, with different narrators for the two characters, really brought it to life. (P.S., if you have not guessed from the theme, I'd definitely say it is on the "A" side of YA.)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieclY1mpFto62RcN5eylvkgA3oD-cxQo1n3djbeVnR6YRn0Y4fWcQoqo8Ip4MQnW76WL8bjMe9I4M7AB9swHD7ZwxsyBbR8oWsxXveKijfGEgYFIPi2KDLEluZhIt5-egHHsFW9-PrvDg/s475/Queenie+malone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="304" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieclY1mpFto62RcN5eylvkgA3oD-cxQo1n3djbeVnR6YRn0Y4fWcQoqo8Ip4MQnW76WL8bjMe9I4M7AB9swHD7ZwxsyBbR8oWsxXveKijfGEgYFIPi2KDLEluZhIt5-egHHsFW9-PrvDg/w256-h400/Queenie+malone.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><p><b>Ruth Hogan - <i>Queenie Malone's Paradise Hotel</i></b></p><p>Another Hogan novel with quirky characters and a positive outlook on difficult aspects of life. Tilda leads a solitary existence, isolated by her ability to interact with the dead, and a childhood tauma she does not understand. When she returns to Brighton to sort out her late mother's flat, she discovers a circle of (live and dead) people who help her to uncover family secrets and venture into the world of the living once more. I really enjoyed this, as with Hogan's other novels.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Julie Berry - <i>Lovely War</i></b></p><p>I gave each of my daughters a copy of this as an Epiphany present a couple of years ago, but neither read it (guess I need better recommendations for YA), so I eventually took it back from one of them - and I, at least, enjoyed it. It's based on one of the Aphrodite and Hephaestus myths: when Hephaestus captures his wife and Ares <i>in flagrante</i>, Aphrodite defends herself (but not to the end you think) by proving that love is the greatest power of all, with the story of two World War I couples, a British pair who met only a week before deployment, and a Harlem musician and Belgian refugee who find that music transcends all boundaries. While for me, it had the same lack of nuance as the YA novel above (all the 'good' white characters are somehow completely non-racist - in 1916?), the romances were compelling, and the writing often deeply affective. But it made me realise that I need to re-read mythology, as I've forgotten many of the stories I used to know by heart.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1xMv6Tiy1S8tF3zID0_LBygOxhSC0Mzok6s5BqVcxhM6YSEHJ7bk0tozi-nXArkCn30DtYYKC4sRoPqWESwQI0GIZUSecmEgl4JHNrnhnsIDInBNbl5CEyinqd1idv6_hjTkzKJtkEo/s293/Joanna.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="184" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1xMv6Tiy1S8tF3zID0_LBygOxhSC0Mzok6s5BqVcxhM6YSEHJ7bk0tozi-nXArkCn30DtYYKC4sRoPqWESwQI0GIZUSecmEgl4JHNrnhnsIDInBNbl5CEyinqd1idv6_hjTkzKJtkEo/w251-h400/Joanna.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><br /><p><b>Maggi Andersen<i> - Introducing Miss Joanna</i></b></p><p>Another Regency novella from my critique group partner (aside: how do some people write several books a year?). Newly minted heiress Joanna comes to London for the season, and meets the handsome Baron Reade, who is vehemently opposed to getting married. But he is also investigating a white slave trade ring on behalf of the Crown, and Joanna is pulled dangerously close to the investigation. Maggi dishes up her usual irresistible mix of attraction, love and danger in this new <i>Once a Wallflower </i>series.</p><p>I hope you had some good summer reading. I look forward to gathering some recommendations for the autumn from your linkups!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-66616995199304062542021-07-15T14:40:00.002+02:002021-07-15T14:40:45.943+02:00QuickLit July 2020<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-july-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual. In retrospect, it is quite clear why I ended this past month with no palpable desire about what to read next - I must have drained all my emotional reading resources with these two titles.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIp2c9fOg7l-_QWPxXIHwNT_MWIyyHCL4hxwRpsHo5cz9nyq9HkogbZsM3gexbhj2h66cN_2RVyDC-_mXFe8cJPZ10zHqNzO5gLikhEkUUSad2cHhpb6MDBSyQdjGFkoG6w0tW_D37D6g/s387/Remains_of_the_day.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="258" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIp2c9fOg7l-_QWPxXIHwNT_MWIyyHCL4hxwRpsHo5cz9nyq9HkogbZsM3gexbhj2h66cN_2RVyDC-_mXFe8cJPZ10zHqNzO5gLikhEkUUSad2cHhpb6MDBSyQdjGFkoG6w0tW_D37D6g/w266-h400/Remains_of_the_day.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: http://www.impawards.com/1993/remains_of_the_day.html</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Kazuo Ishiguro - <i>The Remains of the Day</i></b></p><p>I gave Ishiguro another go, even though I hated the ending of <i>The Buried Giant</i>. In this Booker Prize novel set in the 1950s, an aging butler takes a road trip to visit a former housekeeper, and along the way, reminisces about a lifetime devoted to the service of Lord Darlington. Beautiful, restrained prose makes this story of lost causes and lost love all the more bittersweet. And, thank goodness, a glimmer of positivity at the end. I've never seen the film adaptation, but reading this, I can imagine that Emma Thompson was perfect as the housekeeper.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Charlotte Brontë - <i>Villette</i></b></p><p>Most of the month was taken up with re-reading <i>Villette</i>. I'd only read it once, decades ago, and pretty much just recalled the end. Wow. Its effect crept up on me gradually, but by the end I wanted to throw around clichés such as<i> tour de force</i> and <i>masterpiece of psychological drama</i>. Cast on her own devices, Lucy Snowe follows a whim and travels to Villette (a fictional Belgian town), where she finds work as a nanny and then English teacher at Madame Beck's school. Lucy occupies the invisible position of a working middle class woman. 'I am a cypher,' she says, and the tension in the story comes from the way she is labelled by others (passive, uncontroversial) and the passionate, opinionated person she is within. She is so used to hiding, that she even conceals facts from the readers at times, sometimes drawing us in, sometimes pushing us away. I was pretty exhausted by the time I finished it. <i>Jane Eyre</i> will always have my heart, but <i>Villette</i> has my respect.</p><p>And has anyone else read and re-read that penultimate paragraph, trying to will yourself into discovering a different ending?</p><p>I'll pad out this post with a favourite I bought for my son recently:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1oxAzu39Zxv12cKAHHnuTDdrBGqdyrVgAeJtNwZvxikeUThS4RwVu-765ZZ6rf68E4TO6ur-mxt6X6zGeoJwK_G-6XTyqy9J64oab_ilMkXM2CGFmsSDZmHQDB3TY0T8O5Etp4LWkQw/s757/Dinosaur+lady.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1oxAzu39Zxv12cKAHHnuTDdrBGqdyrVgAeJtNwZvxikeUThS4RwVu-765ZZ6rf68E4TO6ur-mxt6X6zGeoJwK_G-6XTyqy9J64oab_ilMkXM2CGFmsSDZmHQDB3TY0T8O5Etp4LWkQw/w318-h400/Dinosaur+lady.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Linda Skeer - Dinosaur Lady: The Daring Discoveries of Mary Anning, the First Paleontologist</b></p><p>I spent much of my childhood on the Jurassic coast, so I've been fascinated by Mary Anning for decades. This is a colourful introduction to the fossil-hunting Dorset girl who relied on her own skills, studies and deductions to discover new species, and is arguably one of the founders of paleontology, even though, as a lower-class woman, she was often slighted by the men who came to rely on her expertise.</p><p>Looking forward to reading your reviews! Have you read a book that just exhausted you? Any recommendations to bounce back?</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-81011011539582318742021-07-08T10:50:00.000+02:002021-07-08T10:50:09.452+02:00Blood in Bled<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJ-wCdwuzkE95Q5KkHfXNvuvmuTef2L-tyW2GGIa_oI_Mp60et8SHrlK7P-i8snzi5p3nZEpCNfmelB3N_yGTTIb1st16hQ22BVUKqtH-rWiOJQQc5poFoCKH0dHt6OfoIDcme44eP2M/s1296/Bled+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJ-wCdwuzkE95Q5KkHfXNvuvmuTef2L-tyW2GGIa_oI_Mp60et8SHrlK7P-i8snzi5p3nZEpCNfmelB3N_yGTTIb1st16hQ22BVUKqtH-rWiOJQQc5poFoCKH0dHt6OfoIDcme44eP2M/w296-h400/Bled+1.jpg" width="296" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It was time for a short break between two big events - my husband finishing edits of a textbook for Cambridge University Press (<i>Graph Theory</i> - I know you're rushing to preorder it right now), and the 8th European Congress of Mathematics, for which we are both committee members. The rest of Slovenia was heading south for our region, so we went north to the area around Bled.</p><p>First stop, Radovljica (Rad-OW-leet-za). We visited the bee museum in this little town about a dozen years ago, and it was apparently such a seminal event that neither of our older children could recall the trip. With the museum renovated, and several years of beekeeping now under his belt, Ted wanted to revisit. Plus, we have a new British friend who retired to this region, so it was a chance to spend some time together.</p><p>After a little satnav trauma due to closed roads in Radovljica, we met up with Chloe, who conducted us to the old town and her favourite restaurant, Lectar, where she was greeted with hugs by the staff. A consequence of Covid is that their large staff has been reduced, and the family members are playing many different roles. Yet, we had personal service and a wonderful experience.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXKp8BUMwZ91AmrQpuGFgLZMjI_2osoABxLcfvVShsP_36H6L97Swn7xREuiEPdhAbcnZ0BIXmLhC-ajn7qabvXMUQK0nlyVfJrRDQwxKA8AiynPM0eu_xHjNhV9UR49eJcKfDt4ejL0/s4032/IMG_20210611_132600033.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXKp8BUMwZ91AmrQpuGFgLZMjI_2osoABxLcfvVShsP_36H6L97Swn7xREuiEPdhAbcnZ0BIXmLhC-ajn7qabvXMUQK0nlyVfJrRDQwxKA8AiynPM0eu_xHjNhV9UR49eJcKfDt4ejL0/w300-h400/IMG_20210611_132600033.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We had lunch in the courtyard looking down across the hills - and a pretty good lunch it was, beginning with an aperitif distilled from 15 herbs by the matriarch of the business. I am not a fan of spirits at all, but this was truly delicious. Home-brewed elderflower cordial complemented the main course. For me buckwheat pasta stuffed with what they call "young cheese", sort of a ricotta, with a mushroom sauce made from locally grown mushrooms. Alcuin made good inroads into beef noodle soup, and Ted had goulash. No, I didn't take a photo of my meal. Part way through, our waiter evolved into a musician and joined the restaurant owner to entertain us with a polka and traditional music. </p><p><br /></p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFFltEFxKib5J8lZUCFNJ93NO4V3kG0qmeSrdNrbVG0SwALONxl6Pbch0-GQmZa4feO8H3GU4boYhP0Cssf26q4nKIjNCd1Zt2eJ-8tWB8-YVqRmrL37lRq7r1uyV0hV-1DhpiCii_V8/s4032/IMG_20210708_101032669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFFltEFxKib5J8lZUCFNJ93NO4V3kG0qmeSrdNrbVG0SwALONxl6Pbch0-GQmZa4feO8H3GU4boYhP0Cssf26q4nKIjNCd1Zt2eJ-8tWB8-YVqRmrL37lRq7r1uyV0hV-1DhpiCii_V8/w300-h400/IMG_20210708_101032669.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's our gingerbread that made it home - more on that below...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">After lunch, we went down to the basement and their gingerbread kitchen/museum, where they make the traditional 'lect' honeybread or gingerbread ornaments. Our waiter changed hats again to give us a little historical and practical presentation. Apparently, the tradition dates from the late middle ages - the sentiment, we were told, is that the iced gingerbread represents love that will last forever, decorating your home, or within your heart if you eat it. A different take on all-consuming love. Mindful of Covid-19 losses, we cheerfully went overboard and bought a bagful.</span></div><p>On our way out, we were stopped by the staff for one more serenade in Chloe's honour - a lively rendition of 'Ain't No Cure for the Summertime Blues' with electric guitar and bass.</p><p>Second on the list for Radovljica was the bee, or apicultural, museum, which I think had moved from the last time we were there. It's upstairs in the town hall, along with the municipal museum. The exhibits are lively and well-presented, in Slovene and English, with a mix of information on the lives and ecology of bees, and the history of beekeeping and the beekeeping industry in Slovenia. Did you know that the Slovenian Carniolan bee is prized across the world for its docile nature? We actually had this breed in our hives in Mississippi! Slovenia is also famous for its painted beehive panels (see the gingerbread one above), and of course the museum has a good collection of these, along with the totem-like wooden figures carved to protect the hives. Also fascinating are the teeny-tiny bee cages for transporting queens.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoB3Cf5qEjknN7WIqBgiMkbjI6x9iVmi_0EsmPw-Sparuv7-OgPle_knoSQjdwc-nUXDCBfsiIIuV0h_0r3nUOb1vr3XZWWkPTt17kmtapf7PwbfVwusWvJjO8DW8f0PPm1IUFRwTomOo/s4032/IMG_20210611_141739093.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoB3Cf5qEjknN7WIqBgiMkbjI6x9iVmi_0EsmPw-Sparuv7-OgPle_knoSQjdwc-nUXDCBfsiIIuV0h_0r3nUOb1vr3XZWWkPTt17kmtapf7PwbfVwusWvJjO8DW8f0PPm1IUFRwTomOo/w300-h400/IMG_20210611_141739093.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Also of interest to me, tying in with our trip to Milan, I learned the legend that, while in his cradle, Saint Ambrose was visited by a swarm of bees who settled on his face without stinging him, leaving only a drop of honey on his lips, a sign of his later gift for smooth talking. Perhaps that explains how he intimidated the Emperor Theodosius. 'Ambrosia', as well as being the food of the gods, is the word for the mixture of nectar and pollen fed by worker bees to the larvae.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYaBiT5LbzK-VD4xU8VCAY4U5hXPT8bdKcTFHn-NOOKlA6AiIPNsVprWXDPscDHtOAWwoTDsAMWAxmJUXlnFXN7r6E_rz20XWs_-IOqV55L3CPzHVKN4ORe7lCdv82pWrolNb_vsdy-4/s4032/IMG_20210611_140938365.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYaBiT5LbzK-VD4xU8VCAY4U5hXPT8bdKcTFHn-NOOKlA6AiIPNsVprWXDPscDHtOAWwoTDsAMWAxmJUXlnFXN7r6E_rz20XWs_-IOqV55L3CPzHVKN4ORe7lCdv82pWrolNb_vsdy-4/w300-h400/IMG_20210611_140938365.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> The other reason for our visiting in early summer is that there's an observation hive in the museum, with a glass tunnel for the bees to go in and out. It's surprising to see the swarm (high) above your head as you enter! Another friend of Chloe's had worked on painting some of the bee hive panels for the museum.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Alcuin got a little bored after a while - but I think partly he was tired, and partly he wanted to get out and have an ice cream. I would not fault the museum for his ennui; there's a good mix of media and hands-on exhibits to entertain younger visitors. Eventually he got his wish, and we took ice cream to a beautiful lookout spot across the Sava River valley and Julian alps, which you reach by going down the street alongside the pharmacy and alchemy museum.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">And that was just our literal and metaphorical taste of Radovljica. The tiny and pretty old town square is packed with several museums, an art gallery, and a newly opening studio of a local ceramicist to name only the few points I saw. I definitely plan to come back again. Maybe soon, as it's quiet without the tourists. It would make a good day trip if you are in Bled or Ljubljana and want to get away from these more touristy places. I also decided that if we turned up again, we should have badges with "Friends of Chloe" emblazoned on them.</span></div><p>Off to find our AirBnB next, in, Selo pri Bled, warned in advance by Chloe that the roads were narrow, and of course, uphill. At least there was only one road through the town, so finding the Airbnb was easy (review below). We were greeted by the American half of a young American-Slovene couple (you find us English-speaking people in the oddest places!). </p><p>Middle child took a bite of gingerbread and pronounced it rock hard, so I gave Alcuin a glass of milk to devour his - I guess love is fleeting for the young. Only afterwards did I have the curiosity to check the label, to find that it stated, 'Not a food item. Made from non harmful natural ingredients.' Oops.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlB0iIhT9yJT0a0aHhGPCG1yuauQhRHQ2ukXm100onmCxl80BrhhBL5NTVaaFbAKy1JqKTgyWuh9WDK1-7Fw1yx8JmcM1IVxrlUU5X8FX2nYfMVyyJSsNmEtzYJ7unNVkM6RC3qvC2CU/s4032/IMG_20210611_194219646.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlB0iIhT9yJT0a0aHhGPCG1yuauQhRHQ2ukXm100onmCxl80BrhhBL5NTVaaFbAKy1JqKTgyWuh9WDK1-7Fw1yx8JmcM1IVxrlUU5X8FX2nYfMVyyJSsNmEtzYJ7unNVkM6RC3qvC2CU/w300-h400/IMG_20210611_194219646.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>After down time, we felt we should make something of the evening while waiting to see if Alcuin was going to vomit from his 'non-harmful' gingerbread, and took the short walk down to the Sava Bohinjka river. The village was quiet and beautiful, but I imagine it would be swarming with visitors in a normal summer, as basically every house seemed to offer holiday accommodation. Being summer, the glacial melt had turned the water a beautiful teal blue. And it was ice cold, at least according to our children. A lovely end to a fun day.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Bled</b></p><p>If you talk to anyone that knows about Slovenia, the chances are, they will mention Bled, which is perhaps the best known tourist resort. Nestled among the Julian alps, it boasts an iconic glacial lake, complete with a tiny island topped with a church. So, as we are not typical tourists, we made a lightning strike on the city the next day, for a lake trip and lunch. With the combination of a warm day, a young child, and a bad shoulder (Ted), we decided to pay extra to be rowed across to the island. Once there, our frugal natures came back to haunt us, and we decided not to fork out the 12 euros apiece to go into the church and ring the bell (a tourist tradition). Ted and Blue had already done this, and I wasn't going to pay up for Alcuin to spend five minutes in there before demanding to get an ice cream. Perhaps this was the moment we were doomed to be struck down for not supporting God's house. </p><p>The exact version of what happened next differs depending on which family member you ask, but if anyone else wants their say, they can get their own blog. After (pretty good) ice creams in lieu of the church visit, we decided to walk around the tiny island before it was time to meet the boat again. The path runs along the bottom of a steep hill, and of course Alcuin kept clambering up despite my continued warnings that it was dangerous. </p><p>When the rest of the family got involved in spotting giant carp, I separated from them to complete the circuit (which was honestly about 5 minutes). I rejoined them just in time to discover Alcuin sitting up on the slope, and screaming. The boat was about to leave, and, yes, admittedly, we parents started fussing at him to come down by himself. He wasn't budging. 