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Royal Manuscripts

The Shrewsbury Book, 15th Century

I have always loved manuscripts, particularly those with more gold on them than is sensible. The Royal Manuscript exhibition at the British Library was, therefore, top of my list of things to do this winter. As I walked in I was immediately struck by how many people were in the exhibition space. Rather than being thrilled by the thought that I am evidently not alone in my geeky love for manuscripts, I had a moment of considering each elbow and how much trouble I would get into if I was to knock people to the floor to get to the display cases.

Choosing to avoid using common assault I wheedled my way to the front of the crowd and was completely overwhelmed by the sight of glinting gilded pages and bright colours. The manuscripts really are breathtaking and you could easily spend hours over each one.

The image above shows a painting from The Shrewsbury Book which was crafted in Rouen between 1444-45. It was a gift from John Talbot the first Earl of Shrewsbury to Margaret of Anjou, who was Henry VI's wife. I have always been interested in Margaret of Anjou as she was Queen Consort of both England and France and due to Henry VI's mental health problems, she would often rule in his place.  Just considering this text in isolation, it is remarkable how the manuscripts have survived over the centuries, have been passed down through the generations and have been handled by hugely important people in British history. 

Miniature of Henry VI / Dauphin Louis with St Louis before the Virgin & Child, from the Psalter of Henry VI, Paris, c. 1405-10  

The above page is absolutely breathtaking, the ivy leaves around the border are gilt, and the light in the display case is focused on the page in a way that makes the manuscript shine out. All the manuscripts in the exhibition are displayed perfectly. The psalter, from which this page is taken, may have been owned by Henry VI as a small boy. It has been written for both English and French royalty and reminds us how closely these two countries have been allied in the past (at times!). I fell in love with the detail, from the animals and ivy in the border to the design of the young King's cape. I've always loved the use of natural imagery in medieval manuscripts and the combination of images with words. 

Texts such as these were incredibly expensive to produce and obviously took months of hard work. You can almost see the respect and value placed upon them; even by looking at each word on the page you can see how much care went into the formulation and design of every element on the page. They were intended to generate awe and 600 years later they are still just as enthralling and inspirational. I love the page below taken from the same Psalter. I wonder what the monks are gossiping about?

This page below was one of my favourites in the exhibition. You cannot quite see it here but the background design behind the figures is a wonderful pattern in gold leaf on a musky pink pigment. It is beautiful and I stood entranced before it for ages. 

Miniature of Prince Henry presenting the book to John Mowbray, 2nd duke of Norfolk, who kneels before him, Arundel 38, f. 37.

There are 150 manuscripts in the exhibition, ranging from religious texts to guides for the monarchy and instructive texts for princes who would one day become kings. There are also maps which provide some very interesting routes to the Holy Lands! Apparently, if you turn right at some point you might get to Jerusalem. I think they must have been the medieval satnav. The exhibition closes on 13 March but the British Library have this fantastic blog that is worth exploring. 

Ringing in the Changes

Gently, faintly, I hear the bells chiming again and Bloomsbury Bell is awoken.

I have been spending my time in Oxford coffee shops, pubs and libraries reading and writing and when I have not been doing that I have been in the garden attempting to get to grips with a large, overgrown and rambling cottage garden. In between I have been going back to London for a dose of home.

They say that change is as good as a rest, but maybe sometimes rest is as good as a change. Having had several changes over the last couple of years I have taken time to be restful, be slow and be observant. This hasn't been without its challenges, I struggled to feel content with being slow in a world which encourages speed and change. I struggled to keep myself from a natural fast pace and to believe that it was really fine to take time out of things for a while. Being busy was something I couldn't do without so I found a balance of being busy with 'quiet' things such as gardening, walking, reading and exploring Oxford.

It's time now to walk from the bank and slide back into the stream.

Life in Cold Comfort Farm

The road into our village in winter.

One of my favourite books is Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons and having recently moved to the countryside I can certainly see where her inspiration came from! There is a tumbledown farmyard along our lane and as I pass it every morning I sometimes expect Adam Lambsbreath to come around the corner with Feckless or Aimless in tow.