'There's blood!' he yelled. We old folks let the sibling leap to the rescue, and together we persuaded a screaming child to let us wash out the wound, which looked, indeed, to be a bad scratch from a thorn or something. Of course we had no plasters, and he wouldn't listen to orders to clamp down on a tissue, so it was a fraught trip back.</p><p>Back on shore, Ted headed off for first aid supplies while I checked Alcuin's hand again. 'That was a bad thorn scratch,' I said. 'Oh no,' he said, 'it was sharp metal.' Cue retroactive heart attack and extra pouring on of water. Thank goodness, his vaccination record had been checked a couple of weeks before and we knew he was up to date on tetanus. Ted returned with two boxes of plasters so that his highness could have his pick. Was food poisoning or blood poisoning going to carry him off? The trip was getting interesting.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Vintgar Gorge</b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gbjYEoWl3xtDyIPvXcWaXiGQvVMik_hhgk_XztCFcwnSxTAQeLh0PtDSpudwRFfKBmQmQgwxhNaiYziMIVQ7x9jC3t48vS-mNCjr5BAYRRovszIoeBhYzYVdVJ_ITSzsCKTfsQ6hBi8/s4032/IMG_20210612_151110679.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gbjYEoWl3xtDyIPvXcWaXiGQvVMik_hhgk_XztCFcwnSxTAQeLh0PtDSpudwRFfKBmQmQgwxhNaiYziMIVQ7x9jC3t48vS-mNCjr5BAYRRovszIoeBhYzYVdVJ_ITSzsCKTfsQ6hBi8/w300-h400/IMG_20210612_151110679.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p>Once again, the satnav came up trumps - in taking us down the tiny road as opposed to along the motorway. But hurrah, we got to the gorge, where the Radovna river cuts its way through the hills. I find this a little mind-boggling, and probably a stretch of the truth, but the literature claims that the gorge was undiscovered until 1891. Now, there is a walkway and bridges covering a 1600 metre, currently one-way, hike. Pacified with a makeshift sling for his injured hand, Alcuin was ready to go.</p><p>If you ever studied late eighteenth century literature, you'll be familiar with the popularity of the "sublime" - the quality, especially of a natural phenomenon, that produces overwhelming emotions, often tinged with fear as well as awe. Well, this would have had those poets drooling because it was, indeed, sublime. Down inside the steep V of the gorge, skirting the sheer outcrops of rock, brushing past swathes of trees and wildflowers that had made a hold on the rock face, the deafening backdrop of surging water, whitewater foaming over the jagged river bed or pausing here and there in a glacial blue pool carved out in a corner of the ravine. The noise got too much for Alcuin at times, but he was also determined to parade along in his sling, so his sibling had to literally lend a hand to block an ear. At points you could even feel the cold air pushing up from the water's surface.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQOuJXEGtY1tf2Z1ZnkeWWt-0s3y9jGK7KcxvDkA0qNgDU7ccNQxc5bG6CBW_pSsqEwcvQNazCdYRIrrx9kzNkQhp05S1e1BAwJ8guS8Bb0Jw0P5q5MlBYktB719k4MC4hU7zVdEs8K8/s4032/IMG_20210612_151450568_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQOuJXEGtY1tf2Z1ZnkeWWt-0s3y9jGK7KcxvDkA0qNgDU7ccNQxc5bG6CBW_pSsqEwcvQNazCdYRIrrx9kzNkQhp05S1e1BAwJ8guS8Bb0Jw0P5q5MlBYktB719k4MC4hU7zVdEs8K8/w300-h400/IMG_20210612_151450568_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Of course, Alcuin eventually started up with the "When are we going to get back to the car?" questions, which I evaded. Not the time to tell him that he wasn't going to magically end up back in the car park at the other end. </p><p>I don't usually fall prey to tourist traps, but the cafe at the end of the gorge was more than welcome, and necessary before the second half of the hike. And Blue and I agreed that by the end we were actually zoning out amid the onslaught of impressiveness. </p><p>There was a shorter (45 minute) and longer (hour or so) route back to the car. The shorter route began with 200 steps and warnings not to go near the edge, beware of falling rocks, etc., and the longer one promised good views, so, with the earlier bloodbath in mind, we opted for the longer route. If you are tired out, and not frugal, you could climb the steps and get a taxi back to the car park for about 7 euros per person.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPYcE_vG2YUI3SEkuww7VPVbR2Z2ARmB6MARKWgCvFtzd56c9RmCOz9AnGA0emrLfLz56b-bR6sktBt4qDhEztg5qpzBJXCjZsq2DLpaxJ6PJCBxQFYwDBPlYuw4P9JMAQ8LVFYOzkGVE/s4032/IMG_20210612_171549304_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPYcE_vG2YUI3SEkuww7VPVbR2Z2ARmB6MARKWgCvFtzd56c9RmCOz9AnGA0emrLfLz56b-bR6sktBt4qDhEztg5qpzBJXCjZsq2DLpaxJ6PJCBxQFYwDBPlYuw4P9JMAQ8LVFYOzkGVE/w300-h400/IMG_20210612_171549304_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Of course, we still had to climb out of the gorge, so the trail began with an uphill path through forest to the church of Saint Katerina in Hom. Alcuin led the way at first, fortified by a PJ Masks ice cream of dubious blue hue, but he and I were soon lagging behind, reminding me once again that I'll never climb Mount Triglav. We turned from woods into the countryside at the church, and yes, the views were indeed impressive, looking down across the villages and up into the Julian Alps. Apparently it was also a good vantage point to spot invading Turks, as the church bell was an early warning system.</p><p>Alcuin demonstrated that he had not learned his lesson at Bled by insisting on walking the tiny track further up the slope, and of course took a tumble. Luckily the thick and soft ferns stopped him rolling all the way down the hillside.</p><p>It took way more than an hour, and quite a bit of carrying Alcuin on our backs, but we made it round to the beginning. All in all, we were more than four hours, so I'd say he was a trooper. This time, Ted figured out how to drive back via the motorway, only to be foiled by a diversion due, I think, to a fire we saw from the hill top. We fell back into the apartment early evening, tired out but feeling virtuous.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Dino Park</b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtshtC9MxFoa5BZ9038t3zfury1iWdokot7EaETY9li2jiN0PAqqzzP8dwdcKuIkxd3m6kweX6re0qz22JhhiRRyysDSKCkoqabrOBElMhKGGYE6QvAHnCBJy3hc4xtl4tl-XkFiCRkg/s4032/IMG_20210613_111149332.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtshtC9MxFoa5BZ9038t3zfury1iWdokot7EaETY9li2jiN0PAqqzzP8dwdcKuIkxd3m6kweX6re0qz22JhhiRRyysDSKCkoqabrOBElMhKGGYE6QvAHnCBJy3hc4xtl4tl-XkFiCRkg/w300-h400/IMG_20210613_111149332.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p>Sunday morning, as a reward for going along with our plans, and for still being alive, we took Alcuin to Dino Park on the way home. Used to post-Covid, sparsely attended tourist attractions, it was a shock to see the queue of parents and small children and the cars piling up along the roadside. Alcuin was beside himself with excitement which, of course, burned out in less than 30 minutes. Thank goodness we got a discount on entry. The models are fun, with informative signs in Slovenian and English. But for some reason, there are other, random, prehistoric and early-history exhibits stuck in. It was like, 'Hey, we've got a space over here, let's put in something else. What's really old? Stonehenge, everyone loves Stonehenge. And what about some of those giant heads from Easter Island?'</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4HCiwP4up_JhvROBZAvH_V89iWz-XpdEfClLUAEKeoBtH_hULVMKK0dBffCdgE9Gef8OaBWWqAaMnJw30MvHOyDBS1siyeyNISNNdZBa6H6jNgCTkjAlSdkkOm0z5wFw7YZ89poLgS3A/s4032/IMG_20210613_112043969_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4HCiwP4up_JhvROBZAvH_V89iWz-XpdEfClLUAEKeoBtH_hULVMKK0dBffCdgE9Gef8OaBWWqAaMnJw30MvHOyDBS1siyeyNISNNdZBa6H6jNgCTkjAlSdkkOm0z5wFw7YZ89poLgS3A/w300-h400/IMG_20210613_112043969_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Where in history are we now?"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Of course, there is a park and cafe at the end, and Alcuin was keen to queue up for the zipline, even with one hand encased in plasters. Away he whizzed, hitting the end with such force he was flung off. Sometimes I feel that little boys should come with a warning attached. </p><p>A last hurrah was stopping at Ljubljana on the way back for lunch. I want to give a shout out to the restaurant, Namaste, because the waitress remembered that she had forgotten to add a garlic nan to our take away order the previous week, and, of course, made it up to us. (Yes, we happened to be there last week, too. Maybe we like curry a lot.)</p><p>That evening, I asked Alcuin what his favourite part of the trip was, and he declared, "Giant carp, Dino Park and curry!" <i>And staying alive</i>, I silently added.</p><p>And P.S., the cut healed quickly and cleanly in a few days, but he certainly milked it. Until the following weekend, when he stepped on a bee...</p><p><b>Touristy stuff</b></p><p>Here's the <a href="https://www.radolca.si/en" target="_blank">official site</a> for Radovljica, the <a href="https://mro.si/en/" target="_blank">Museum of Apiculture</a>, and <a href="http://www.lectar.com/_en/index.html" target="_blank">Lectar</a> restaurant, hotel, and gingerbread museum. Bled sites are ubiquitous, but <a href="https://www.bled.si/en/" target="_blank">here</a> is the official portal. The lake is more beautiful in the summer, according to middle child who went with their sister a couple of winters ago. The website for Vintgar Gorge, part of Triglav National Park is <a href="https://vintgar.si/?lang=en" target="_blank">here</a>. The route is well signposted and it has a car park. If you have to go, <a href="https://dinopark.si/home" target="_blank">here</a> is the site for Dino Park. I'd avoid a weekend, or arrive early, but it's a good tool for bribing a younger child.</p><p><b>Airbnb review. </b>We stayed in the <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/3710082?source_impression_id=p3_1624791454_JMRW5ZXbX0GtVvLg&guests=1&adults=1" target="_blank">Red Apartment</a> in Apartmaji manglc, Selo pri Bled. It had two bedrooms (twin and bunk beds) plus a sofa bed. Plenty of room for a short stay. It was clean, bright and modern, and had the three main things I like in an Airbnb - plenty of towels and bedding, and a well-stocked kitchen - plus an essential washing machine. The hosts were friendly and easy to get hold of. It's well placed for several hikes, and a shortish trek (twenty minutes for adult walkers) into Bled if you want to leave the car where it is. The village itself is quiet and pretty, but has no businesses apart from tourist accommodation, which seems to be largely the whole village. We would stay there again, but I would plan for less driving, unless tiny country roads are your thing.</p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-32306534531416808242021-06-14T14:40:00.002+02:002021-06-17T10:49:22.920+02:00QuickLit June 2021<p><b> </b>Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-june-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual for quick reviews.<b> </b>Someone seems to have flipped the switch from spring to summer here on the Slovenian coast. Sun cream (sunscreen to US readers - don't ask why the British still use an old-fashioned word!), sea bathing and gelato is the order of the day, plus hiding indoors to read when it's too hot. Here's my reading from last month:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_m_tYCCwqJ3m5vQ7eolabS9V9SXbkNiEdJUhVCIr37SYxF87IvHV0cq1SPzYwwwu5f5Dk7HjsXs3GKxMkJSUgNEkaNVNHyn9HeAjLT5_kRXqPbIi3hCBK9kjIhpFcrA_aa80zIWRrG74/s2048/Daisy+Jones.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1351" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_m_tYCCwqJ3m5vQ7eolabS9V9SXbkNiEdJUhVCIr37SYxF87IvHV0cq1SPzYwwwu5f5Dk7HjsXs3GKxMkJSUgNEkaNVNHyn9HeAjLT5_kRXqPbIi3hCBK9kjIhpFcrA_aa80zIWRrG74/w264-h400/Daisy+Jones.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Taylor Jenkins Reid - <i>Daisy Jones and the Six</i></b></p><p>This is going to be one of my best reads of the year. I love rock music and the whole rock scene from the late 60s/early 70s, and Reid brought it to life so vividly for me, I felt I was reading nonfiction. Told in interview-style as an investigative journalism piece, it explores how Daisy Jones and the group The Six got together, rocketed to fame - and broke up just as they reached stardom. Part of the hook is figuring out whose version you are going to believe, and to what extent. I've been recommending it to anyone I know who shares my love of that music genre.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Ruth Saberton - <i>The Locket</i></b></p><p>A dual timeline story that revisits characters from <i>The Letter </i>(review <a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2020/07/quick-lit-july-2020.html" target="_blank">here</a>)<i>,</i> which I really enjoyed. I thought this was okay, nothing amazing, perhaps because it is very similar to the first. Looking for something to occupy her mind while her son serves in Afghanistan, Alison finally begins sorting through her mother's belongings, and brings to light a hidden WWI love story between her upper class great grandmother and a photographer.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1YQlM0NwF0qqd38FQET1Acut_YNTTMeIJYGb_BUEw-Wm9bbP_NNJmvT2Sl28tauMsJNmdpi3JJqSFBEOwOOJSWwEqA3h-phkL26ISAzi6C-DoTFbTMjVNDw6xRTAs5C0vFp0VR0thCQ/s2048/art+of+repair.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1601" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1YQlM0NwF0qqd38FQET1Acut_YNTTMeIJYGb_BUEw-Wm9bbP_NNJmvT2Sl28tauMsJNmdpi3JJqSFBEOwOOJSWwEqA3h-phkL26ISAzi6C-DoTFbTMjVNDw6xRTAs5C0vFp0VR0thCQ/w313-h400/art+of+repair.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Martin's whimsical illustrations for <i>The Art of Repair</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Molly Martin - <i>The Art of Repair</i></b></p><p>The title is a play on words - this is a little book both about how to repair clothes, and a paean to it as an act of love, peppered with stories of rescuing beloved clothes (or toys). I devoured it in an evening, but am still returning to it over and over again. If you are looking for a comprehensive manual, you'll be disappointed, as Martin uses a very simple approach with just 6 basic stitches, but if you want something more philosophical and whimsical, you might check it out.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Charlotte Bronte - <i>The Professor</i></b></p><p>This was unpublished in Charlotte's lifetime, and she largely rewrote this early novel into <i>Villette</i>. She made a wise choice - this first novel quite clearly works out the homesickness and cultural shock she (and Emily) endured during their years abroad as teachers/pupils more than it is crafted as a great novel. Rejecting, and rejected by, his family, William Crimsworth takes a position as a professor in Brussels, where his English Protestant sensibilities suffer amid Catholic culture, until he meets the (Protestant) woman who proves a fit companion. Honestly, it was hard to sympathise with someone who, from a modern viewpoint, is a misogynist and bigot. But now I only have <i>Villette</i> to go and I have (re)read all of Charlotte's novels this year.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrxLLZnsSJr3UAxL22HSTDEHQeKyujzK7EqS3aeHRm9yW_gqyfRyycHVrZgC9rp3Oztr1Y0nFjB8dKd87LC5YxOahW0-hk4wQ0XJAOWehUbDmfOaJu3gBiLZ0JvJjxgB6JNN7awmhs60/s1152/Never-Dance-with-a-Marquess-web-768x1152.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrxLLZnsSJr3UAxL22HSTDEHQeKyujzK7EqS3aeHRm9yW_gqyfRyycHVrZgC9rp3Oztr1Y0nFjB8dKd87LC5YxOahW0-hk4wQ0XJAOWehUbDmfOaJu3gBiLZ0JvJjxgB6JNN7awmhs60/w266-h400/Never-Dance-with-a-Marquess-web-768x1152.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Maggi Andersen - <i>Never Dance with a Marquess</i></b></p><p>This is the latest in Maggi's 'Never' romance series. Nicholas is determined to abide by the wishes of his late mentor and friend, Max, to become the guardian of his two younger children, and see the elder daughter, Carrie, safely through her London Season and into the arms of a suitable husband. But Carrie does not care for the marriage mart when she has discovered the right man under her nose. Can she break through the defenses Nicholas has erected after a youthful tragedy, and, together, can they protect her siblings from Max's ruthless brother? Maggi (a member of my critique group) has perfected the art of the romantic novella, so if you want a perfectly-sized romantic treat, I recommend this and any of her Regency books. Maggi also kindly reviewed my novel on her <a href="https://maggiandersen.blogspot.com/2021/06/susan-cook-has-wonderful-new-book.html" target="_blank">blog</a> recently.</p><p>I'm hoping that I won't be around for next month because PM Boris will finally have let me get into the UK without quarantine. We shall see...</p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-19011101157510151082021-06-10T11:50:00.001+02:002021-06-17T10:50:25.365+02:00A Dorset Summer reviewed by author Maggi Coleman!<p> US Today best-selling author Maggi Andersen has kindly featured <i><a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/p/a-dorset-summer.html" target="_blank">A Dorset Summer</a></i> on her blog. Maggi, a member of my critique group, has forged a very successful 'second career' as a novelist after raising her family. I so admire the focus that brought her plan into fruition! I also love her books, though romance is not the genre I usually turn to, because her characters are immediately engaging, and the plots usually feature a mystery/suspense element.</p><p>You can check out the review on her <a href="https://maggiandersen.blogspot.com/2021/06/susan-cook-has-wonderful-new-book.html" target="_blank">blog</a>, or visit her <a href="https://maggiandersenauthor.com/" target="_blank">website</a> for information on Maggi's own books. Happy reading!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSY2CyZFYqRofHXIgvlw7xbKty_3MpJtw15eCaFHzlFlPxNO2zmbi4IVxL2K55CBC5oLmetnx2Q7uC0fuiQpXInF2lbFHSNsOI2Cy4hfnLgxVJiNOElEmxnpPWMWquDyF6I5w1LpJv_Fw/s1152/Never-Dance-with-a-Marquess-web-768x1152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSY2CyZFYqRofHXIgvlw7xbKty_3MpJtw15eCaFHzlFlPxNO2zmbi4IVxL2K55CBC5oLmetnx2Q7uC0fuiQpXInF2lbFHSNsOI2Cy4hfnLgxVJiNOElEmxnpPWMWquDyF6I5w1LpJv_Fw/w426-h640/Never-Dance-with-a-Marquess-web-768x1152.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggi Andersen's newest Regency novella<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-49735573480572482862021-05-15T14:01:00.002+02:002021-06-17T10:51:15.565+02:00QuickLit May 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-may-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> for the monthly review round up. Reading wise, it was a mix of champagne and cheap plonk for me this month - all enjoyable in its own way. Read on for my literary confessions.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyi0IquZ3TYwl_ESCxeIP2W8hm7YLD71Ux0WD3L8okGLPwrXtV0lgovUpv1hwztkjOQh1YBcZFuotgHypBr_tJGUyl2AKKaehpqJwbzOTAsv4uPl9SOOBWMk0ihKk6qlc3U1qdFDL8CE/s2048/Bront%25C3%25AB_Sisters_by_Patrick_Branwell_Bront%25C3%25AB_restored.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1690" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyi0IquZ3TYwl_ESCxeIP2W8hm7YLD71Ux0WD3L8okGLPwrXtV0lgovUpv1hwztkjOQh1YBcZFuotgHypBr_tJGUyl2AKKaehpqJwbzOTAsv4uPl9SOOBWMk0ihKk6qlc3U1qdFDL8CE/w330-h400/Bront%25C3%25AB_Sisters_by_Patrick_Branwell_Bront%25C3%25AB_restored.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Charlotte Brontë -<i> Shirley</i></b></p><p>Following on from reading <i>Jane Eyre</i> last month, I tackled <i>Shirley</i>. I couldn't remember much of this novel, apart from the fact that it had an industrial background and that the eponymous character was a woman who had been given a man's name (yes, Shirley used to be a man's name). I'm going to have to admit that, while the narrative of this story was engaging, there were long sections that were tedious and moralizing. Some of the disjointedness is deliberate, I think. This is a socially aware novel, set during the times of the Luddite riots, and it throws the conflicting claims and assumptions of the British classes into stark, and not always favourable, relief. I am starting to wonder about Charlotte Brontë's flawed heroes, though - neither Edward Rochester, Robert Moore here, nor Paul Emanuel in <i>Villette</i> are actually commendable, when you think about it.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Nancy Warren - <i>Stockings and Spells, Purls and Potions, Fair Isle and Fortunes</i> (<i>The Vampire Knitting Club</i>, Books 4-6)</b></p><p>After two Victorian novels, and a third lockdown, it was time for some brain candy. Budding witch, Lucy, has inherited an Oxford knitting shop, and a lot of trouble, from her newly undead grandmother. Book 4 was pretty entertaining, with a Christmas market murder linked to a decades-old plagiarism case. Book 5 has a good premise, where a love potion gone awry brings rehearsals of <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i> to life, but it ended up annoying me for its lack of research into Oxbridge college theatrics. In Book 6, Lucy's cousin steps in as the fortune teller at a local summer fete - but her fortunes come true with deadly accuracy. Warren needs a copy editor, but she writes entertaining plots, and I'd buy more if they came on sale, so I suppose she has a winning formula.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Emily Brontë - <i>Wuthering Heights</i></b></p><p><i>Wuthering Heights</i> comes in second after <i>Jane Eyre</i> in the list of novels that captured my teenage emotions. It's hard to believe the sisters wrote side-by-side, since their style is so different. If you need me to tell you, this is the story-of-all-stories about a couple who cannot live with each other and cannot live without each other, and whose destructive passion brings down the lives of all around them. I think Cathy and Heathcliff top the lists of both the most famous and worst couple in literary history. My most vivid memory of this novel is that I once finished it around midnight in a storm. I won't being doing that again.</p><p>If you are my age, and especially if you are British, this probably popped unbidden into your head at this moment:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-1pMMIe4hb4" width="320" youtube-src-id="-1pMMIe4hb4"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Balli Kaur Jaswal - <i>Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows</i></b></p><p>Nikki takes a job helping widows at her local Sikh temple learn to write in English. However, this marginalised group of women quickly take off in flights of fiction, expressing the passions they are no longer supposed to admit. Soon, suppressed truths emerge that put lives in danger. Be warned: it does contain the erotic stories. I will never think of ghee in the same way again.</p><p>Last but definitely not least, award-winning romantic novelist and my valuable critique partner Maggi Andersen released the second novella in her <i>Never</i> series - <i>Never Dance with a Marquess</i> - on May 13. An ideal escape in this unseasonal weather we all seem to be experiencing! Happy reading!</p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-25043661000468861252021-04-15T14:40:00.001+02:002021-06-17T10:51:51.713+02:00QuickLit April 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-april-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual for quick book reviews. I said I wanted to read more mindfully this year, and I achieved that in March, with a classic that needed close reading, and a long book - then I skimmed something meh while in the throes of a bad cold.</p><p><b>Charlotte Brontë - <i>Jane Eyre</i></b></p><p>I always cite this as my favourite book - but I haven't re-read it in years. It got to the point where I was afraid to, in case it had lost its charm. So, I took the plunge and reader, I was not disappointed. I may see it differently in mid-life than when I first read it as a teenager, but the fierce, loyal, passionate Jane, who places her integrity above all else, will always be my ideal heroine. I wrote a longer piece about re-reading it <a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2021/03/i-am-jane-on-re-reading-jane-eyre.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8F3aDhRgBSG55cQGYGFulGRHfGE5SJbmGeSvgvLQeX0pD3IBF-SdhChApcCbnoIauwYM8Iuoq1-LtZ9vBUC7TuUyPhJ1vcWYv52j0IdTxxHFrToT9n0damY2zoBcsaY-8dxDQpxwEgw/s252/Jane+Eyre+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="189" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8F3aDhRgBSG55cQGYGFulGRHfGE5SJbmGeSvgvLQeX0pD3IBF-SdhChApcCbnoIauwYM8Iuoq1-LtZ9vBUC7TuUyPhJ1vcWYv52j0IdTxxHFrToT9n0damY2zoBcsaY-8dxDQpxwEgw/w300-h400/Jane+Eyre+1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THE Mr Rochester - Timothy Dalton in the BBC series</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Sarah Shoemaker - <i>Mr Rochester</i></b></p><p><i>Jane Eyre</i> prompted me to another re-read. I always think of this as my gateway Modern Mrs Darcy book, as it was the first recommendation I tried from the website. I really enjoyed it the first time I read it, but following straight on from the original did not make as favourable a comparison. It's Dickensian rather than Brontëan in tone, and the parts that don't intersect with the original pulled me in to Rochester's story. However, while I understand Shoemaker's dilemma in dealing with the 'Jane' part of the story, the decision to summarise most of it in reported speech means that we lose the spark of their duelling conversation.</p><p>I'll skip the meh book for a review of the latest chapter book I read with my five (almost six) year-old.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYujyj4lnAM1eBR29kFvxPMCpDUPe57CqbBFFOjtqW5eBpUfIRL-Lpc79tRgk7Q1Ltobdpqz8r90SMYIuwQyxJ5ARmxBKF6FxNyEiKd2T3QFRZ3HDsLGEUStZZTZI-Frs6Rj8RxoW_-o0/s499/notjustawitch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="327" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYujyj4lnAM1eBR29kFvxPMCpDUPe57CqbBFFOjtqW5eBpUfIRL-Lpc79tRgk7Q1Ltobdpqz8r90SMYIuwQyxJ5ARmxBKF6FxNyEiKd2T3QFRZ3HDsLGEUStZZTZI-Frs6Rj8RxoW_-o0/w263-h400/notjustawitch.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><br /><p><b>Eva Ibbotson - <i>Not Just a Witch</i></b></p><p>Back when there was more of an outcry over <i>Harry Potter</i>, I'd often see US bloggers assert, "There's been nothing like this before!", when in fact, from a British point of view, <i>Harry Potter</i> comes from a long lineage of children's fantasy/school stories. In my opinion, the Austro-British Ibbotson is one of the finest authors in this tradition. Her books are imaginative, smart, entertaining, and down-to-earth. Heckie is an animal witch, that is, she can turn people into animals - but she is also a good witch. Following a misunderstanding with her best friend Dora, a stone witch, Heckie moves to Wellbridge, intending to Do Good by transforming wicked people. She recruits local witches and three children, particularly the lonely Daniel, ignored by his professor parents. But a local furrier, Mr Knacksap, finds out about Heckie's power and hatches a plot to deceive her into making him a fortune. </p><p>This book is probably more aimed at middle graders for independent reading. My son loved it and made me read it twice over, though I did gloss over a few comments about human cruelty that I was not sure I wanted him to think about yet. (FYI, my all-time Ibbotson favourite is <i>Which Witch?</i>)</p><p>Any books you have shied away from re-reading? Wishing all reviving Spring or Autumn reads this next month!</p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-82871265648857790732021-03-24T11:40:00.000+01:002021-03-24T11:40:00.413+01:00Koper's hidden sanctuary: Škocjan Nature Reserve<p> This is technically a post of two parts, months apart because of the pandemic.</p><p>To be honest, I never knew about the wetlands reserve on the edge of Koper until a neighbour sang its praises. That is, I had heard the name, but confused it with the park area around the <a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/search/label/Sko%C4%8Djan" target="_blank">Škocjan caves</a>, which is in a different municipality. Ted had heard of it, but never been in all his years coming to Koper. So, confined to our municipalities by lockdown, it seemed a perfect outing.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2XHLX_XIBns0rqW0KqtK0iNNh7EtOyl8FnxbLArwojlY8Vji4VMHOncP82QJEDlwUSc7-owqIoCh2y3EUq1Fo8FLNEIZbRtoXG-Uh3XBC-8Nq_SWyh_RL97NOX5xddcKV72mxH5WyH4/s4032/IMG_20210313_132718630.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2XHLX_XIBns0rqW0KqtK0iNNh7EtOyl8FnxbLArwojlY8Vji4VMHOncP82QJEDlwUSc7-owqIoCh2y3EUq1Fo8FLNEIZbRtoXG-Uh3XBC-8Nq_SWyh_RL97NOX5xddcKV72mxH5WyH4/w300-h400/IMG_20210313_132718630.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signs of spring</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Seemed. The first time, we walked through a sort of annex to the park, then traipsed to the main reserve to find it closed. I was flabbergasted - people can't walk safely in the open air? Then it became a bit of an obsession to follow the lockdown zones and restrictions to see when it would open. In February, we went into the orange zone, and hurrah, the reserve was open - but the first week, Ted had to work all weekend. The second, our son brought a horrible cold back from school and gave it to me. The third - our region was pushed into the red again and the park was closed. Fourth for the win!! </p><p>To backtrack. For reasons I am not sure about, there is a shortish walk near the main shopping centre area of town that is part of the designated reserve, and we visited that back in October 2020. I'd never noticed it, though apparently my teenager knew all about it and had taken her little brother there unbeknownst to us. If you are going for the shopping/nature combo, or only some of the family can stomach shopping, I guess it's a nice outing. The layout is the same as the main walk, including a lookout tower, so I'll save descriptions for below.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUVO-km8mpStqxPIbCRzNTNUXmdCjFAQlvmKlnwmrumM4PqTQ8pZfstyDVHaysDdtNMNbPlpvUUNTxxrdocGtW1kOGXInLlbw55E65rAuo1vNX4UY7BwTTS4EdTcqqAVjb0A8B2tY8Ng/s4032/IMG_20201107_125439448_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUVO-km8mpStqxPIbCRzNTNUXmdCjFAQlvmKlnwmrumM4PqTQ8pZfstyDVHaysDdtNMNbPlpvUUNTxxrdocGtW1kOGXInLlbw55E65rAuo1vNX4UY7BwTTS4EdTcqqAVjb0A8B2tY8Ng/w300-h400/IMG_20201107_125439448_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the short path</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>This past weekend was a coldish spring day in our shady town centre, but it turned out to be bright and sunny out at the reserve. There is a small car park, for maybe 20 or so cars. The visitor centre was, of course, closed. </p><p>Near the entrance is a playground, and animal pen, which had one horse in it, though the reserve usually hosts several horses and native cattle. I suppose they were safely elsewhere for the winter/ Covid situation. The horse was pretty friendly - it gave me a horsey kiss then tried to eat my coat. There is apparently horse riding for children at certain times of the year.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHxUJiCEVCgirf-yuHDTpdfXNcPuVw9PUa062knuLq0pTzlzmix68gyqrDRF5J_iIraImR5To6rwQgFmwuERmgcSKhLlLAy9z4Nw4rhwjZ0kDsNpvaLMYcNURCc_PMDYlJLo3ykuLMtI/s4032/IMG_20210313_130906734.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHxUJiCEVCgirf-yuHDTpdfXNcPuVw9PUa062knuLq0pTzlzmix68gyqrDRF5J_iIraImR5To6rwQgFmwuERmgcSKhLlLAy9z4Nw4rhwjZ0kDsNpvaLMYcNURCc_PMDYlJLo3ykuLMtI/w300-h400/IMG_20210313_130906734.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insect hotel near the entrance to the park</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><p>The wetlands are basically a lagoon, formed over the past century as the island of Koper was gradually joined to the mainland. It has enjoyed protected status since the late 1990s. According to their website, it is at various times home to around 60% of all bird species spotted in Slovenia, a nesting area for dozens of species, and a key stop on migratory routes. Apart from this, it harbours a host of insects and amphibians, and many mammals, small and large, from the Etruscan shrew to roe deer.</p><p>I have to admit, this is not a nature reserve as I am used to it. There is one, gravelled, circular walk around the perimeter, and most of the time you can't actually see over the embankment or through the reeds and rushes to the reserve area. Instead there are lookout points with information at frequent intervals. There is also an enticing observation tower which was still closed because of Covid restrictions. I assume all this is to encourage and protect the wildlife, particularly any nesting or migrating birds. </p><p>(An aside: This is not a complaint about Covid measures in Koper or Slovenia in general, because I know the situation is similar in countries the world over. But why, in a time of health crisis, local and national governments are not prioritising opportunities to boost our physical and mental health, I do not know.)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQrMJucC41KYMswCjrqH5OeXjVwaKSfpNCDkp6nM-GR-j8JGQ4UF7YoybtQWO2gla_PwB1CFzzhWVhA8yBSaLhsngdWEfl9mo-RCyIJXJi-OKym8aH3EkBARD8ASZ3pX4ZNt1iKzsDVk/s4032/IMG_20210313_142001564.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQrMJucC41KYMswCjrqH5OeXjVwaKSfpNCDkp6nM-GR-j8JGQ4UF7YoybtQWO2gla_PwB1CFzzhWVhA8yBSaLhsngdWEfl9mo-RCyIJXJi-OKym8aH3EkBARD8ASZ3pX4ZNt1iKzsDVk/w300-h400/IMG_20210313_142001564.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>It's far from barren, though. The perimeter is bounded by ditches and ponds (freshwater, from river channels), and planted with native species, which are labelled for identification (in Slovene, Italian, English, and Latin for the botanists). In our edge-of-the-Mediterranean climate, tadpoles had already become froglets, and Alcuin had the joy of trying to poke frogs with an endless supply of dried reeds. (Don't worry, we did not let him torment any frog for more than a few moments.) My nature spotting skills are not what they were in my youth, but among the species we identified were fritillary butterflies, damsel flies, coots, reed buntings, little egrets, and swans of course (resident here in Koper, you can even spot them off the coast).</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTMj6KRZbcdUgSndC7N9RQOXbN3Ip_8Iq967cXiHKcQg5oh-OuGbdhOcGDG5UxztsMHw1rKl_Su219erQWt0yDCja2paqI9Meqa8BwwM8p0TCSGh3SK9n-z5ncGb7i4gh2WAvKD01X58/s4032/IMG_20210313_143638090.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTMj6KRZbcdUgSndC7N9RQOXbN3Ip_8Iq967cXiHKcQg5oh-OuGbdhOcGDG5UxztsMHw1rKl_Su219erQWt0yDCja2paqI9Meqa8BwwM8p0TCSGh3SK9n-z5ncGb7i4gh2WAvKD01X58/w400-h300/IMG_20210313_143638090.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The observation stations have clear information (in Slovene, Italian and English), which made the closed visitor centre redundant, at least when a child is in tow. Bright, illustrated field guides, scientific information and children's activities, not to mention welcome benches, invite you to stop and learn. It's strange to look out over the peaceful wetlands and see in the distance the multicoloured walls of shipping containers piled up at the port.</p><p>It took us 1 1/2 - 2 hours to meander around with a small child, during which, the same jogger lapped us five times. I would not go there in the summer - I imagine the lack of shade and probable swarms of mosquitoes would make it miserable, but it was very pleasant on the lion's end of March. We will definitely be back, and I'd like to bring my bird-expert Dad there. Sticks and water are pretty much all a small child needs for an afternoon's entertainment.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5T-0b5kXJqs8GcQdvPUZdMeLkuJpkGtKpx3C4OQQCYm0PYdBvwZbz0gr52KvHfDwx_2wldlis55DM4t1xU3l0HSwxLN1dIVF6OCb4WFKSyuF-D6iATDApUNnmWqoVL02WBO5r2F5pk4/s4032/IMG_20210313_134910733_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5T-0b5kXJqs8GcQdvPUZdMeLkuJpkGtKpx3C4OQQCYm0PYdBvwZbz0gr52KvHfDwx_2wldlis55DM4t1xU3l0HSwxLN1dIVF6OCb4WFKSyuF-D6iATDApUNnmWqoVL02WBO5r2F5pk4/w300-h400/IMG_20210313_134910733_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the port in the background</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><p>Touristy stuff: Here is the <a href="https://www.skocjanski-zatok.org/en/" target="_blank">website</a>, which they seem to keep up to date (and which, yes, I should have consulted the first time we tried to go). If you are feeling very fit, you can take a long walk there from the town centre, which we did the first time, but not the second. The path is all gravel, so I don't know how accessible it would be to wheelchairs.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-12706304539261028692021-03-16T09:44:00.000+01:002021-03-16T09:44:07.204+01:00I am Jane: On Re-reading Jane Eyre<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yJOXdrkCmVw9SmrIgiC8YNzfJKR20a6v9g0BWYaRF97yJE2wfMyN8QmdfUScFxSPCd4sodfsomORhB3F8qcBaq5F4mwlLnvAoFJqCjZQ3TidEjI0IzFlQ085YhLx643qJav-2TKZFx8/s252/Jane+Eyre+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="189" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yJOXdrkCmVw9SmrIgiC8YNzfJKR20a6v9g0BWYaRF97yJE2wfMyN8QmdfUScFxSPCd4sodfsomORhB3F8qcBaq5F4mwlLnvAoFJqCjZQ3TidEjI0IzFlQ085YhLx643qJav-2TKZFx8/w300-h400/Jane+Eyre+1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">'Reader, I
married him.' </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">Four words in English literature that never cease to send a
thrill up my spine (and threaten a tear). I discovered <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jane Eyre</i> around the age of fourteen: I was instantly captured.
Those were simpler days, pre-YA literature, at my all-girls' grammar school.
Our surging adolescent emotions found expression in the Bront</span><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ë</span><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">s and
Georgette Heyer, while a few more daring readers devoured Mills and Boon
novels. I fell in love with Mr Rochester, of course, and would have been off to
France with him in a trice. When the BBC fortuitously put out a Sunday tea-time
serial of the novel, my best friend and I watched it religiously. After the
episode when Jane leaves Mr Rochester, we phoned each other and sobbed down the
line, much, I suspect, to the amusement of our parents, who got to listen in
because of course there was only the one family telephone at that time.