Our village is owned by Oxford University which acquired it in the 1940s after the death of the landowner who lived in the 'big house'. This means that there has been no building or housing development for around 100 years - I think the village hall was one of the last buildings that was built in the 1920s. As I walk to the shop (little more than a front room in a cottage) or to the pub, I feel as though I am being transported back in time. It is completely feudal as we all pay rent to the university as none of the houses are ever sold.

There are only around 50 households in the village but, despite the small population, there is a thriving community and lots of village parties and events. Moving to a village after living in London for almost a decade was a daunting prospect but we have struck lucky in that we are only 3 miles from Oxford and the village community is made up of a strong and friendly bunch of people.

When I read articles about the decline of rural communities, I look around at ours and think how lucky we are that we didn't move somewhere that is home to commuters and second homeowners. Having said that, I can see how easily things would change for us if the shop ever disappeared as it really is the hub - all information is gathered via the shop. And believe me when I say that nothing is sacred. Everyone really does know everything!

There are some things that I am still struggling to get used to but life in the country is actually never quiet! If it isn't the wildlife, it's people knocking on your door for a chat. And the other day I opened our front door to find an array of fresh vegetables and salad leaves that a neighbour had grown in their garden. It's moments like that when I wonder if I have landed in the middle of a Miss Marple novel!

And yes, there are definitely moments when I have been in the midst of Cold Comfort Farm - a whole different breed of eccentricity resides in the country. So imagine my delight when I discovered that Vintage Classics are publishing a batch of novels by Stella Gibbons. I am really looking forward to getting my hands on Christmas at Cold Comfort Farm and also Conference at Cold Comfort Farm. The others that look really interesting are Starlight and Westwood - I 'may as well' bung those into the order as well. Oh dear, well at least I have that free veg to eat!

A Right Royal Knees Up!

Well, the day of the Royal Wedding is upon us. Will she be wearing 'cream' or 'ivory'? Satin, lace or silk? Without meaning to sound too 'bah humbug' about the whole thing I have been bored to tears by the media incessantly reporting pointless gossip regarding the 'fairytale romance'. Isn't that what they said about Charles and Diana? If that's a fairytale then Disney has a whole load of script edits to make. Of course I wish them well, but it would be wonderful if the media could actually report on more pressing issues such as the major referendum that is about to take place.

Despite my miserable old git attitude I still appreciate a bit of pomp so I will be watching the ceremony and in the true style of a seasoned hypocrite I will probably be gossiping with my friends about the various outfits of the guests. Our village is having a party at the Village Hall and we all have to take a dish to contribute to the supper. I'm ready-armed with my shop bought quiche - well, you can take the girl out of London....

Spring Awakening

Blossom in our garden

Well, the inadvertant blog break is now over! Lots has been going on but first I will update you on the World Book Night shenanigans. I decided to give my books out at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. I roped my friend in and we floated through the corridors of the hospital giving books out to doctors, nurses, patients and visitors. It was surprising how many people said no and were immediately suspicious of what we were up to, expecting a catch. However, one woman in particular was so pleased to have received a free book that she said I had 'made her night'. Meeting her alone made the whole experience worth it as she explained that she never bought books and didn't really know how to use the library. I gave her a copy for her nephew as well as she said that he liked history and so she thought he might like Dissolution. I will definitely take part next year. In the meantime, schemes likes bookcrossing and bookmooch are a great way to pass on the literary love!

Since World Book Night I have been dipping in and out of various books and waiting for spring to arrive in the village. Moving to the country has unleashed an obsession with seasons and the weather as I never noticed them so much in London.

I am revisiting Iris Murdoch at the moment as I went to a talk about her at the local library in Woodstock. I am also in the grip of reading Karen Armstrong's Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life which I bought after hearing her talk at the Southbank Centre. More on all this soon!

So a hotchpotch couple of months drifting along watching the leaves unfurl and the sun gaining strength. Below is a picture of our cottage surrounded by new green.

World Book Night - the Countdown

So, I have collected my 48 copies of Dissolution by C.J. Sansom from Blackwell's in Oxford and now I have 2 days to finalise my plans for giving them away on Saturday night during the first ever World Book Night. Somehow, 48 books don't seem enough as I have a rather long shortlist of ideas to choose from!