(Timothy Dalton is, by the way, Mr Rochester. No other.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">Fast forward
several decades. I had not re-read Jane Eyre for maybe fifteen to twenty
years, yet I still cite it as my favourite novel. This began to nag at me – I
should pick it up again. But fear held me back. What if, in middle age, it
disappointed? Could I bear to lose those feelings? On the other hand, after a
year of pandemic, what was left to crumble around me? I took the plunge.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZ4vFGg3FZpgFJNnUd-bnGprKeqn5X-IGNsPRARnboAiOxPBPuBMvw5PjIzL06h8h-WjAHmzsE5R7TBLyoyQmvWBwj-3BgOZ7khLh81uMrPOZPe_Dsjwle0MMkJqB97Efrfd2ot_7e54/s1024/Jane+Eyre+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="1024" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZ4vFGg3FZpgFJNnUd-bnGprKeqn5X-IGNsPRARnboAiOxPBPuBMvw5PjIzL06h8h-WjAHmzsE5R7TBLyoyQmvWBwj-3BgOZ7khLh81uMrPOZPe_Dsjwle0MMkJqB97Efrfd2ot_7e54/w400-h268/Jane+Eyre+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">Reader, I was not
disappointed. Jane is still the archetype of every heroine for me. She
possesses a fierce integrity that supports her whatever her outward circumstances,
and she refuses to relinquish it for anything, even the love of another human
being. It's a quality that one cherishes perhaps even more in one's fifties
than teens, when time and the world has buffetted you on the outside, and got
part way under your skin. As an adolescent, I may not have not appreciated the
full import of Jane's refusal to be a man's mistress in the Victorian age, nor
did I understand Mr Rochester's failing of locating his integrity outside
himself (if that's not a tautology), in Jane, but her acute sense of justice
spoke to my own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">But more happened
as I plunged anew into Jane's world. I began to realise, with astonishment, and
not a little shock, that Jane Eyre has been the blueprint for my life. How much
was I drawn to a character that fitted me so perfectly, and how much is her
influence? At this distance, I honestly don't know. As mentioned, the integrity
at the core of her being has always been central to me, a childhood sense of
justice that has not deserted me. On a less elevated level, my idea of romance
has remained Bront</span><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ë</span><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">an: the brooding hero, the seemingly frail but
inwardly strong heroine, gothic situations. And, my standard marriage advice for my daughter is, 'Make sure he doesn't have a mad wife in the attic.'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">On a
disconcerting note, the novel's style has apparently influenced my own. Though
I recalled no specific scenes when writing my own modest novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Dorset Summer</i>, I did reference the
novel a couple of times, since my heroine is a governess. Apparently, that
awakened a subconscious memory, because I can now see several passages that owe
their style or content to Charlotte Bront</span><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ë</span><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">. Incidentally, it makes me wonder whether
Daphne Du Maurier's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rebecca</i>, so
clearly a rewriting of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jane Eyre</i>, is
also a subconscious homage. Du Maurier certainly never admitted it was a
conscious decision.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixL6wj1Qg4kMGymtSX2Es_PsmGs_2c9tZ5AVVb25XbP2I82fwb5AqSdERmokQDxltuG_t1vP_oHEsI4bvvnt0RqukXq0JFKDLx0Sp5Ln-7TXLqoapdeFEPQpZWpPKUKMrUGD4OvStYzjI/s470/Jane+Eyre+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="470" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixL6wj1Qg4kMGymtSX2Es_PsmGs_2c9tZ5AVVb25XbP2I82fwb5AqSdERmokQDxltuG_t1vP_oHEsI4bvvnt0RqukXq0JFKDLx0Sp5Ln-7TXLqoapdeFEPQpZWpPKUKMrUGD4OvStYzjI/w400-h221/Jane+Eyre+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">Further
embarrassing confessions. I married an Edward, although he has always been a
Ted. And, yes, my son's two middle names are Edward St John, but, I swear, St
John is also a name on both sides of my family, and I was honouring a favourite
uncle, not a literary character. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;">Jane Eyre not a
perfect novel. In my older years, I am uncomfortable with the fact that Mr
Rochester must essentially be emasculated in order to learn his lesson. And,
admittedly, some of the dialogue strays too far into Victorian dialectic. But
oh, in these depressing pandemic times, my heart is soaring once again with
Jane.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><em><span style="color: #010101; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Do you think,
because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You
think wrong!–I have as much soul as you,–and full as much heart! And if God had
gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for
you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now
through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;–it
is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the
grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,–as we are!</span></em><span lang="SL" style="mso-ansi-language: SL;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-42067502720780218362021-03-15T09:52:00.001+01:002021-03-15T13:25:22.913+01:00QuickLit March 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-march-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual. Strange to recall that about a year ago, I was feverishly reading Anne's new book, <i>Don't Overthink It</i>. My son and I were set to fly to the UK to visit family in two days' time, and there now seemed every possibility that once there, we might be stuck. The advice in the book helped me think through plans that gave me the confidence to go ahead and enjoy my visit without being overwhelmed by anxiety. </p><p>It may seem small in the scheme of things, but many readers will be looking back over a year of rather different reading lists or reading habits. Dark or emotionally harrowing books have been (mostly) off my list. On the other hand, finally purchasing a new e-reader after a few years of reading on a large phone screen (for frugality and practicality) refreshed my reading experience. I'm just sorry that I didn't fork out the extra money for a waterproof one now that we have a bathtub.</p><p>Oh yes, actual books: I tackled a couple of books for research this month, so my leisure reading list is smaller. Here goes...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnraP5pJ05HIK6M-a8y9Sk3lDwex8gVBQKyuJ9p6YAFX9QGblUeEf5YA5D52R789dEGX_4H4QjKXXEVThPHfrsWQt-vI0JUqIZ2cxbBFZ0xz9IapRCKKkoEInk2vBW3ZlCypIPOh-KGU/s317/Du+Maurier.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="214" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnraP5pJ05HIK6M-a8y9Sk3lDwex8gVBQKyuJ9p6YAFX9QGblUeEf5YA5D52R789dEGX_4H4QjKXXEVThPHfrsWQt-vI0JUqIZ2cxbBFZ0xz9IapRCKKkoEInk2vBW3ZlCypIPOh-KGU/w270-h400/Du+Maurier.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><br /><p><b>Daphne Du Maurier - <i>Myself When Young</i></b></p><p>Breezier in tone than I expected, but it soon drew me in. Du Maurier draws on the journals she kept from an early age to trace her life and development as a writer up to the point of her marriage. It's frank, and, be warned, includes an exploration of the emotional incest that infuses her later novel, <i>The Parasites</i>. MMD readers will be delighted to know she also shares the reading lists she kept from those years!</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Alan Bradley - <i>The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie</i></b></p><p>I'd read one of these Flavia de Luce mystery novels out of turn and, though I didn't really take to it, decided I would give another one a go. This is the first in the series, set around 1950 in Britain: eleven year-old Flavia finds a dying man in the grounds of her family's mansion - a man whom she had heard arguing with her father the night before. Blackmail, poison and a decades-old crime: just the excitement to feed the brain of a precocious, chemistry-obsessed girl. On paper, Flavia is a character I ought to relate to: intelligent, socially awkward, probably on the Asperger's spectrum, but I just can't empathise with her. I think one of the problems is that, in both books I have read, the American author uses a British phrase or allusion in a way I would not, which throws the world of the novel off-kilter for me. Sorry, Flavia fans, but please, convince me to read on if you can :)</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKmFOePAYfXrAf3cAg84eOP3L91XUTe-VAnpHIMhVnHroBDFNyPiZSNMEz9ywW3QPIJ1sUMnKQWwz4e-HiJGOc8SNUPn4AIKXJEvrOB4AUOgisWh8KCkUZAfOJaRZIZ9MdoOI6sNqG0A/s620/CORFE+CASTLE+C.L.E.2+1950+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="620" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKmFOePAYfXrAf3cAg84eOP3L91XUTe-VAnpHIMhVnHroBDFNyPiZSNMEz9ywW3QPIJ1sUMnKQWwz4e-HiJGOc8SNUPn4AIKXJEvrOB4AUOgisWh8KCkUZAfOJaRZIZ9MdoOI6sNqG0A/w400-h301/CORFE+CASTLE+C.L.E.2+1950+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corfe Castle, 1950s. Credit: https://www.dorsetecho.co.uk/news/features/lookingback/18850300.pictures-dorset-1940s-1950s/</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Eric Benfield - <i>Dorset</i></b></p><p>I'm ending with this, not particularly as a review, but as a little paean to vintage guide books. In researching Dorset in the first half of the twentieth century, my eyes have been opened to the charms of second hand books I would normally have passed over as pointless: old regional and travel books. I thought I'd be ploughing through outdated material, but ended up hooked - it's like time travelling from the comfort of your armchair. If you really want to get to the heart of a place, I recommend ditching the modern history and scouring the local second hand book shop for outdated guide books, written by a native son or daughter of the area. It's the first section I'll be heading for on my next trip.</p><p>Wishing you compassion and hope this anniversary, and books that will carry you through.</p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-77587824904994895172021-02-15T10:07:00.003+01:002021-02-15T15:00:17.375+01:00QuickLit February 2021<p> Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-february-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual for quick book reviews. </p><p>Well, having declared that my 2021 goal was to read fewer books, more mindfully, I clocked up a record seven for January. In my defense, one was begun in December, and one was a beta novel that I read during working hours (I loved it, I wish I could reveal all!). Here's the five that count as January's leisure reading:</p><p><b>Barbara Pym - <i>No Fond Return of Love</i></b></p><p>I deliberately saved this to get the new year off to a happy reading start, because I am addicted to Pym's mid-twentieth century comedies of manners. Jilted Dulcie throws herself into matchmaking between her new friend, Viola, and the self-centred academic Aylwin, who is also arrogant enough to think he can enchant Dulcie's young niece. Amid the comedy of genteel stalking and the foibles of academia is a wry look at the attitudes emerging career women faced in the 1950s (and some fun internal references to Pym's other novels).</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlp7RUNiDTdHuFxXwtTPc5pRIudtC6A9l61Rt-ZEuYO-0-oOYQ2JFR5sIX48ngp7W99Up7EP-gkTDkwp8QPl7QLDskvU_I4d7wpKeYgt20vuKgSA7SFp-uiAvtWa3pHZPdwdj-mJ4iwE/s1400/charlottecollins.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1259" data-original-width="1400" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlp7RUNiDTdHuFxXwtTPc5pRIudtC6A9l61Rt-ZEuYO-0-oOYQ2JFR5sIX48ngp7W99Up7EP-gkTDkwp8QPl7QLDskvU_I4d7wpKeYgt20vuKgSA7SFp-uiAvtWa3pHZPdwdj-mJ4iwE/w400-h360/charlottecollins.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte and Mr Collins. Credit: https://thelongvictorian.com/2016/04/09/the-11-worst-couples-in-literature/</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Molly Greely - <i>The Clergyman's Wife</i></b></p><p>I'm not big on literary spinoffs, but I was intrigued by the idea of imagining how the <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> marriage of Charlotte and Mr Collins panned out. Charlotte has accepted the marriage of convenience that so disappointed her friend Elizabeth - until she meets a man who seems to be her soulmate. A sensitive, lyrical contemplation of the choices Regency women faced made this an unexpected companion novel to <i>No Fond Return of Love</i>.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Joan Lindsay - <i>Picnic at Hanging Rock</i></b></p><p>Vaguely remembering the disturbing tone of the film version of this book from many years ago, I gave myself prior permission to put it down anytime it began to scare me - but I managed to get through it. On Valentine's day 1900, a group of schoolgirls and their teachers visit Hanging Rock in Victoria, Australia. Several of them vanish, never to return, and the story traces the ripple effect through the community. Hovering in the background is the sense of an ancient, aboriginal force that the 'civilised' British community is unable to suppress. Note: if you must have resolution, you will not like this novel.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpuMeVetWHzJr2WIqJzlU00MwCcPUHTWwwhVFOB1KmQajplq4le4N0T-MLYGQlakrNzj1w57JjGNQi55NuoD8NaG6z2tQSD-rGwvJlSUIaBh_xl9qK4ejgnayc12FokhdIYepDz5vzgE/s1024/picnic-at-hanging-rock.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpuMeVetWHzJr2WIqJzlU00MwCcPUHTWwwhVFOB1KmQajplq4le4N0T-MLYGQlakrNzj1w57JjGNQi55NuoD8NaG6z2tQSD-rGwvJlSUIaBh_xl9qK4ejgnayc12FokhdIYepDz5vzgE/w400-h225/picnic-at-hanging-rock.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 1975 film. Credit: https://benefitsofaclassicaleducation.wordpress.com/2017/10/31/shocktober-review-picnic-at-hanging-rock-1975/</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Dorothy L. Sayers - <i>Murder Must Advertise</i> and <i>Have His Carcass</i></b></p><p>Two Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries in a row! In the first, Lord Peter goes undercover at an advertising agency to investigate the suspicious falling death of an employee. Sayers herself worked in advertising at one point, so a bonus is the insider's-view satire of the industry, that still has surprising resonance today.</p><p><i>Have His Carcass</i> is the second Harriet Vane mystery. On a walking holiday, Harriet discovers a corpse on the beach with his throat cut. Is it suicide, as the police assume, the work of Bolsheviks, as his much-older fiancée insists, or something else altogether? I had already seen the TV version of this novel, but it still had me hooked.</p><p>The cold weather seems to be gripping both sides of the Atlantic, so I hope you are cosying up with some good books this month!</p><p>A P.S. After embarking on the fourth back-to-back reading of Bunnicula to my five year-old, I hopped on line and ordered the complete series. I hope this will keep him satiated for a bit.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5_ODw1SZsX_cDgfIGUgYAc57XZUZnBcvqozMdBg03sh49WjA6FTrp6fjAxSJWHx_tqqGN0EUYghhBwwoO33_Z7CTFH1EPQhFnhNQKKnuTOFgvGhHngxPWEpRCW2ugE3xKxt_TrxXmBQ/s4032/IMG_20210212_185645591.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5_ODw1SZsX_cDgfIGUgYAc57XZUZnBcvqozMdBg03sh49WjA6FTrp6fjAxSJWHx_tqqGN0EUYghhBwwoO33_Z7CTFH1EPQhFnhNQKKnuTOFgvGhHngxPWEpRCW2ugE3xKxt_TrxXmBQ/w300-h400/IMG_20210212_185645591.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-25556045111308394252021-01-15T14:45:00.001+01:002021-01-15T15:06:47.067+01:00QuickLit January 2021: Reading round up for 2020<p> First link up of the year with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-january-2021/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a>. I thought I'd share reading stats and my starred reads for last year, since I enjoy others' round ups as well. (Reviews edited from my original posts.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujX3hyiFT8Gwfggey7lbAE5UhwzezukyoB24v6vEAEP48kf-8jRNmnQun6MLM4FmKno-aUDGMo-6Mn9f7YL5_XgmpZ7wr7xzgAZuo4vSK04preZ6QeKjjzSfwjFXVAW9r4qN6BHzuV7o/s4032/IMG_20210105_080459322.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujX3hyiFT8Gwfggey7lbAE5UhwzezukyoB24v6vEAEP48kf-8jRNmnQun6MLM4FmKno-aUDGMo-6Mn9f7YL5_XgmpZ7wr7xzgAZuo4vSK04preZ6QeKjjzSfwjFXVAW9r4qN6BHzuV7o/w300-h400/IMG_20210105_080459322.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It doesn't look like all those Pinterest photos, but I had a stab at a book tree this year!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I read 54 books in 2020, for a total of 17, 597 pages, deliberately fewer than in 2019. By the end of the year, I felt that I was beginning to make reading a competition with myself, and I decided to slow down. So my goal for 2021 is even fewer books, read with more attention.</p><p>Of those, 46 were fiction and 8 non-fiction. I think that is a by-product of my job dealing with copy-editing non-fiction, because when I first gave up my job teaching literature, I was desperate to catch up with non-fiction. 32 were e-books (since I don't have access to many books in English here in Koper) and sixteen were print, mostly bought second hand on trips to the UK. Only six were audio books. I pivoted to podcasts over audiobooks at some point, but I'll try to get in a few more next year. </p><p>I rarely buy new books unless I know the author personally, because I prefer reads that have stood the test of time. (I know I should do better in supporting authors.) So, it's not surprising to me that two of my favourites were new publications (and non-fiction) that I couldn't resist: <i>Square Haunting</i> and <i>The Salt Path</i>. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-1bj_aJ054P3vx8iCOCpxvrcOszO62wh7Mp00aoUUAYOLM4YCkZwK4n2kNshRrsV-d9C3U_RR8R_Gvp248y2FcKetEpn42YcFSre2yvpfzG2DXSaMAkGoCo648ov-5U-gQC7Jpcn3PE/s275/square+haunting.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-1bj_aJ054P3vx8iCOCpxvrcOszO62wh7Mp00aoUUAYOLM4YCkZwK4n2kNshRrsV-d9C3U_RR8R_Gvp248y2FcKetEpn42YcFSre2yvpfzG2DXSaMAkGoCo648ov-5U-gQC7Jpcn3PE/w400-h266/square+haunting.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The women of Bloomsbury. Credit: NYT</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><i>Square Haunting: Five Women, Freedom, and London Between the Wars</i> is a non-fiction debut by Francesca Wade.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In five linked biographies, she explores the time spent in the same Bloomsbury square by five notable British women: novelists Virginia Woolf and Dorothy L. Sayers, academics Jane Harrison (with Hope Mirrlees) and Eileen Powers, and modernist poet H.D. I especially recommend it for young adult girls, who should know about these women who paved the way for us, who dared to live, work and love outside the bounds of society's dictates, not afraid to re-imagine their lives, even, as with Harrison, when in their 70s.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I only reviewed <i>The Salt Path</i> by Raynor Winn last month, but here's the shortened version<span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In mid-life, Winn and her husband, Moth, lose everything, and in the same week, Moth receives a diagnosis of a fatal degenerative disease. With no home, little money, and nowhere to go, they decide to walk the 600-mile South West coast path of Britain, wild camping on the way. Beautiful nature writing, and some sobering insights into homelessness.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLEYbmrLvjypdNjolZX58HgwS18zJmd3rChliqzqPiUBcXggoqq68VPXpsHFGt8LIiz87SjFgiTypMWkV7se6Pbmln7q7DGsk2G1vd_PRF1tsW9JGcwGNLx7pwo20ABZb4Mc6n3xRRpQ/s1200/Raynor+winn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLEYbmrLvjypdNjolZX58HgwS18zJmd3rChliqzqPiUBcXggoqq68VPXpsHFGt8LIiz87SjFgiTypMWkV7se6Pbmln7q7DGsk2G1vd_PRF1tsW9JGcwGNLx7pwo20ABZb4Mc6n3xRRpQ/s320/Raynor+winn.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Raynor and Moth. Credit: Guardian</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My three starred fiction books also unsurprisingly included two classic authors, Dorothy L. Sayers and Daphne Du Maurier, and one not-quite-new novel by Madeline Miller.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Nine Tailors</i>, a Lord Peter Wimsey novel by Sayers is quite simply, a truly grown-up detective novel. It's the best Wimsey one I have read, though I hear lots of people vote for <i>Gaudy Night</i> on that count. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After crashing their car on a treacherous New Year's Eve in the Fens, Lord Peter Wimsey and Bunter are taken in by the local vicar, and Lord Peter helps the bellringers ring in the new year. But when a strange and mutilated body is later discovered buried in another's grave, the vicar calls him back to investigate. Hearing the local cathedral bells has now taken on a whole new meaning...</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho09U4iBcnys6HcKGCAeZJI_BH2oQlR3Mt_YYdVE5RIvadpB9AZlFxej1A2I-RbE9NrjkPgW8CtGddGlwdP9BldyOL7oGgV1zVNNCNcnZqZjcG0Xm3AU2AABH1ijqLXPDWwaroeX2HjhQ/s1200/Du+Maurier.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho09U4iBcnys6HcKGCAeZJI_BH2oQlR3Mt_YYdVE5RIvadpB9AZlFxej1A2I-RbE9NrjkPgW8CtGddGlwdP9BldyOL7oGgV1zVNNCNcnZqZjcG0Xm3AU2AABH1ijqLXPDWwaroeX2HjhQ/w400-h300/Du+Maurier.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Du Maurier. Credit: Guardian/Hans Wild</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Parasites</i> is a lesser-known Du Maurier novel, but I think it's one of her most accomplished. </span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Delany children - step siblings Maria and Niall, linked by Celia, half-sister to each - are the children of famous artistes. When Maria's husband bitterly announces one afternoon that they are nothing but parasites, they delve into their past to put themselves on trial. To call it a psychological drama might sound boring, yet it is anything but. Even the narrative voices are parasitic, feeding off one another and merging in and out of one unidentifiable 'we'. Absolutely read it if you have enjoyed her other books.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I loved Miller's retelling of the Achilles and Patroclus story in <i>The Song of Achilles</i>. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was right up my alley: classical, with spare but lyrical prose, and sensual (but not explicit). The story of the greatest Greek warrior unfolds through the eyes of Patroclus, an unloved, exiled child prince who becomes first Achilles' companion and then lover. Beautiful final chapters that I kept returning to.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What were your favourite reads of 2020? How do you track your reading? Here's a few other MMD reader round-ups for your inspiration:</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anne Bogel at Modern Mrs Darcy on her favourite <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/my-favorite-books-2020/" target="_blank">books</a> and <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/favorite-listening-experiences-audiobooks-2020/" target="_blank">audiobooks</a>.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Linda Stoll at <a href="http://www.lindastoll.net/2020/12/my-favorite-books-of-2020.html" target="_blank">LindaStoll.net</a></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Kendra Nicolle at <a href="https://kendranicole.net/2020-reading-recap-and-my-favorite-books-of-the-year/" target="_blank">Kendra Nicolle: My World in Reviews</a></span></p><p>Laura Thomas at <a href="https://laurathomasauthor.com/six-sweet-reads-in-2020/" target="_blank">Laura Thomas Author</a></p><p>Lisa at <a href="https://www.lisanotes.com/favorite-10-books-of-2020/" target="_blank">Lisa Notes </a></p><p>Katie Gilley at <a href="https://katiegilley.com/2021/01/01/favorite-books-of-2020/comment-page-1/#comment-30032" target="_blank">The Cozy Burrow</a></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-61403791176769462972020-12-14T15:40:00.000+01:002020-12-14T15:40:05.636+01:00Quick Lit December 2020<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wRp4Z0FgNzhyh_FX5Jv8gm1ERTQXgZuk4dg2krTU3xDcWbgy4HhwHFCCQ4PZy0bUSkrh7cXks39-OqulRG-SkdQLYEZUDeKjMN6qm6rHlQjcEerYgD5Fa28lTcUH7xk0HRV5f2hxvLY/s285/salt+path.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="177" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wRp4Z0FgNzhyh_FX5Jv8gm1ERTQXgZuk4dg2krTU3xDcWbgy4HhwHFCCQ4PZy0bUSkrh7cXks39-OqulRG-SkdQLYEZUDeKjMN6qm6rHlQjcEerYgD5Fa28lTcUH7xk0HRV5f2hxvLY/w248-h400/salt+path.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Linking up with Modern Mrs Darcy for <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-december-2020/" target="_blank">QuickLit </a>as usual. I rarely read memoirs, and this month I squeezed in two. Retrospectively, I'm not sure it was a great idea because I was feeling emotionally sensitive during a second lockdown, and real-life pain is much worse than fictional pain. But both were worth reading.</p><p><b>Helen Oyeyemi - <i>Gingerbread</i></b></p><p>The best way to describe this quirky novel is that it's a Brothers Grimm story in a modern setting. Going back and forth in time, it tells the story of how the Lee family women, makers of seemingly magical gingerbread, came to the UK from Druhastrana, a country most claim does not exist, and for Harriet Lee's quest to reunite with her childhood, changeling friend Gretel. Weird, but I enjoyed it.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Raynor Winn - <i>The Salt Path</i></b></p><p>This was a memoir I simultaneously felt drawn to read and dreaded reading, because I knew it was going to be harrowing. In mid-life, Winn and her husband, Moth, lose everything, and in the same week, Moth receives a diagnosis of a fatal degenerative disease. With no home, little money, and nowhere to go, they decide to walk the 600-mile South West coast path of Britain, wild camping on the way. I picked it up for the Dorset connection and nature writing, but ended up learning a lot about homelessness. Although the ending was positive, it still left me drained and disturbed - but in a way that a deep book does. Highly recommended - one of my top books of 2020.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbo3n3XpE-2EM7j49CmX41pg2dr-aczMgjVi2Kv8DqqVCtIqWPi4h3zd9xMofPPC-cKHKb2xe7eePWRZOpNFzoxvg54KO1Nibc7vSvS9ovPtu2gGcZcp6sm57Xgdi5gDxI8kl-Se53rok/s1200/Raynor+winn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbo3n3XpE-2EM7j49CmX41pg2dr-aczMgjVi2Kv8DqqVCtIqWPi4h3zd9xMofPPC-cKHKb2xe7eePWRZOpNFzoxvg54KO1Nibc7vSvS9ovPtu2gGcZcp6sm57Xgdi5gDxI8kl-Se53rok/s320/Raynor+winn.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Raynor and Moth. Credit: Guardian.co.uk</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /><br /></p><p><b>P.G. Wodehouse - <i>A Pelican at Blandings</i></b></p><p>I had to read something lighthearted after <i>The Salt Path</i>, and knew this wouldn't have any hidden surprises. Poor Lord Emsworth just wants to be left in peace with his prize pig, the Empress of Blandings, but he is plagued by the arrival of his overbearing sister Connie, star-crossed lovers, and wrangling over a nude painting. Enter his unflappable brother Galahad, as usual, to sort all out and make every ending happy.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiez7JwRiVj0vwpn3-_6_IKdUt1iuRuyjqbGaTJP6iytmwyjY0wijLikyX2ov5ubXD8uu6dYYZzv7rFedIgs2IOUuUSa4GB_E2USlXg2tfQ6ZWbJMYq9n0QoeyKbllmrtGKDE62jgs02NE/s624/Lawrence+motorcycle.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiez7JwRiVj0vwpn3-_6_IKdUt1iuRuyjqbGaTJP6iytmwyjY0wijLikyX2ov5ubXD8uu6dYYZzv7rFedIgs2IOUuUSa4GB_E2USlXg2tfQ6ZWbJMYq9n0QoeyKbllmrtGKDE62jgs02NE/s320/Lawrence+motorcycle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lawrence's lyrical chapter on the joy of riding his motorcycle reads painfully ironically<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>T.E. Lawrence - <i>The Mint</i></b></p><p>In 1922, worn out by fame and broken by PTSD (which of course was not recognised back then), Lawrence, aka, Lawrence of Arabia, took an assumed name, and managed to enlist as a common airman in the RAF, hoping to be erased and made anew. This is his memoir of that experience (published after his early, accidental death) - raw, concise, painful and quite a departure from the sprawling, genre-defying <i>Seven Pillars of Wisdom</i>. Part of the fascination of this book is that Lawrence could never have got away with it in our digital age. Language warning - you probably did not know that people swore like this in the 1920s!</p><p>If you want to read more about Lawrence, check out <a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/2019/09/moreton-resting-place-of-lawrence-of.html" target="_blank">my account</a> of visiting his grave in Dorset. Oh, and one of the characters in my novel, <i><a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/2020/06/a-dorset-summer-is-here.html" target="_blank">A Dorset Summer</a></i>, is inspired by him. Considering that I am not interested in either politics or the military, my obsession is a little odd :)</p><p>Hoping that Father Christmas brings you all you wish to read!</p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-24934763062950051852020-12-08T13:12:00.003+01:002020-12-15T21:51:35.407+01:00The Three Good Old Men: Slovenian Christmas<p> Slovenian children are particularly lucky in the Christmas period, because they get visits from not one but three "good old men" bearing gifts. Of course, books could be, and are, devoted to each, but here's my summary, with my favourite facts. (I wrote a quick <a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2018/12/grandfather-frost.html" target="_blank">Grandfather Frost </a>blog last year, but didn't have time for more. I guess 2020 cleared my calendar.) The usual festivities will be quieter this year, but the three good old men will not be abandoning children in Slovenia - or anywhere in the world.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTWrxNfy7QoMGFkXimOHVsvumkecaSC5a_F2x4kBxdYc6Jhx2BwnHowsk1rKFxwfumoL8n9QP3D5FzrVSDenJG9HvDwI9Axgn-_W0jJ91OQhxpKaK6qGTswNQS8SQOUxySjTfPoIrc2E/s270/Three+good+men.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="270" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTWrxNfy7QoMGFkXimOHVsvumkecaSC5a_F2x4kBxdYc6Jhx2BwnHowsk1rKFxwfumoL8n9QP3D5FzrVSDenJG9HvDwI9Axgn-_W0jJ91OQhxpKaK6qGTswNQS8SQOUxySjTfPoIrc2E/w400-h276/Three+good+men.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is this a rap battle for supremacy? (Credit: dnevnik.si)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>December 6: Saint Nicholas Day</b></p><p>One of my favourite days in Advent, celebrating one of the most-beloved saints. The original Saint Nicholas was a third/fourth-century bishop of Myra. Legend says he came into the bishopric very early, hence the tradition of selecting a boy bishop in some places on this day. His main association with gifts comes from the legend that he secretly saved three poor sisters from being forced into prostitution (the cleaner versions say he helped them get husbands) by secretly dropping coins into their stockings hung up to air at night, to provide them with dowries. For this, he is the patron saint of prostitutes. He also reputedly came to literal blows with Arian at the Council of Nicea over the latter's heresy - not quite the jolly old elf of modern times. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhoIExVs49DrAd3yi3vO44LjFThkDdWMzEL2G2CZc-V1fF2PEtfqIC7yzvBBy5gw9dsaWi28oaRCczCOxAkQ7y15bDdm4Gzh_-iQrKleJKdpbvk80XEVlCnD7C5i9_opvLgQJLOxqes2E/s459/stnicholasstnicholasmeme.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="459" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhoIExVs49DrAd3yi3vO44LjFThkDdWMzEL2G2CZc-V1fF2PEtfqIC7yzvBBy5gw9dsaWi28oaRCczCOxAkQ7y15bDdm4Gzh_-iQrKleJKdpbvk80XEVlCnD7C5i9_opvLgQJLOxqes2E/s320/stnicholasstnicholasmeme.png" /></a></div><br /><p>In Slovenia, he is known as Miklavž and appears in his bishop's robes. In parades around the country, he is often followed by angels who help to give out gifts - and by devils ready to scare the bad children. Back at home, Slovenian children follow the tradition of leaving out a shoe, or maybe a stocking, for the saint. In return they get small gifts of chocolate and dried fruits. I can only imagine the reaction of most American and British children on getting dried fruit for Christmas. Actually, no, I can really imagine it, which is why our remaining little one gets chocolate and a mini panettone. We picked up this tradition before coming to Slovenia as part of our Advent observance, and it's a lovely precursor to Christmas.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4QHHA7cVzsN6R6n4GZAbcKP0dlC3be71wG8E5WIZKQH_QcO7dDHWg-gfdrc7t3nbUMFntB7MfT5xxq_rbM-SEUbzr08auMJVMOOg-pbo8LrHpsz4A74Q2Otw2RG-VtDqUxoN6yK-v3A/s4032/IMG_20181222_112658969_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4QHHA7cVzsN6R6n4GZAbcKP0dlC3be71wG8E5WIZKQH_QcO7dDHWg-gfdrc7t3nbUMFntB7MfT5xxq_rbM-SEUbzr08auMJVMOOg-pbo8LrHpsz4A74Q2Otw2RG-VtDqUxoN6yK-v3A/w300-h400/IMG_20181222_112658969_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, this is from our<a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2019/02/zagreb-totally-stuffed.html" target="_blank"> trip</a> to Zagreb, but it's a favourite memory - this St Nicholas was roaming the streets spreading good cheer and gifts. I won't forget his kindness towards the mentally disabled young adult behind him</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Last year, I took Alcuin down to the old salt warehouse in Koper to greet the saint, but it turned out that there was such a long programme prior to his arrival that we had to give up, as it was beyond a small child's patience. This year, we are still in a strict lockdown and it was bucketing with rain most of the day, but he was happy tucked up at home with the above, plus a bonus Christmas book.</p><p><b>December 25: Father Christmas/ Santa Claus</b></p><p>A relatively later comer, the gift-giver of the Anglo world has managed to sandwich himself between two more traditional figures on the calendar. According to friends, celebrating December 25th, and Saint Nicholas' Day for that matter, were not encouraged during the Tito regime. For this reason, while Saint Nicholas has been welcomed back to this culturally Catholic country, the more protestant, and commercial, Father Christmas/ Santa Claus tradition has not gained the traction it has elsewhere. I recall that the first time we lived here, nearly twelve years ago, there wasn't a hint of Christmas stuff in the shops until we were into December. Not quite the case now, but still not a frantic period. The 25th is a religious holiday, and the 26th is Independence and Unity Day, less family days than public holidays. Here in Koper, you'll find people thronging the streets and cafes, or skating on the winter rink. Father Christmas is known as Božiček here (božič is the word for Christmas). He is still the main gift-giver in our family, of course.</p><p><b>December 31: Grandfather Frost</b></p><p>The origins of this ancient figure of winter are many and tangled, but he was promoted during the times of communism as an alternative to the Christian saints. His names include Father Frost, Grandfather Winter, and Grandfather Snow. In Slovenia, he is known as Dedek Mraz (Grandfather Frost). He is associated with slavic pagan figures, and his identity has morphed and merged over time. He is alternatively, and simultaneously, Morozko, a Russian spirit or wizard of winter, a hero or smith who chains water with his iron frosts, a being who kidnaps children for ransom, as happy to freeze bad children to death as to reward good ones. At one point recharacterized as demonic by the Orthodox Church, he was eventually adopted as a propaganda figure by the old Soviet empire, by which path he made it to Slovenia. However, by the time the Yugoslavs decided to abolish Christmas, they had also split from the Soviets, so Father Frost had to be Slovenised.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKUfnLiCQrJ9SARDGwDc2Mc3xW_n0SomVouTOVaaBr1WbwQM7SX-EURqenvLAtQb_WE339FXJR9SEmzEYdJ_U1iJ2MGFHrv5c6Yc813_7MTDF7cpKmaPadq35c-YCupqZymp6UyGw09E/s660/morozko.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="660" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKUfnLiCQrJ9SARDGwDc2Mc3xW_n0SomVouTOVaaBr1WbwQM7SX-EURqenvLAtQb_WE339FXJR9SEmzEYdJ_U1iJ2MGFHrv5c6Yc813_7MTDF7cpKmaPadq35c-YCupqZymp6UyGw09E/w400-h214/morozko.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Leaner than fat old Santa and tougher than heretic-punching Saint Nicholas, here Dedek Mraz appears in a leather coat and a hat made from dormouse fur. He is said to live under Mt Triglav, the country's highest mountain, from whence he emerges at the end of the year to bestow presents from a traditional Slovenian woven basket. In the capital of Ljubljana, he rides through the streets in the last days of December, in a carriage drawn by Lipizzaner horses.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBV8-MS_mBbYh9N_ow41dV0crXDePLg7ZJBKHi0WIyn-emmUFipfgU_7S2CEY5-2qNO4KH2lUvHoyIMbOpx9IXlkav8ya3wf08mOhFBYAyse2oOIkiaIDUPj3MPSm09MzEq70IkK5xB8/s294/dedek+mraz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="171" data-original-width="294" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBV8-MS_mBbYh9N_ow41dV0crXDePLg7ZJBKHi0WIyn-emmUFipfgU_7S2CEY5-2qNO4KH2lUvHoyIMbOpx9IXlkav8ya3wf08mOhFBYAyse2oOIkiaIDUPj3MPSm09MzEq70IkK5xB8/w400-h233/dedek+mraz.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>In saner times, we have enjoyed attending the little Dedek Mraz celebration the University puts on for children earlier in December, but that of course has not happened this year. I don't know if Father Frost will visit us, as I always give a final gift on the last day of Christmas anyway (Epiphany, January 6).</p><p>A nice summary from the Slovenian perspective can be found at <a href="https://www.total-slovenia-news.com/travel/2524-christmas-in-slovenia-with-three-santas" target="_blank">Total Slovenian News</a>, where you can also find an account summary of how Dedek Mraz <a href="https://www.total-slovenia-news.com/lifestyle/2753-who-is-dedek-mraz" target="_blank">came to be</a>. Merry Christmas! Vesel Božič!</p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-78988272191254093552020-11-23T14:38:00.003+01:002021-04-30T11:36:41.938+02:00St Aldhelm's Chapel: A Clifftop Mystery<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZE7KprZY9HUJMoGmZ9vCRltwxbSRfBFAR3m8kmpeZwcTyp7u9W6uFX1jT02Cxozl3KDJg1yBGzLocR3G_ofF9H_SUZYO0Sn7DN_MRsK1rA9G87gSj4KknCcMTMS47LB9TSz_8Kr_ICts/s1600/st_albans_head_chapel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="701" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZE7KprZY9HUJMoGmZ9vCRltwxbSRfBFAR3m8kmpeZwcTyp7u9W6uFX1jT02Cxozl3KDJg1yBGzLocR3G_ofF9H_SUZYO0Sn7DN_MRsK1rA9G87gSj4KknCcMTMS47LB9TSz_8Kr_ICts/s400/st_albans_head_chapel.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.dorsets.co.uk/photos/st-aldhelms-head-chapel.htm">https://www.dorsets.co.uk/photos/st-aldhelms-head-chapel.htm</a></td></tr>
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<i>A pirate or devil, I suppose they are much the same, and a saint guard the coast between them. Tonight the saint wins. The snow has hardened treacherously, and no one will be near Old Harry Rocks until the thaw. But the hardy and faithful among us have squeezed into Saint Aldhelm's chapel for the Christmas Eve service...</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfs4IcIR9GNUGvoB_3Li-JJRi8OGSaL2u2eucIWjCq87UVH8eJYHpUWC2w67-Qn7O7WoqYR0T7JWg420ym5pkXf58zFlaEwqeBrJ9gQV8Cxnt2ATPkyxMjOlBCPEt2H_ekRZTjML5W-ks/s480/St-Aldhelms-Chapel-Winter.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="480" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfs4IcIR9GNUGvoB_3Li-JJRi8OGSaL2u2eucIWjCq87UVH8eJYHpUWC2w67-Qn7O7WoqYR0T7JWg420ym5pkXf58zFlaEwqeBrJ9gQV8Cxnt2ATPkyxMjOlBCPEt2H_ekRZTjML5W-ks/w400-h264/St-Aldhelms-Chapel-Winter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: <a href="http://www.warehamartclub.org.uk/gallery-2/robert-mcleish/st-aldhelms-chapel-winter">http://www.warehamartclub.org.uk/gallery-2/robert-mcleish/st-aldhelms-chapel-winter</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I have already written about the <a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2020/07/legends-of-old-harry-rock.html" target="_blank">legends of Old Harry Rocks</a>, but another iconic landmark that is a supernatural anchor in my novel, <i>A Dorset Summer</i>, is St Aldhelm's Chapel, nestled up on the clifftops at Saint Aldhelm's Head. It is also known as St Alban's chapel/St Alban's head, the Devil's Chapel, and as a Wishing Chapel.</div><div><div>
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There is considerable mystery surrounding the chapel - and this post is indebted to The Dorset Rambler (see link below) for pulling together the information I remember, but in a more cohesive manner! First, it is set on a circular earthwork, an ancient construction used at least as far back as the iron age (the impressive Maiden Castle earthworks is also in this part of the country - and I can attest that's worth a visit as well). It's Norman in construction, though some say the entranceway is Saxon. Secondly it is not built in a traditional church format: it is not in an east-west orientation, has no obvious place for an altar, and has a huge pillar in the middle of its tiny, square interior, not ideal for a congregation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gnSyMXCwvPaSf-rKLQAKxLAGb__miB4Jzoo6UObUaVMCmz4o5RdXQAieBy6EqjJu8rZU2GkxGcNXmWjX8wcIeQ7_QpSfhDO6yfxt0fZbUSU-4S3zePdlGMTA7gmeEmGYd16SaGb8Zi0/s1600/2010-08-04-St_Alban%2527s_Head_Chapel_02.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1277" data-original-width="1600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gnSyMXCwvPaSf-rKLQAKxLAGb__miB4Jzoo6UObUaVMCmz4o5RdXQAieBy6EqjJu8rZU2GkxGcNXmWjX8wcIeQ7_QpSfhDO6yfxt0fZbUSU-4S3zePdlGMTA7gmeEmGYd16SaGb8Zi0/s400/2010-08-04-St_Alban%2527s_Head_Chapel_02.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: By Huligan0 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11929961</td></tr>
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As to its names: Saint Aldhelm was a 7th century monk who became Abbot of Malmesbury Abbey and then the first bishop of Sherbourne. Aldhelm was a scholar and, apparently, a pretty good entertainer. He is known most famously for a set of riddles he sent to the King of Northumbria. Perhaps this is why he was also roped in to help with the biggest riddle in 7th century Britain - the controversy between the Celtic and Roman church over whose practice should reign supreme in this isle. (Historian that I am, I still feel upset about the Synod of Whitby.)<br />
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I'm guessing that the St. Alban appellation is either a common mis-repetition of the lesser-known name Aldhelm, or that the promontory and chapel were renamed for a more local saint. (Saint Alban is considered to be Britain's first Christian martyr.)<br />