Oxford is an internationally renowned city of learning and academia but what has struck me since moving here is just how much poverty and associated lack of opportunity there is in some parts of the city. It is certainly not all dreaming spires. Oxford is saturated in books, from the wonderful Bodleian Library to all the fantastically stocked local libraries, it would seem that we should be the most literate and well-read city in Britain. However, according to the National Literacy Trust, one in six adults in the UK has a literacy rate that is lower than the level expected of an eleven year old. That means that there are a great many people in Oxford who struggle with literacy. For someone who takes their own literacy for granted, the figure from the National Literacy Trust is shocking. I am not suggesting that handing out 48 books will somehow have any impact upon this issue - but whilst deciding where to hand out my books these thoughts have been at the back of my mind.

I am in the fortunate position to be able to say that books are not a luxury for me. Rather, I view them as a necessity! I don't have to choose between food and books. But for many people, especially in these difficult times, these choices will be made more and more. Public libraries become sacred spaces during economic difficulty - all of us need to save the pennies, some more than others, so a library offers a place in which we can all access any text, for free. As I have already mentioned, many local libraries in Oxfordshire will be forced to close due to funding cuts from the local government. I just want to know, where will people be able to get their books from when they can't afford to buy them? Why is access to the printed word viewed as a luxury? I don't know.

I do know that World Book Night is a fantastic scheme - whilst it is only one night, it is one night during which anyone could end up holding a book that they may never have held otherwise. Whether, it's someone who gets a book that they just would never have chosen or someone who doesn't have the money to spend on books for themselves it doesn't matter. For one night the whole country will become like a library - totally egalitarian as to who takes the books home.

I will keep you posted as to exactly where and when I will be handing the books out. Is anyone else a World Book Night Giver? What are your plans? For the rest of you, are you hoping to bag a freebie?

Window Haunting

One of my favourite things to do is to scurry and lurk, scurry and lurk past people's windows. I walk fast down a chosen street and then, invariably the glimpse of an interior induces me to dawdle as I peek into the lives of the inhabitants.

It's partly the reason why I love the autumn so much, as for months my prying will have been hindered by the fact that I was in plain view. The onset of early darkness aids my hobby as I am covered by its velvet complicity.

Virginia Woolf writes wonderfully about windows in Street Haunting;

"high among the bare trees are hung oblong frames of reddish-yellow light - windows; there are points of brilliance burning steadily like low stars - lamps; this empty ground, which holds the country in it and its peace."

But , Woolf reminds us that we must be careful not to dig 'deeper than the eye approves' and I remember this when I am walking past people's houses, watching them sit down to supper or slumped in front of the TV or admiring their bookshelves. A glimpse is all I need to imagine their lives. As I was walking home the other evening I approached my own house and glimpsed how it might look from a fellow street haunters perspective. So I took a photo - which is above. I wonder what Woolf would have made of it?

I'm a World Book Night Giver!

I woke up this morning to a lovely email from the organisers of World Book Night. I have been selected to be a ‘giver’ which means that on Saturday 5 March I will be distributing 48 copies of C.J. Sansom’s Dissolution to people in Oxford as a celebration of literature, literacy, reading and the value of the written word. It is doubly exciting as it’s the night before my birthday so I can combine this bookish escapade with my birthday celebrations!

As yet, I am undecided as to where exactly I will be giving the books. There are so many ideas to choose from. Should I give them out at one of the many homeless shelters or hospices? Or, should I use this as an opportunity to join forces with those who are campaigning against the closure of 50% of the local libraries in Oxfordshire?

I don’t want to get political especially as this is not about politics; rather, it’s about ethics and ideology. The devaluation of local libraries as a resource for local communities is, in my opinion, unethical. Libraries are not just places for people to borrow books from. They are centres for community groups to meet, for people to access the internet and places for people to explore ideas and learn.

There has been much campaigning across Oxford against the proposed funding cuts and closures. I wrote to my local MP who wrote back, which I was grateful for, however she spelt my name incorrectly. She has since written to keep me updated as to what she is ‘doing’ about the cuts; spelling my name incorrectly again. Now, I could go on a rant about this slapdash illiteracy. I won’t, but I would like to point out that perhaps she should go to her local library and borrow a book on both manners and spelling.