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But back to the chapel that was (probably!) named after Aldhelm. Nothing is really known of its function as a religious building in its early centuries, apart from records of a priest here in the 13th century. Some surmise that it was actually built as a chantry, a small religious building where a priest was paid to pray for the souls of the dead (heavenly insurance for the wealthy). The religious connections are strengthened by the discovery in the 1950s of a thirteenth-century grave of a middle-aged woman found on the site, leading to speculation she was an anchoress. An anchorite is a person who chooses to give their life completely to contemplation and prayer, shut up in a tiny cell until death. Except, they became holy celebrities and people constantly sought them out for advice, so there wasn't always a bunch of time for meditation. Perhaps that is why this anchoress chose a remote home! Evidence of a smaller building nearby lends credence to the anchoress story. Since I am also very interested in Britain's most famous anchoress, Julian of Norwich, I like that theory. (I think maybe there's a novel in that!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-H_fbxTnNvZfNkvOAnITDmUEu7Ce-bG1Oq-N-THO6u0-Eakh_0IGMa_R9UuLUtuRGUDmT06eVW6vWcuIT7MERs9KmpXYx9FoEqiDFZMhtBGw9KwyHYnZd8WGMFdmto6XGjnBFVXT-sY/s1600/2010-08-04-St_Alban%2527s_Head_Chapel_03.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1054" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-H_fbxTnNvZfNkvOAnITDmUEu7Ce-bG1Oq-N-THO6u0-Eakh_0IGMa_R9UuLUtuRGUDmT06eVW6vWcuIT7MERs9KmpXYx9FoEqiDFZMhtBGw9KwyHYnZd8WGMFdmto6XGjnBFVXT-sY/s400/2010-08-04-St_Alban%2527s_Head_Chapel_03.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: By Huligan0 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11929982</td></tr>
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If not a chapel, some have suggested that it was a type of lookout - for the navigation of ships at sea (there's a mention of it as a sea mark) or to protect Corfe Castle further inland (it shares some similarities in construction with Corfe Castle). This idea is supported by evidence that a beacon may have sat on the roof where there is now a cross. Yet it has only one, tiny window.<br />
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I suspect it was all these and more, an ancient multi-purpose building: chantry, chapel and lookout!<br />
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As for its other names, I have not found any speculation for the name Devil's Chapel - maybe that is in keeping with the tradition of naming remote or odd formations after Old Nick (see my blog on Old Harry Rock). Or perhaps that's because it's a devil of a job to get to it! But it was definitely regarded as some sort of wishing chapel, because there is a hole in the central pillar where girls have dropped votive items such as hairpins, presumably after praying for a husband. By the way, you can also read centuries-old graffiti on the pillar.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXUSw0wPTmW43l13mpI5TynOv_u91N-H3NapwcvJqnBuSFMRVc7n7f2cwvvQr82qLhmZEIHsZE4Wol0pRsAW-Giott4CE_zgm2BPgdDqr2uilGOwgJGnVcbtBx6GWAkf0_ZvPqInaiVc/s1600/img766.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXUSw0wPTmW43l13mpI5TynOv_u91N-H3NapwcvJqnBuSFMRVc7n7f2cwvvQr82qLhmZEIHsZE4Wol0pRsAW-Giott4CE_zgm2BPgdDqr2uilGOwgJGnVcbtBx6GWAkf0_ZvPqInaiVc/s400/img766.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A windswept visit from many years ago - my younger daughter is 17 now!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The chapel was part of the Encombe estate for centuries, until they handed it over to the Worth Matravers parish council in the 1960s. Even if we are not sure about how it was originally used as a religious building, in more recent history (19th century) it was restored as a chapel for the families of the coastguards who had cottages nearby. When they moved, the chapel was abandoned again. As far as I know there are still services held in the chapel - I recall summer morning prayer being advertised a few years back, but in these days of Covid-19, there are none listed. Here's the <a href="https://purbeckhillsbenefice.wordpress.com/services-2/" target="_blank">parish website</a>, I'll try to update this when things change. It's on my Dorset to-do list to attend one someday: an early summer walk to the chapel for morning prayer, followed by a slap-up breakfast nearby (maybe at Durlston). (Hint to Mum and Dad - I know you are reading this!!)<br />
<br />
There's a quick route and a more challenging route to get to the chapel. If you have limited time or mobility (or small children in tow, which is both), you can drive to a small car park at Renscombe Farm, from where it is a short walk.<br />
<br />
The longer way could be undertaken as a mini-pilgrimage, by picking up the South West Coast Path in the area. If you begin near Chapman's Pool, you can include a penitential thigh workout in the climb down (184 steps) and up (219 steps) to the chapel. I admit it's been a long time since I have taken that route.<br />
<br />
Well, that was a long post - and I didn't even exhaust all the stories. There are more than would fit into the tiny chapel! Take a visit, drink in the atmosphere, and decide for yourself.<br />
<br />
The excellent Dorset Rambler article on the chapel: <a href="https://thedorsetrambler.com/2017/06/06/st-aldhelms-chapel-or-is-it/">https://thedorsetrambler.com/2017/06/06/st-aldhelms-chapel-or-is-it/</a><br />
<br />
Here's a circular walk along the South West coastal path, taking in other landmarks such as Chapman's Pool - it starts near the chapel for the short walk I mentioned above. <a href="https://www.southwestcoastpath.org.uk/walksdb/580/">https://www.southwestcoastpath.org.uk/walksdb/580/</a><br />
<br />
Here's another, longer one beginning at Worth Matravers. They suggest refreshments at the Worth Matravers tea room. Don't start with tea there - trust me, you might not get any further! <a href="https://www.dorsetlife.co.uk/2015/06/the-dorset-walk-st-aldhelms-head-and-winspit/">https://www.dorsetlife.co.uk/2015/06/the-dorset-walk-st-aldhelms-head-and-winspit/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>If you got all the way down here and don't feel like scrolling up again, <a href="https://susandcook.blogspot.com/2020/07/legends-of-old-harry-rock.html" target="_blank">here</a> is the link to the legends of Old Harry rocks.<br />
<br />
Finally, of course, here's an extract from my novel, when Phoebe is taken to the chapel by James, whose attentions she is gently trying to dissuade.<br />
<br />
A DORSET SUMMER: from Chapter 17<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
Ahead of us, Saint Aldhelm’s chapel beckoned, a small, square
stone building close to the cliff, topped with a tiny steeple crowned with a
cross. The chapel sank slightly below the surrounding ground, as if weighed
down by the years. A single path wound west from the low wooden door. We
tramped across the scrubby grass to join it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘Is it a real chapel, or a wayfarer’s place?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
James looked over his shoulder. ‘Probably a chapel. Some
believe it is built on an ancient Christian site. Others say it is a secret
lookout because it isn’t situated in the standard orientation for a church.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘A lookout for smugglers?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘For sailors. The coast is treacherous here. Mind you, I
would not be surprised if the chapel played its part in smuggling operations.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
Given what he had told me about his family’s involvement with
contraband, I wondered if he was being disingenuous. I could imagine him and
the Major creeping up here in the dark to meet men whose names they pretended
not to know, scurrying back under cover of the barley with their cigars and
brandy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
James pulled the door open, scraping the paving. Inside, a
faint musty smell pervaded the small, dim space. A few tiny pews faced the
altar table, lit only by an equally tiny recessed window, more like a hermitage
than a chapel. The roof was supported by a crumbling stone pillar. A vase of
blown roses balanced on a stand by the front pew, the only indication that
anyone had a thought for the place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
I took a closer look at the pillar, taken aback to find it
desecrated with the names of bygone walkers or worshippers, but intrigued to
note dates going back several centuries.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘Do people still worship here?’ I asked. Talking with James
was so easy when the conversation was not about us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘I believe a priest holds a service once a month for the
coastguard families, and we celebrate a community Christmas Eve service out
here, providing the weather allows. The chapel belongs to the Encombe estate.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
Though physically empty, the atmosphere of the chapel
enveloped me, kindly, patient, long suffering, as though it had seen more joy
and tragedy than its small walls could contain. Perhaps that was only my mood. I
turned towards the door. ‘I have seen enough now, may we leave?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
We traipsed out, but instead of returning to the car, James
led the way around the chapel and along the narrow path to the cliff’s edge. He
was prolonging the outing, I knew, waiting for the right moment to say
something, or for a sign from me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i>I’m sorry</i>, I said silently to his back. If I had not
been a coward, I would have run forward and taken his strong, brown farmer’s
hands in mine, and told him: <i>You are sweet and kind and honourable,
everything a girl should want. You don’t deserve to be anyone’s consolation
prize, and I won’t let you be mine.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
We stopped a foot from the edge. The cliff face dropped sheer
for maybe a third of the way down before sprawling in a crumbling, heaped mass
of white rocks to the sea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
I leaned forward and watched the waves pound the rocks at the
base of the cliff, reminded once more of James’s story and the doomed lovers he
had cast into the sea at Old Harry Rocks with adolescent indifference. I closed
my eyes against the sting of the wind, letting the gusts buffet me. My hearing
muffled by the competing roar of wind and waves, I saw in my mind’s eye
Philippa and Roger, hands clasped, about to leap. Surely the chapel knew their
story. Across the millennia, it must have witnessed its share of desperate and
broken-hearted people poised on this cliff’s edge. Did they take one last
glance behind them at the steadfast stone walls, murmur one last prayer for
forgiveness, or did they turn their backs on hope to meet the cold arms of the
sea?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
James snatched me back from the cliff’s edge. ‘Steady,
Phoebe.’ At the fear in his voice, I opened my eyes, realizing only now that I
had been swaying back and forth with the wind. A dislodged pebble clattered
down the cliff face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘Sorry,’ I said, attempting to sound light. ‘My imagination
was wandering. I was thinking of your story, of the cliff top climax.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
‘I didn’t know it was that affecting. First my cousins, now
you. I don’t think I dare tell it a third time.’ He tried to echo my levity,
but the way he brushed my arms as he let go of my cardigan told me I had scared
him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div></div></div>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-72415604476879994992020-11-15T17:23:00.000+01:002020-11-15T17:23:01.631+01:00Quick Lit November 2020<p> Linking up with Modern Mrs Darcy as usual for <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-november-2020/" target="_blank">QuickLit</a>. On reflection, it was a mixed bag for last month's reading - one classic, one so-so, and ending with some escapism as we went into a second lockdown. But here are the quick reviews:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNmpH1YZegvwBZ4eM8-4HPx1SJboumKb4F_U7omI-8yoBHlWdDcGc9GdfQO75GdcZ_ndMpEjq2UI0GdMOxzgsF0D-arAt1afH7LNulin-AKtTL94w0fMqwhyphenhyphenl7YcSm8Qdxu4GnB08148/s279/pigs+have+wings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="181" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNmpH1YZegvwBZ4eM8-4HPx1SJboumKb4F_U7omI-8yoBHlWdDcGc9GdfQO75GdcZ_ndMpEjq2UI0GdMOxzgsF0D-arAt1afH7LNulin-AKtTL94w0fMqwhyphenhyphenl7YcSm8Qdxu4GnB08148/w259-h400/pigs+have+wings.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><p><b>P.G. Wodehouse - <i>Pigs have Wings</i></b> [audiobook]</p><p>How did I, with multiple degrees in English literature, escape reading P.G. Wodehouse this far in life? To be honest, because I harbour a suspicion of novels that are deliberately trying to be funny, and rarely try one. How wrong I was. With the impeccable upper class accent of the narrator, Jeremy Sinden, I was giggling from the beginning. Pig napping and star-crossed lovers are all adroitly managed by Lord Emsworth's incorrigible brother, Galahad. I have another Blandings Castle novel already in my TBR pile.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Donna Fletcher Crow - <i>Glastonbury: A Novel of Christian England</i></b></p><p>I wavered over whether to post a review of this because in some ways I don't feel qualified. To cut to the chase, it turned out that this novel is from Crow's pre-Anglican days, when she wrote for the Evangelical Christian fiction market - not my cup of tea at all. It was inspired by Edward Rutherford's <i>Sarum: The Novel of England</i>, an equally fat novel (actually, series of linked novellas),which I loved. As it says, <i>Glastonbury</i> tells the story of English Christianity from the time of Christ (following the legend that Joseph of Arimathea came to England with the Grail) to the dissolution of the monasteries in the reign of Henry VIII. I liked the overall premise and the basis for each novella, and so I persevered through 1000-plus pages because I had been promising myself I would read this when I got a new Kindle, and also because the parts that I enjoyed, I really enjoyed. However, I confess to skipping chunks of the evangelical stuff.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mK6qZVlUyRyEdscnZE6185e3e9nXnOib3kRiyK9zs7gqIXAGJTQcyML8-ATYfEn39At0Oku6Xs4S3k1LWr8e0D2-dpshNZeGIO0BD4BIGKzWSpaq6FDZFg5gT00H1Bb_uHFclr-PpwY/s275/vampire+knitting.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mK6qZVlUyRyEdscnZE6185e3e9nXnOib3kRiyK9zs7gqIXAGJTQcyML8-ATYfEn39At0Oku6Xs4S3k1LWr8e0D2-dpshNZeGIO0BD4BIGKzWSpaq6FDZFg5gT00H1Bb_uHFclr-PpwY/w266-h400/vampire+knitting.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Nancy Warren - <i>The Vampire Knitting Club Books 1-3</i></b></p><p>I was seduced by Bookbub again into buying this collection on the cheap, to re-read the first and devour the others for a Halloween treat. Well-written escapism. American-raised Lucy has inherited her grandmother's Oxford knitting shop, although she can't knit to save her life. But it is soon apparent that her grandmother not only didn't die of natural causes, but is not technically dead. Oh, and she happened to be a witch who hosts a knitting club for her vampire friends, who are happy to break the boredom of eternal life by helping Lucy solve the murders and mysteries that fall her way as she herself takes up the family witches mantle.</p><p>Hope books are keeping you sane in these strange times! Going out on the BBC adaptation of the Blandings novels.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6UzA_wA-gvg" width="320" youtube-src-id="6UzA_wA-gvg"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-81865873597793233532020-10-21T14:26:00.000+02:002020-10-21T14:26:03.864+02:00Sečovlje - a salacious experience<p> Intimations of a second lockdown in Slovenia drove us off our backsides and into the open air while we could still do so - or at least without wearing masks while outdoors. We headed for a local nature reserve in Sečovlje (I think you pronounce it seh-chow-lee-ay), right on the border with Croatia, which co-exists with one of the few remaining salt pan works in the region. Since we moved back, I have been talking of another autumn walk here. I have fond memories of our several visits about a dozen years ago, and some spectacular photos courtesy of a friend with far better photographic skills than I. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO-nCsAbKC4eSN_KtJDaTL4oHSTi4lBtq602R20ZSd58ZJXzSHtRgL7tt3kKrAeNdRpiFF-efnhLQv3YUhG1I6lgPaUao0rBZvB8mKhiZUAER0BIlz7_FW2HEYmkq516IySi6Syo6Xoc/s4032/IMG_20201018_133115396.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO-nCsAbKC4eSN_KtJDaTL4oHSTi4lBtq602R20ZSd58ZJXzSHtRgL7tt3kKrAeNdRpiFF-efnhLQv3YUhG1I6lgPaUao0rBZvB8mKhiZUAER0BIlz7_FW2HEYmkq516IySi6Syo6Xoc/w300-h400/IMG_20201018_133115396.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The last time I visited was to go to the summer open air spa in the middle of the salt pans, a <a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/2018/08/thalssotherapy.html" target="_blank">traumatic experience</a> involving disposable thong underwear. Quite the opposite this time. Convinced there was going to be a cold wind blasting across the open landscape this time of year, I stuffed hats, gloves and an extra layer of outerwear in my backpack. Apparently, I was wrong: b</span><span style="text-align: left;">y the time we paid the small entrance fee, we were so warm that we threw all the outer layers back in the car and set off sans coats.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Clv2btwYoYyYU1VL1i5JYGv4Gwj8uGbRcGXFCOnCaJr3nxlACNWbKQopzZ_4-WhPlZ6O_5CREDGYgARTc6pk1p2BqOGcTg908XcfjBzsAl6F8Y_HxxAbynionZ1kAf2uDsIcgTKL1cA/s4032/IMG_20201018_135358173.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Clv2btwYoYyYU1VL1i5JYGv4Gwj8uGbRcGXFCOnCaJr3nxlACNWbKQopzZ_4-WhPlZ6O_5CREDGYgARTc6pk1p2BqOGcTg908XcfjBzsAl6F8Y_HxxAbynionZ1kAf2uDsIcgTKL1cA/w300-h400/IMG_20201018_135358173.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>First excitement for me was a profusion of Michaelmas daisies. I start to hanker after growing them every September - our school's Founder's Day was on Michaelmas, and we used to wear posies of Michaelmas daisies for the church service. This is all pure nostalgia - when I was a teenager, we thought it stupid and complained about wearing weeds. But anyhow, here they were at last, the first wild ones I had seen in Slovenia. But we were in a nature reserve, so was this a gift of Mother Nature or a test of my moral fibre?</p><p>They have now built a boardwalk across the water and parallel to the main path so walkers can avoid cyclists and the odd car (they are working on cutting down motor traffic through the park). Trauma occurred early on when Alcuin got two splinters from climbing the rail. We got one out, and I assured him the other would soak out in the bath, so he proceeded to stop about every six feet to lie down and dip his hand in the water (at least that was his excuse). Actually, he stopped about every six feet for something most of the walk - getting or handing back the map, asking for a snack, asking for a drink, handing back the snack... Ted just kept walking on and back, probably tripling his exercise.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmN1YVHc5RA5lyTMje64ltSi4iB3Zs519lZpAUAuFWbfiA_1OFLV3iznA0ITdRijD64DfdskLVLwhyphenhyphenfWxksUBNAELIUTYNxJEfbXJAdb8iQx6ukUE99OYkFjG1Qhx6hAOOYvGQ1bAbQRY/s4032/IMG_20201018_151913125_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmN1YVHc5RA5lyTMje64ltSi4iB3Zs519lZpAUAuFWbfiA_1OFLV3iznA0ITdRijD64DfdskLVLwhyphenhyphenfWxksUBNAELIUTYNxJEfbXJAdb8iQx6ukUE99OYkFjG1Qhx6hAOOYvGQ1bAbQRY/w300-h400/IMG_20201018_151913125_HDR.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An abandoned salt worker's home<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>So, the nerdy stuff that interests me at least: salt has been harvested here since about the year 800, and some of those centuries were pretty cut throat. When the Venetian Empire took control, coercing the towns in the Eastern Adriatic to sign a compulsory purchase agreement, they deliberately destroyed most of the nearby salt works to create a virtual monopoly. They periodically continued this policy, leaving the Sečovlje pans untouched to become the most important source of salt in the Venetian Empire. In the wake of its collapse, the Austrian Empire took over and formally declared salt a state monopoly in 1814. By the mid-twentieth century (and more political changes of hands), salt mines were seen as more profitable; the pans declined, and were bought up by a succession of small companies. In the 1990s, the process of declaring the wetlands a nature reserve began. The Sečovlje pans are one of the last in the Mediterranean area (nearby Štrunjan has some, but the area is currently closed to walkers).</p><p>The simple evaporation process has been largely unchanged for centuries. Sea water is filtered into a huge network of rectangular basins, pans, linked by a series of small canals that have a miniature lock and dam system to let water in and out. The salt is moved down from deeper to shallower pans until it has evaporated to the extent that the salt can be scraped out. A little rail network enables the harvesters to push the wagons of salt to the salt works where it is piled up to dry out. The most gourmet salt is the fleur de sel (flower salt), that forms as a crust on the evaporating sea water.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSet7-LchCbIskJgikTWjGbtkOvcOj6B27qxAo5xehkDo5hW_nVyxSETdXuorTE5Ia4kZeJAYDB8Eg-QHvnJSxvQ2ZXS1yqSMmjjZsgXlFwtT464bq5CXHXJ0FiXbmr8rZWHdyUeE7Tk/s4032/IMG_20201018_135505644.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSet7-LchCbIskJgikTWjGbtkOvcOj6B27qxAo5xehkDo5hW_nVyxSETdXuorTE5Ia4kZeJAYDB8Eg-QHvnJSxvQ2ZXS1yqSMmjjZsgXlFwtT464bq5CXHXJ0FiXbmr8rZWHdyUeE7Tk/w300-h400/IMG_20201018_135505644.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The canal/channel system<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What draws me to the reserve is its bleak beauty, its vast flat lands stretching out to the sea. Here and there a mallard plods across the shallow water, leaving a trail of footprints in the brine-soaked clay. A little egret (the park's symbol) perches on a canal, to spread its wings and fly off with a cry as we approach (over 200 species of birds have been recorded here). Tiny red brine shrimp dart through the water beneath the shadows of salt flies. Patches of purple Michaelmas daisies and golden samphire flowers cling to the sides of the scrubland, visited by saline bees (I wonder what salt pan honey tastes like?). We were lucky to spot a shore crab, too, scuttling through the seaweed of the canal. </div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBefzSEGaVdaNJqLD_8tNBD-Q-XjcxwjmDZCLaGalkwKz0JZKvoNkPh-tia9kNz4rJQnqAGzMWu_xN2PU3k0azDSIMTssH43BpUL7sasSAIXDlmEWoRBsLr3zzupJ6c_oCYdCT6SuwAY/s4032/IMG_20201018_151951453.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBefzSEGaVdaNJqLD_8tNBD-Q-XjcxwjmDZCLaGalkwKz0JZKvoNkPh-tia9kNz4rJQnqAGzMWu_xN2PU3k0azDSIMTssH43BpUL7sasSAIXDlmEWoRBsLr3zzupJ6c_oCYdCT6SuwAY/w300-h400/IMG_20201018_151951453.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dry pans<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Apart from the board walk, the basics have not changed since our first visit. A shop and gallery half way along the walk, a visitor centre at the end of the main path (updated of course), and a bar that I'm pretty sure was not there before. I spent generously in the little shop because of course although I pass their outlet in town about every day I never bother to go in - plus we are trying to put money into local businesses hurt by the epidemic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlcx2dqUHOzrFbumdLJKdBAL0LgHncSF189QZ0tQkRQyiBf0jhbbMiNR-pnLQ3RU0P4-F2nyB-i1TpmRnd-75uJ4ESI_Xrhyphenhyphenr6lS_xfZvDiJ0ybsYOvC2BxnbCfzzZuWc9DiYXJ_-iq0/s1703/img501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="1703" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlcx2dqUHOzrFbumdLJKdBAL0LgHncSF189QZ0tQkRQyiBf0jhbbMiNR-pnLQ3RU0P4-F2nyB-i1TpmRnd-75uJ4ESI_Xrhyphenhyphenr6lS_xfZvDiJ0ybsYOvC2BxnbCfzzZuWc9DiYXJ_-iq0/w400-h269/img501.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A better bird photo courtesy of my friend, Martin<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The little documentary at the visitor centre reminded or informed me of so many things we don't think about when we are sprinkling the white stuff onto our chips. It has been an element of religious rituals for eons. You might think of modern day pagans and witches using salt, but it's a valid sacrament in liturgical churches, too. Or do you remember throwing spilled salt over your shoulder into the devil's eye? Did you know we get the word 'salary' from the fact that Roman soldiers were sometimes paid in salt? Think, too, of salty language or salacious gossip. Perhaps we don't give salt enough respect nowadays.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMaRWDa7oGrdgVvSU8ad2dldrWVi90AAf5hDKlLDdEeiabhKxzSBWm6ZaxkRCQdDwhZfV6hikB-B_szUC3WW-EpcuPf6yEAKmdL1e1xLRGS0xXIrwgefHE1DBKS6lORUnZ5M3hU2EDzU/s4032/IMG_20201018_155456753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMaRWDa7oGrdgVvSU8ad2dldrWVi90AAf5hDKlLDdEeiabhKxzSBWm6ZaxkRCQdDwhZfV6hikB-B_szUC3WW-EpcuPf6yEAKmdL1e1xLRGS0xXIrwgefHE1DBKS6lORUnZ5M3hU2EDzU/w400-h300/IMG_20201018_155456753.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know the shadow is there, but I rarely get a photo of myself<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was glowing when I got home - literally, because I had caught the sun. I was not expecting that in October. And yes, small confession - we brought home some Michaelmas daisy seed heads. Then I found out that they are actually sea asters and like salty soil. So much for that.</div><p><b>Touristy stuff.</b> The salt pans are about a twenty-minute drive from central Koper. They are in the middle of a little village, and there are places to eat close by, but I have not explored the area. <a href="http://www.kpss.si/en/intro" target="_blank">Here</a> is the website. I found that the Slovenian language version was more up-to-date than the English version, which still said the reserve was closed until further notice, so you might want to double check the original with a translation tool. At the time of writing, the museum and the road that leads to it (a walk on the other side of the reserve) were definitely closed. You can also explore the salt pans with the Nexto app, that covers several tourist areas in Slovenia. I'm not big into electronic tourist guides (I like to read and then experience the place), but others may love it. Take layers and sun cream - there can be a biting wind in the summer, and apparently, scorching weather in the autumn. And if you go in the summer, of course you can try out the <a href="http://www.thalasso-lepavida.si/en" target="_blank">Thalasso Spa</a>, but be prepared to bare all. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-79098547645193094422020-10-15T08:41:00.002+02:002020-10-15T15:43:07.683+02:00QuickLit October 2020<p> Back to linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-october-2020/" target="_blank">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> for QuickLit after a September trip to see family in Dorset, England (and play in the sand and eat lots of cake). Plus, the local bookshop owner agreed to stock my novel set in Dorset!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xYPWLXBhpwMOkQZ-pO8mpdWpXgJyZs3m__S5w4kmQLLD8Ab3d6G_YinokC3vA5Toi4eVeDZde7LOvDzXzIp3h8BTOoGly2opC2-zKW7-6qF7l7FZFD1JBuPEtdxDEGmuDsOrb4D-_BM/s4032/IMG_20200919_143449982.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xYPWLXBhpwMOkQZ-pO8mpdWpXgJyZs3m__S5w4kmQLLD8Ab3d6G_YinokC3vA5Toi4eVeDZde7LOvDzXzIp3h8BTOoGly2opC2-zKW7-6qF7l7FZFD1JBuPEtdxDEGmuDsOrb4D-_BM/w300-h400/IMG_20200919_143449982.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local fame for <i>A Dorset Summer</i> :)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Fun family fact - the <i>Seaweeds </i>book next to it was published under a project my brother was involved in! Here's a few reading highlights from the last couple of months:</p><p><b>Daphne Du Maurier - <i>Mary Anne</i></b></p><p>This is another of Du Maurier's fictionalized family biographies, this time of her notorious great-great grandmother, Mary Anne Clarke, who pulled herself out of poverty to become a courtesan, and was for a short time the mistress of the Prince of Wales - until she reached too far. Du Maurier does not paint a pretty world or likeable characters, but this is the eighteenth century where reputation, money and a woman's body are commodities in the game of politics. Not as riveting as her fiction, but interesting if you are already a Du Maurier fan and want to know more about her family.</p><p><b>Jane Borodale - <i>The Book of Fires</i></b></p><p>Keeping to the eighteenth century for this literary historical novel, shortlisted for the Orange prize. Agnes is seventeen and pregnant out of wedlock. When an unexpected way out presents itself, she flees to London and ends up as the apprentice to a fireworks maker, from whom she hides her shame. But her salvation has a time limit, and her all choices are desperate. Lyrical, lots of fascinating details about pyrotechnics, and a surprise happy ending.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJ1X27VehdAT2J6tAdRrRnpF0VGSlFO2NAfwbKPD-H6UdidTyZImKdNKIjnLvR2OC0Fy7nAHxHxgSS8px93EPcHQq2-cIOH-EYhnQh4sxXLWRuyST8sQYWklpSQZUal7mYlvFaIrLMAo/s4032/IMG_20201012_120839099.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJ1X27VehdAT2J6tAdRrRnpF0VGSlFO2NAfwbKPD-H6UdidTyZImKdNKIjnLvR2OC0Fy7nAHxHxgSS8px93EPcHQq2-cIOH-EYhnQh4sxXLWRuyST8sQYWklpSQZUal7mYlvFaIrLMAo/w300-h400/IMG_20201012_120839099.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My book stash from the UK, with the new Kindle I bought there on top<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Jenny Colgan - <i>The Endless Beach</i></b></p><p>My Mum gave me <i>The Book of Fires</i> to read, and I left her this when I was done (because my bags couldn't take one. more. thing). A sequel to <i>The Summer Seaside Kitchen</i> (or <i>The Cafe by the Sea </i>if you are in the US). Flora wonders if her new relationship with Joel is actually getting anywhere. Lorna, her friend and headmistress of the tiny island school, is wrestling with her love for refugee doctor Saif, whose wife and sons are missing. Only Flora's brother seems to enjoy unalloyed happiness with Colton - but their new love is about to be tested to the full. Typical delicious Colgan fare that will keep you turning the pages.</p><p><br /></p><p>Plenty of new publications from my critique group this past month or so. Here' s a sampling:</p><p>Ursula Thompson - <i>Brothers of the Sun. Book 1: All at Sea</i>. Piratical debut.</p><p>Katherine Pym - <i>Begotten</i>. Fantasy based on the ancient Sumer civilisation.</p><p>Maggi Andersen - <i>Introducing Miss Joanna</i>. Second in her romance novella series <i>Once a Wallflower</i>. Plus <i>The Heir's Proposal</i>. Maggi is prolific :) Oh, and a romance novella collection she contributed to, <i>The Midnight Hour: All Hallows Brides</i>, won the RONE award!</p><p>Anne Marie Brear - <i>Market Stall Girl</i>. Historical family saga set in Yorkshire.</p><p>Hope you are having a safe and happy October. I confess this is the time of year when I am grateful I have moved back to Europe and only have to think about Christmas :)</p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-52002385473379234942020-09-01T21:25:00.001+02:002020-09-01T21:25:50.762+02:00Milano without FOMO<p> So, we finally got on the road again. Actually, we have sort of been on the road for day trips several times, but it mostly ended in tourism failures which I could have made into witty blog posts if I had been in the mood, but coronavirus somewhat sapped my usual store of sarcasm.</p><p>Anyhow, when our daughter's Venice flight to her new school got cancelled, and Milan was the nearest airport offering an alternative, we decided to take a few extra days' break. It's a major Italian city I have never visited, and hubby has a good friend and colleague there. Plus our daughter got to enjoy telling everyone how her family was sending her off to boarding school and then going on holiday.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfRdfMNDs0XoJfhkEmd10Ku8_Xb00I8byHclaQ21ZoauUfFwIvxtTN9hsaiy6gLBgzjjz_hD0daP2l_568rqJOoYGviNuUFJZ1wwL0QyCxT10KxmuN_mxeQeCqrYlGpi0ADsVaX_ZeiQ/s4032/IMG_20200819_192629268_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfRdfMNDs0XoJfhkEmd10Ku8_Xb00I8byHclaQ21ZoauUfFwIvxtTN9hsaiy6gLBgzjjz_hD0daP2l_568rqJOoYGviNuUFJZ1wwL0QyCxT10KxmuN_mxeQeCqrYlGpi0ADsVaX_ZeiQ/w307-h410/IMG_20200819_192629268_HDR.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little Milan street art<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The FOMO? Well, it's Milan in August, post lockdown. Like many Europeans, the Italians see the holiday month of August as sacred. Even in non-pandemic years, businesses and restaurants, regardless of whether they are in the middle of famous tourist cities, think nothing of shutting up for the whole month - "chiuso per ferie" (closed for holidays) was the phrase we saw displayed on shop after shop. Museums and many other city attractions were open only for two days a week, and then only accepting visitors on timed tickets bought in advance. </p><p>But, we were trying to holiday in a city with a five year-old and couldn't have big plans, so there was no pressure to see and do it all. Plus, the only real goal was to get our daughter safely off on her new adventure. As long as the plane left, it was a success. In fact, I had rashly declared to a friend that the rest of the holiday could be a disaster as long as she got off okay.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_KKGzlTkhV3pUekcLfHcxQ38oVMmeAd67U7-r7_w167dqAjoNR_PPYDyjFRyDBXV4bQNJOIY4lgYuuuZa-CsijUBPQFHV6vTOCz0ES-p55_T-9RM7Tp_-lE4apJfpSnGgAOqgBXtYbc/s640/duomomilan-883761_640.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="640" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_KKGzlTkhV3pUekcLfHcxQ38oVMmeAd67U7-r7_w167dqAjoNR_PPYDyjFRyDBXV4bQNJOIY4lgYuuuZa-CsijUBPQFHV6vTOCz0ES-p55_T-9RM7Tp_-lE4apJfpSnGgAOqgBXtYbc/w410-h272/duomomilan-883761_640.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Duomo. Credit: <a href="https://pixabay.com/photos/milan-cathedral-religion-883761/">https://pixabay.com/photos/milan-cathedral-religion-883761/</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The first plus: the roads were empty, so there was none of the usual terror of driving in an Italian city. We pulled into the carefully chosen car park, only to find that it was a supermarket. We'd mistaken it for the actual car park next door, which was "chiuso per ferie". We decided to leave the car there and go to meet the host of our AirBnb apartment. There was only one other car in the whole place, and who was going to fine us in August when all the traffic wardens were "chiuso per ferie"?</p><p>The AirBnb was the second plus: we got a one-bedroom apartment in the Isola district for a discount, less than 60 euros a night. A little squashed for the one night our daughter was there with all her luggage, but plenty of room for the three of us after she jetted off (see my review below). And, it turned out that even if half the city car parks are "chiuso per ferie", street parking is widely available.</p><p>Unfortunately, our first outing, and our daughter's farewell dinner, was not so great. We headed out to Chinatown to seek out a ramen restaurant - and spent about an hour and a half trailing from place to place which Google thought was open but in actuality was... "chiuso per ferie". Tired, hangry and with sore feet, we trudged back to the apartment to find that the Indian takeaway next door had at least opened, but with a limited menu. Not the best last night, but nothing could be done about it, and we had bought the next day's train tickets on the way, so that was a small victory.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqitgCnODBi9eHHav9T7VEgiKrfHVHcMim4zubEhPi8dht5domdle8rlNTBZJhmOR9UDO8GaP4pVpVL62euGrSFJnuUbZkZdUXtv3zFks8ZrstL0Wd2WP7QFZOoSEv_haPRqSM24Aa834/s640/milantram-2384693_640.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqitgCnODBi9eHHav9T7VEgiKrfHVHcMim4zubEhPi8dht5domdle8rlNTBZJhmOR9UDO8GaP4pVpVL62euGrSFJnuUbZkZdUXtv3zFks8ZrstL0Wd2WP7QFZOoSEv_haPRqSM24Aa834/w410-h273/milantram-2384693_640.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside Milan's vintage trams. Credit: <a href="https://pixabay.com/photos/tram-milan-public-transport-wood-2384693/">https://pixabay.com/photos/tram-milan-public-transport-wood-2384693/</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The next morning, Alcuin and I saw Ted and our daughter off on the train to the airport (aside - DON'T FORGET TO VALIDATE YOUR TRANSPORT TICKETS BEFORE USING THEM. Just saying.). I had decided to take Alcuin for a ride on the #1 tram, which still uses the old, vintage cars and trundles through the main tourist areas. We made it to the central station, but then got into trouble. I asked for directions three times, and got vague answers from stallholders around the station probably annoyed that I wasn't buying anything when they were having a terrible summer, and weren't "chiuso per ferie".</p><p> Ted checked in mid morning and told us what had happened with his tickets (but daughter's plane was on time, so what was a hundred euros compared to that?). I was beginning to think I shouldn't have called down disaster on our heads, and was about to limp off back to the apartment when I spotted one last tram line around a corner - and thank goodness it was the right one. The real thank goodness was that I found a small packet of biscuits hidden in my backpack, which stopped Alcuin from having a meltdown.</p><p>But yes, the tram ride was fun - and I had validated my ticket. Very few people were riding, and, like the underground trains, seats were marked off so we had lots of space. We journeyed through town until I could no longer follow where we were,, and got off near a park for a break before hopping on the tram in the other direction.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1muzf72x7mpp3NfWrpleyOx-QuqrGnZ6KzDm1BSM4DRLLhCQsLIsqf_PKGB26m4URSvV6vT5t-XAbwSZ6XqNn6SEX9otCJb2bT5Y_UikzkKjOl3X2PoktwX0j5eDq8rrjuGrdIMbhqU/s4032/IMG_20200821_113533917.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1muzf72x7mpp3NfWrpleyOx-QuqrGnZ6KzDm1BSM4DRLLhCQsLIsqf_PKGB26m4URSvV6vT5t-XAbwSZ6XqNn6SEX9otCJb2bT5Y_UikzkKjOl3X2PoktwX0j5eDq8rrjuGrdIMbhqU/w307-h410/IMG_20200821_113533917.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess what this is!*<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>In the afternoon, reunited with Ted, we made our way to the Duomo (cathedral) piazza to meet his good friend and colleague. The place felt like an oven. The temperatures were due to be similar to Koper, but a heatwave swept in at the last moment. We couldn't get inside the Duomo fast enough - literally, because we had to have a bag check and temperature check to be allowed in. There's lots you can do at the Duomo, but we knew our son's limits and just paid the few euros to go inside, forgoing the crypt, treasury and tower to admire the architecture. Taking six centuries to complete, it's technically the largest church in Italy (Saint Peter's in Rome is inside Vatican City). Like all great cathedrals, it is designed to be a huge space that gives you a glimpse of eternity as it draws your eyes upwards to heaven. I'd go with the writer Henry James on the description that it is "not... commandingly beautiful, but grandly curious and superbly rich".</p><p>Next stop the Galleria in the same piazza, where the glory of capitalism rubs shoulders with the glory of God, to cool down with an ice cream and look at all the designer shops I would never step into. There was a lady and her baby dressed up to the nines in front of one, with her husband doing some sort of photo shoot for them. The beginning of the child's instagram life, I guess. There are several mosaics in the Galleria, and someone came up with the idea that it was good luck to spin three times on the bull's testicles of one of them. Luckily we had Alcuin to do that for us so the adults didn't have to be seen being cheesy but we could check it off our list.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3hjJ8U0JTN7teKKlYGksTNFzzaAxP6ilGNejE-8QMgpda-0aUxeg4VjS-XetDwgGvxYBmjFgtVqytfqeKBleTQUu-1_7XOycpYZ9O9e4syRsLxWKsMPXart8WARqtW6bHIrtY6s0J1U/s4032/IMG_20200820_172057421.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3hjJ8U0JTN7teKKlYGksTNFzzaAxP6ilGNejE-8QMgpda-0aUxeg4VjS-XetDwgGvxYBmjFgtVqytfqeKBleTQUu-1_7XOycpYZ9O9e4syRsLxWKsMPXart8WARqtW6bHIrtY6s0J1U/w307-h410/IMG_20200820_172057421.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><br /><p>From there, we walked ten minutes to the Sforza castle, built up around a 14th century fortress. Again, this is a budget and child-friendly option. You can enjoy the castle and environs, and even the courtyard for free, but pay to get inside the museum rooms (again, only open two days a week), which include Da Vinci frescoes. Alcuin had the most fun walking around spotting the colony of well-fed cats who live in the former moat. There's a notice up that roughly translates "Please don't feed the cats because we do". A short play in the Sempione park that backs onto the castle, and it was time to go back to our thankfully air conditioned apartment to cool down before dinner. Our friend took us literally around the corner in the other direction from the one we had gone the night before - and lo and behold there was an entire restaurant district on our doorstep. Oh well.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7kq08ipM_AUTSJ8TzFWyOiF47nvxMhyUc61oWlKgZXtjmzUk5nViaEjdSPDl9oUTJQvEkRDbgkbZZG58kyqbTyOgRmVBp9ChFWz2aBx0wQGPztDRyQvOpPuy4A29fskehWQvkoK1j1g/s4032/IMG_20200820_174118228_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7kq08ipM_AUTSJ8TzFWyOiF47nvxMhyUc61oWlKgZXtjmzUk5nViaEjdSPDl9oUTJQvEkRDbgkbZZG58kyqbTyOgRmVBp9ChFWz2aBx0wQGPztDRyQvOpPuy4A29fskehWQvkoK1j1g/w307-h410/IMG_20200820_174118228_HDR.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 'new' family of three at the fountain by the Sforza castle (that's not it in the background!)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The biggest plus of the coronavirus/August situation was that we were able to book tickets to see Leonardo Da Vinci's Last Supper only one week in advance, when it's usually months, so the next morning we were off to the monastery of Santa Marie delle Grazie and another temperature/ security check. (It's Cenacolo Vinciano in Italian if you're following the clear signposting.) Groups of eighteen are allowed in for fifteen minutes at a time, after going through a carefully climate-controlled entrance. The moment we entered the refectory was pretty emotional. Alcuin was incredibly patient for once and even allowed himself to be placated when he got a little antsy. And all was well, until our friend whispered to me, "Whose arm is that?" Bother, he was right, there's this arm that must be Peter's but doesn't quite sit right. This is what happens when you go around with mathematicians. (I've since discovered that yes, it must be Peter's but is twisted and that everyone who has read or seen <i>The Da Vinci Code</i> of course knows all about it.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGV34qcG4zxaF78kO0O8KAeuBliXxc6gchtBB0C7FeFufsxx_6zBTcZw0CeeoOeeMzViP9yWMPjb9OYNZyhnQyLcUzX_Z6f-CuZZ6hp5Mk3BQ4V-tCmjZZ9HuyVT4SV57KR3QOGQIXFCY/s4032/IMG_20200821_111154478_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGV34qcG4zxaF78kO0O8KAeuBliXxc6gchtBB0C7FeFufsxx_6zBTcZw0CeeoOeeMzViP9yWMPjb9OYNZyhnQyLcUzX_Z6f-CuZZ6hp5Mk3BQ4V-tCmjZZ9HuyVT4SV57KR3QOGQIXFCY/w307-h410/IMG_20200821_111154478_HDR.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Basilica cloister<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>With temperatures set to soar to 36 degrees, we could only choose one more spot to hit before we had to take a siesta, and we chose the Basilica of Saint Ambrose (Sant'Ambrogio), founded by the saint but extensively rebuilt. Saint Ambrose, if you are wondering, is famous for a couple of things in particular. The first is being instrumental in the conversion of Saint Augustine, whose writings influenced western thought for centuries. The second is that he dared to defy the Emperor Theodosius, refusing him entry to the cathedral (and excommunicating him to boot) after the ruler was complicit in a massacre at Thessalonica - and the Emperor capitulated and repented.