The author of the His Dark Materials trilogy, Philip Pullman, wrote a fantastic piece about the cuts which you can read here. He lives in Oxford and has been at the forefront of the campaign.

To be part of World Book Night is an honour and so exciting. I will keep you updated as to what I plan to do with the books. Any ideas are more than welcome! And if you are a ‘giver’ in Oxford, let me know and we could combine forces!

A favourite...

Chalk Paths, 1935. © Estate of Eric Ravilious

Just a quick post today after a hefty break (all will become clear!) - I went home to Sussex for the weekend and as I was ambling around the Southdowns with my friend I thought of Eric Ravilious and how much I love his work. Today, The Persephone Post has featured one of his images - it's funny how you think of something after a long time and then it crops up elsewhere as a secondary reminder!!

I loved the old slam door trains - there was nothing quite like the feeling of speeding through the countryside with the window pushed down to the bottom whilst the warm summer air blew in your face. Somehow, I don't think Brief Encounter could have happened on our electric, aeroplane style trains!

Train Landscape, 1939 © Estate of Eric Ravilious

Ringing the changes

The village in snow

It is, once again, a long time since I posted anything. Indeed, since I have written anything at all either online or in notebooks or on scraps of paper that I often look at and think, "what?!" I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and New Year.

So much has happened that I am going to have to speed through or else it will be March and I will still be catching up on December. A week before Christmas Mr Bell and I braved the blizzards and moved house for the second time in a year. Due to the snow we were delayed by four days and caused quite a stir in the village as we ended up being towed in as our van had got completely stuck. In the midst of our frenzied move we went down to Sussex for a lovely family Christmas but we were fairly dazed at this point so everything was a bit of a blur and we never got around to putting up any of our decorations. It felt a bit of a shock to go to mum's and see a Christmas tree as I didn't have time to get obsessively Christmassy (which I usually do). Anyway, I gorged myself on Christmas lunch and had lots of cuddles with my very cute eleven month old niece.

Tonight is the first time we have connection to the internet (long story) and we are still sorting out the utilities (tedious) BUT every morning I wake up to my lovely tabby cat nosing his way into my consciousness as he demands his breakfast and the views from our windows change from day to day depending on the light which reminds me why we moved in the first place. For the past six months we have been without our beloved tabby cat as we couldn't find anywhere in the centre of Oxford to rent that would accept a cat. Ironically, London seems to be more amenable to animals! Anyway, we had to send him to my best friend who lives in Sussex so he has had a six month sabbatical from us, enjoying himself no end and being thoroughly spoilt. We didn't cope so well in his absence. Soft as we are, we never got used to being without him so despite the mad move it has been totally worth it.

So now we are country dwellers. A whole new experience and, so far, an interesting one. We are still a cycle ride from the city centre so we are not too isolated, before you start imagining an hour's hike to the nearest shop, but it is quiet enough that we have more peace, we have a lot more space and it is fun to experience such a contrast from the flat in London that we crammed ourselves into.

In terms of reading, moving house doesn't aid literary pursuits so there has been a bit of a drought. I am currently reading The Group by Mary McCarthy and The Sacred and Profane Love Machine by Iris Murdoch which are getting me through the dry spell. My only resolution for 2011 is to be a more diligent blogger as things have lapsed of late!

And All Shall Be Well

Where have I been? It has been over a month since I last wrote a post on poor, neglected Bloomsbury Bell. I have been having a small dose of respite from all sorts of things and now I am ready to emerge from my shell and crack it from me as I stretch my limbs forward through their slow creak of waking.

Winter Blues is a funny term I always think - the winter has never been blue exactly. It is sparkling, glittering even and the winter sun is gold and pink as it dips down past the Equator and slips out of sight. I enjoyed reading this article about the wonder of winter. Winter is indeed a wonderland at the moment - through the window I can see a white world as a permanent frost seems to have set in.

In two weeks time the world will turn again for me as I'm moving to a cottage just outside Oxford. The trees pictured above will be my neighbours. It is a fairly big adventure for two citydwellers but it is exciting as I have never lived anywhere so rural before. I have had to order my first pair of adult sized wellies (having long ago outgrown my pink pair) and we have even bought a torch to light our way back from the local pub!