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOjuvcxaXEcrk1v45-VTlLkXcNoaFx3pgEDIfTcHA72Vpo1UmNd_A-q1buycm4ulBTrQdbWFR_0RrH-F0zZb1g0k0xkP8hPNRqmMMQMzOvMbObIHRHiMeavD-zbJxn-BliUZsZf4lUbE/s4032/IMG_20200821_112755564.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOjuvcxaXEcrk1v45-VTlLkXcNoaFx3pgEDIfTcHA72Vpo1UmNd_A-q1buycm4ulBTrQdbWFR_0RrH-F0zZb1g0k0xkP8hPNRqmMMQMzOvMbObIHRHiMeavD-zbJxn-BliUZsZf4lUbE/w307-h410/IMG_20200821_112755564.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saint Ambrose flanked by two martyrs<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It was a good choice - a shaded cloister for exercising Alcuin, and, though we had not figured this out beforehand, Saint Ambrose is still there in person, decked out in bishop's robes! Admittedly, he's looking a little thin nowadays, but wow! Being in the presence of such a seminal figure of early history just blew me away. Even better - they had the forethought to entomb the bodies of his brother and sister there, too. Plus, under the pulpit is the tomb of Stilicho which almost certainly contains the body of the famous Roman (but half Vandal) general. This visit may have eclipsed The Last Supper for me. Ambrose, by the way, is still revered in Milan and his feast day is celebrated on December 7th each year.</p><p>And that, folks, was it for us. A rest from the heat and a final curry, but from a restaurant this time, and it was ciao to Milan, but we'll be back when it's cooler, and not "chiuso per ferie".</p><p>*I don't know. It was on the column outside the main door of the basilica.</p><p><u>Touristy stuff</u></p><p><u>The Last Supper:</u> Don't be fooled by the first sites that come up when doing a search for The Last Supper: they inevitably try to sell you very expensive package tickets. We paid 15 euros per adult via the <a href="https://cenacolovinciano.org/en/" target="_blank">official site</a>.</p><p><u>Accommodation</u>:<a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/24262646?adults=2&children=0&source_impression_id=p3_1598967636_86doM%2FC1nUPG1xY7" target="_blank">This</a> is our apartment. We had no complaints - but if you are looking for an upmarket AirBnb experience, this might not be for you. It had comfortable beds, a decent amount of towels and bedding, and a fully, but not over, equipped kitchen, plus a utility room with a washing machine and lots of storage space if you are en route to somewhere else or travel with everything but the kitchen sink (but be warned if you do that as it's up 4 flights of stairs). It will not sleep four adults unless you are very short, because the sofa bed is not long enough for the average man, plus the place would be crowded. But if you are the sort of traveller who wants a decent, comfortable, budget place to rest your head, and the city is what you have come to enjoy, I recommend it. It's in the heart of the Isola district, across the road from a small supermarket, and a short walk from the train and underground stations - and restaurants, if you turn in the right direction.</p><p><u>Transport:</u> Milan has a good public transport system that is very cheap. Tickets cover duration, not rides - 90 minutes per ticket, valid on buses, trams and the underground. (I thought at first that it was more complicated than London, but I say that of all other underground systems, even though they have about three lines and London has a hundred and three. Familiarity.) I bought a 24-hour ticket and it easily paid for itself with zipping here and there, because it was too hot to walk. VALIDATE YOUR TICKET - look for the machines, which will often have instructions in English as well as Italian.</p><p>If you are foolish enough to take a car, there are several parking apps that can at least make it less of a headache - I used <a href="https://easyparkitalia.it/en" target="_blank">EasyPark</a> and it was very, well, easy.</p><p><u>Planning:</u> This was a last minute trip, so there was no great planning campaign. If you are travelling with children, <a href="https://www.thespringbreakfamily.com/things-to-do-in-milan-with-kids/" target="_blank">this</a> might be an interesting website. I also perused <a href="https://www.thecrowdedplanet.com/free-things-milan/" target="_blank">this one</a> on free or freeish things to do in Milan. </p>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-38720872064850206262020-08-15T14:20:00.001+02:002020-08-15T14:24:16.775+02:00Quick Lit August 2020<div>Linking up with <a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/quick-lit-august-2020/">Modern Mrs Darcy</a> as usual for QuickLit.</div><div>Ah, the dog days of summer. We're sweltering here on the edge of the Mediterranean, so thank goodness we live only a five-minute walk from the sea. I feel like I'm not really into my reading at the moment, so it's nice to keep this record and remind myself that I've managed to squeeze in some good books.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_t2fKouFp7anqHeyDCGMJaTC69HQFAJ3aF3R3PEXuoQVqJF2cxSGM7sJ2SBn1PJRHgckeT-5hyUCsD6-HtF6JSB56pLifPFEnarnnKoSuJHuMJxINyIb7md1vEf8LLuS-28Nz5cHvi0/s4032/IMG_20200810_165755612.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_t2fKouFp7anqHeyDCGMJaTC69HQFAJ3aF3R3PEXuoQVqJF2cxSGM7sJ2SBn1PJRHgckeT-5hyUCsD6-HtF6JSB56pLifPFEnarnnKoSuJHuMJxINyIb7md1vEf8LLuS-28Nz5cHvi0/w384-h512/IMG_20200810_165755612.jpg" title="Melon and very little clothing - that's how it's going at our house these days" width="384" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melon and very little clothing - that's how it's going at our house nowadays<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><b>Katherine Reay - <i>The Bronte Plot</i></b><i> </i>[audio]<div>This was free via the InSnyc teen summer reading programme. I liked the premise of the novel: a dying woman, Helen, determines to settle past regrets, and travels to England, choosing as her companion Lucy, the granddaughter of her first love. Lucy is also grappling with her past, wondering if she can ever break free from the dubious influence of her family - and has also just broken up with Helen's grandson over this. However, the setting was the lives of the super rich, which does not interest me, so I felt somewhat detached from the characters.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Daphne Du Maurier - <i>The Parasites</i></b></div><div>Not so with this novel, that is still haunting me. Several avid Du Maurier readers told me they had not heard of this one, so I suppose it must be a hidden classic. The Delany children - step siblings Maria and Niall, linked by Celia, half-sister to each - are the children of famous artistes. When Maria's husband bitterly announces one afternoon that they are nothing but parasites, they delve into their past to put themselves on trial. To call it a psychological drama might sound boring, but it is anything but. Even the narrative voices are parasitic, feeding off one another and merging in and out of one unidentifiable 'we'. If I could make a wish to write like only one novelist, I think it would have to be Du Maurier (Barbara Pym would be second). Absolutely read it if you have enjoyed her other books.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9KQGJ9D17uIbX787VyKDUI7Y6prefegrRi6o65yekKD8Kbkqpq_NICDC3g1rPMyJxeOfupt8VzDFeNhZeDLjamjGrNG5Bl_z6uZRj_s8tiAJB_me8-cMbqjYfjfIhVLb0XYDUl3bQxg/s277/5+red+herrings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="182" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9KQGJ9D17uIbX787VyKDUI7Y6prefegrRi6o65yekKD8Kbkqpq_NICDC3g1rPMyJxeOfupt8VzDFeNhZeDLjamjGrNG5Bl_z6uZRj_s8tiAJB_me8-cMbqjYfjfIhVLb0XYDUl3bQxg/w228-h346/5+red+herrings.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dorothy L. Sayers - <i>Five Red Herrings</i></b></div><div>There seems to have been a run on sales for the Lord Peter Wimsey novels. I have to say, I wish I had read this one in a physical copy so that I could flick back and forth. There are six suspects, many of whom Sayers gave standard Scottish names, and much of the mystery involves railway timetables. Many times, I felt like I should go back to the beginning and start a whodunnit spreadsheet. But, to the plot: a belligerent artist is found dead with his half-finished painting, and all his acquaintances are suspects. A good story, excellent red herrings, but an abrupt ending, I thought.</div><div><br /></div><div>And now, onto confession time...</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Katherine Hayton - <i>Marjorie's Cozy Kitten Cafe</i> </b>[audiobooks]</div><div>I was getting the 'second wave' of Covid-19 anxiety, and this trio of audio mystery novellas beckoned for only 99 cents. Actually what sold me was the reviewer who complained 'Not enough cats.' Easy listening while I make dinner, and better for the hips than chocolate therapy.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you are enjoying summer reading. With any luck, I won't be posting next month, because I have a holiday booked to see family in the UK. Fingers crossed for the flight!</div>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7360883111566430056.post-40305368527153141662020-07-16T14:02:00.001+02:002020-07-16T14:13:47.747+02:00Legends of Old Harry Rock<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizz5c3HHCPaprAG9KTTKUGaEGtTX6kAC0aBNeG8YM9WFvjcHDaueZTdxDzcOoC2LLXothCkgrJoGSf3affAyLz76t74TVksTbH3uPDMZbSRBHryyG-H2XHSkk7VsxGalvtIasrcJFB18/s1600/Old+Harry+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizz5c3HHCPaprAG9KTTKUGaEGtTX6kAC0aBNeG8YM9WFvjcHDaueZTdxDzcOoC2LLXothCkgrJoGSf3affAyLz76t74TVksTbH3uPDMZbSRBHryyG-H2XHSkk7VsxGalvtIasrcJFB18/s400/Old+Harry+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.pxfuel.com/en/free-photo-jlyjo">https://www.pxfuel.com/en/free-photo-jlyjo</a></td></tr>
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Old Harry Rock (or, Old Harry Rocks) near Studland is/are an iconic landmark in Dorset, although perhaps a little less famous (if postcards are anything to go by) than Durdle Door in Lulworth. The chalk outcrop looms as a geographic phantom throughout my novel, <i><a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/2020/06/a-dorset-summer-is-here.html">A Dorset Summer</a></i>.<br />
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Just as people don't agree on exactly how to name them (just counting the main rock, or those surrounding him), how they got their name is also in dispute. Some say they are named after the fourteenth-century Poole pirate, Harry Paye. Explanations include that his ships hid near here as a launch point for his raid on merchant ships, or that his treasure was stashed in the cliff's caves. History suggests that Harry ferried pilgrims across the sea to Spain, and, in an admirable display of business acumen, filled his empty holds on the return journey by indulging in piracy along the Spanish coastline, as well as accepting money from Spanish nobility to aid them in their feuds.<br />
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The main reason he is celebrated comes a little later - and I've seen slightly different versions of that story. Either in payback for the piratical antics of the man they called Arripaye, or in a run-of-the-mill act of aggression, A Spanish-French alliance raided the coastline along Dorset, launching an attack on Harry's home town. The people of Poole beat the invaders off in a desperate fight, even ripping doors from their hinges to use as shields. Apparently Harry was absent, but in revenge, he gathered a small fleet and captured 120 French ships, giving their cargo to Poole. It is said the people were drunk for a month afterwards on the claret. I'm surprised they even remembered his name after that, but they (maybe) named the rocks for him, and commemorate him on Harry Paye Day - Pirate Day - in Poole.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTY-pACtpGXn85rPE9WDwp1aw686YnU6bcdfzHhk9S78sVcH58miIN7Lm5CT_ydKRwCsZiZVkR7uXZ_SBbu0LDBzDG-HAWHUir3Wwz-BVDgxvTP1keINBT1oKDY_GKUSUoE87BJa7PLvQ/s1600/Old+harry+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTY-pACtpGXn85rPE9WDwp1aw686YnU6bcdfzHhk9S78sVcH58miIN7Lm5CT_ydKRwCsZiZVkR7uXZ_SBbu0LDBzDG-HAWHUir3Wwz-BVDgxvTP1keINBT1oKDY_GKUSUoE87BJa7PLvQ/s400/Old+harry+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.pxfuel.com/en/free-photo-ozuwh">https://www.pxfuel.com/en/free-photo-ozuwh</a></td></tr>
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The other most popular legend links the rocks to "Old Harry", the devil, joining with many other geographic oddities in the British Isles, which are said to be places visited by the devil. The Dorset legend says he slept on the rock one night. The expression "to play Old Harry" means to ruin or destroy, and it's linked here to the idea that it's a warning to ships to steer clear of the rocks. By the way, other places in Dorset with satanic etymology include Agglestone (meaning "Prince's Stone") and the village of Dewlish (devilish).<br />
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Another legend, one that I only found out about when I delved a little deeper into Old Harry legends, is that the rock is a drowned Viking, Earl Harold, turned into a pillar of chalk after his raid on the English coast was thwarted. I tried to investigate that tale further, but only got broken links, so maybe it's a legend about a legend :)<br />
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Geography says the rocks were once part of a chalk cliff line that stretched out to what is now the Isle of Wight. Erosion over thousands of years left us the Needles at the Isle of Wight and Old Harry by the mainland. Old Harry used to have a wife, but she collapsed into the sea at the end of the nineteenth century, and her title was transferred to the next rock along, so I suppose Old Harry is not that doting a husband.<br />
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By the way, H.G. Wells' ashes were scattered here by his son.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2MHkcots9ycezD81AQerjWqUtIbrZTfjTGZR0nQ80BPjabHPvxJkTHeuc8FluWOGcyUL2qxjVrANT3UJQc15Y0fKj9EOxB9Pbb52sNY8RRB3O8vIwe2jC3m-O0Oiv9oMnxfN_DGd9x8/s1600/Old+Harry+Beatrice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2MHkcots9ycezD81AQerjWqUtIbrZTfjTGZR0nQ80BPjabHPvxJkTHeuc8FluWOGcyUL2qxjVrANT3UJQc15Y0fKj9EOxB9Pbb52sNY8RRB3O8vIwe2jC3m-O0Oiv9oMnxfN_DGd9x8/s400/Old+Harry+Beatrice.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painting copyright Beatrice Dobson 2020 (aka my talented daughter!)</td></tr>
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Whatever the origins, Old Harry is an impressive focal point for your walks along the Jurassic coastline. I like to do the walk from Swanage, the town where my parents now live. You can start from the town itself, picking up the path to the cliff near the Grand Hotel, but I prefer to begin at Swanage beach, walking along almost to the point where it turns the corner of the coastline, to pick up the stairs that wind up the cliff and meet the coastal path. From there it's a clearly-marked path along the cliff edge and through fields to Old Harry. After you've rested on the cliffs, a short walk will bring you down into Studland and the Bankes Arms for a very well-deserved pint, and the bus back to Swanage. As far as I can recall, that's less than a couple of hours of walking.<br />
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The easiest and more popular route, especially in summer, is to pick up the path in Studland itself, down the road from the Bankes Arms, where you start on a wooded, shaded route and break out into sunshine near the cliff edge. We used to do that quite a lot when I was a child, as a break from sitting on the beach below. Whichever route you choose, you'll be well rewarded at the end.<br />
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I chose to put the legends of Old Harry into the prologue of my novel, setting the tone of something vaguely supernatural lying beneath the surface. Here it is in full:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QRQoDnQ1gUdun8SjYiGapHai7UNgH0FRuUCAuhqFCCAyqrS9w3MGsJVn7vBjt05uY1TXGGPI4Gk7qgOFqPbMydjaRg6x9pXE3wGRJHk2n__AW-MFB_sWf3RCZGHoJjHDm5vUnZKsh78/s1600/Dorset+cover+3+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QRQoDnQ1gUdun8SjYiGapHai7UNgH0FRuUCAuhqFCCAyqrS9w3MGsJVn7vBjt05uY1TXGGPI4Gk7qgOFqPbMydjaRg6x9pXE3wGRJHk2n__AW-MFB_sWf3RCZGHoJjHDm5vUnZKsh78/s400/Dorset+cover+3+-+Copy.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo credit: all my own work :)</td></tr>
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<b>A Dorset Summer: Prologue<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span></b></div>
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I
lean against the windowsill, my face so close to the pane that my breath
dissolves a little circle in the frost clinging to the glass. In the fading
light, an unfamiliar landscape meets my eye. Snow: shovelled into grey heaps
three feet high on either side of the pathways, drifting pristine against the
fences, melding gardens and fields into one expanse. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On a
whim, I fling open the casement. An avalanche of hardened snow cascades from
the roof above. A gull, hunkered down by the chimney, takes flight, startled
and angry, and screeches off into the dusk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Little
clumps of snowflakes waft into the room and settle on my cheeks, melting down
my face in icy tears. Water trickles to my collar as I trace the dark outline
of the bird, headed towards the coast. My head tells me he will make for the
nearest barn or house, to take shelter where he can until the darkness lifts.
In my heart, I follow him to the sea.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
close my eyes and visualise his imaginary flight, sweeping the miles to the
cliffs, to Old Harry Rocks. Foolish, I know. What would drive him all that way,
cold and blind and weary?<o:p></o:p></div>
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What
drove me?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Old
Harry. Not even here in Dorset, where memory is long, can they agree on how the
rocks came to be named. Many swear it is for Harry Paye, a pirate in the days
of the Plantagenets. Harry pillaged his way along the coast of Normandy to the
Bay of Biscay, until the French and Spanish fleets united to raid his home
town, Poole, in revenge. But like the land, the people here are resilient. They
fought off the foreign invaders, using only doors for shields, then
immortalised the man who brought destruction on their heads by christening
these rocks after him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
take a long breath, drawing the chill air deep into my lungs, as if testing my
own resilience against the outside world. In these twilight hours, it is easier
to believe the folklore that the rocks take their name from a destroyer of
souls far older than Harry Paye. They say the devil slept there one night, tired
out from making mischief perhaps, or from carousing with his pagan comrades at
nearby Stonehenge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
lean out to swing the casement shut. A final blast of frigid air envelops me. I
step back, arms wrapped around myself, watching the view fade from my sight as
the window pane fogs up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
land outside my window tells its own silent story about Old Harry Rocks; in the
end, I think, more true than either legend. Any guide to Dorset will inform you
these stone outcrops are part of the flint and chalk downs that spread through
the county and out across the sea. The rocks have stood, outwardly impregnable,
for tens upon millions of years, but the elements assault them mercilessly. Air
and water work their way into each little fissure, eroding caves, which in turn
become open hollows. Eventually, the archways gape so wide, the rock cannot
support itself and collapses into the waiting arms of the ocean.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Such
are we. We hide our inmost selves from those around us, standing tall and hard
as rocks. But little by little, the world works its way into our cracks,
exposing our frailties, until we can no longer sustain the façade of our
outward lives and plunge headlong into the abyss of our own making.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And who is there to catch us
when we fall?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>A Dorset Summer</i> is available via Amazon: here's <a href="http://susandcook.blogspot.com/2020/06/a-dorset-summer-is-here.html">the link</a> to the blurb and other info. Meanwhile, if you are interested in Old Harry Rocks, here's a couple of online sources to get you started:</div>
<a href="https://www.foreadventure.co.uk/blog/2014/10/30/the-legend-of-old-harry">https://www.foreadventure.co.uk/blog/2014/10/30/the-legend-of-old-harry</a><br />
<a href="https://www.dorsetlife.co.uk/2019/06/harry-paye-pirate-of-poole/">https://www.dorsetlife.co.uk/2019/06/harry-paye-pirate-of-poole/</a><br />
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A short article on Dorset place names in general is found at <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/dorset/content/articles/2006/12/29/place_names_feature.shtml">http://www.bbc.co.uk/dorset/content/articles/2006/12/29/place_names_feature.shtml</a><br />
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And here are some walks that take in Old Harry Rocks:<br />
<a href="https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/purbeck-countryside/trails/old-harry-rocks-walk">https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/purbeck-countryside/trails/old-harry-rocks-walk</a><br />
<a href="https://www.southwestcoastpath.org.uk/walksdb/424/">https://www.southwestcoastpath.org.uk/walksdb/424/</a>The Runcible Penhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11404638468437546854noreply@blogger.com0