I packed my books last night (leaving out a few to keep me going) and really wished that I had stuck to my resolve to only borrow from the library. My arm muscles are wincing in anticipation.

Saving Lambert Barnard

Tudor Paintings in Chichester Cathedral

Ever since I was a tiny child I have loved Chichester Cathedral. Not only is it a beacon for home but it is a beautiful building containing a Chagall window an uncovered Roman mosaic floor and a myriad of other delights. The Cathedral has long been an advocate for the arts and alongside medieval stone carvings there are many contemporary pieces, mostly commissioned by Dean Walter Hussey who was a great patron to musicians and artists. The Arundel Tomb inspired Philip Larkin to write the famous poem of the same name and the composer Leonard Bernstein (who wrote West Side Story) composed the Chichester Psalms. It is a cliche to use the term 'treasure trove' but the Cathedral really is just that, especially to a child on the lookout for the carved mice on the wooden furniture or the monkey in the Tudor painting.

Lambert Barnard (what a name) was an English Renaissance painter during the early 16th century and was Court Painter to Bishop Sherburne for twenty years. During this time, Barnard painted a series of works on wooden panels which are displayed in Chichester Cathedral and which are currently in desperate need of repair and conservation work. Last night's Culture Show on BBC2 features the paintings and has some lovely shots of the Cathedral, you can watch it here. There is much more information about the campaign to save the paintings and about their relevance to English history, on this website here. The image below of Henry VIII is believed to be the only secular image of the King remaining in the Country thereby giving an indication of the way that he was seen by ordinary people.

I was so pleased to see these paintings being shown on the Culture Show as they are not in a gallery so do not always get the notice that they deserve. They hang on cold grey walls during christenings, marriages, funerals and watch over the general bustle of Cathedral life. The painting pictured at the top hangs in the South Transept which is where Coffee is served after a service. I like to look at it and think of all the eyes before mine which have done the same. The paintings are a constant presence, silently soaking in history as transient human activity takes place below. If only they could tell us all that they have seen.

A new blogging adventure!

To my dear Bloomsbury Bell readers, some of you may already know that I have landed a new blogging gig for The Lady magazine's website. I am hoping that it will give me a more structured approach to my writing as I now have a copy deadline once a fortnight! Essentially, it will be more about my move to Oxford and the challenge and adventure that living here is turning out to be after being in London for eight years. You can read it here and all feedback is welcome so let me know what you think!

But, Bloomsbury Bell will very much remain alive and will retain its focus on books and general literary bits and bobs. The last few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind - I went home to Chichester at the weekend for my mother's mouthwatering roast dinner (and to see friends and family of course!) which was lovely. It's funny that even though I haven't lived there for a decade I still feel a sense of homecoming when we arrive in the city. I know every tree, every road, every building and the familiarity is so strong that it induces a sense of ownership. I see it as mine somehow and I feel comforted every time I return. It's a similar feeling to revisiting a book that had a massive impact upon you when you read it for the first time. In my head I connect the feeling with reading Howards End. Perhaps because the feeling that Mrs Wilcox has for the house is exactly my feeling towards Chichester. Are there any places or books that inspire these feelings within you?

As the nights are drawing in I have been stockpiling books and I bought a new hotwater bottle as I am planning to stay in and spend the winter reading. I have fallen behind my reading target for this year as moving and all sorts of things have got in the way. But, wintry evenings are the perfect motivation for cosying up and hiding away from the world with a good book.

Thou hast thy music too

The Thames at Iffley Lock

Yesterday I walked along the Thames towards Iffley Lock. The golden autumn light lit the trees and church tower and rowers gently slid past as I trundled along. I felt a world away from my life of a few months ago and then I suddenly realised that I live as close to the Thames now as I did in London. So, I haven't moved away I have merely moved upriver!

Autumn always feels like a good time of year for being busy. Winter is still curled up, waiting to unfurl and swathe its darkness over the land. So, there is time to quickly busy ourselves and get things done before the long months of waiting for spring. As I write this, I can see a squirrel dashing about in our garden, no doubt planning where to hide his food before hibernation starts. In the last of the sun people come out and bask as they stroll along - the river yesterday was a hive of activity as families were making the most of the weakening rays. I stopped for a drink in the Isis Farmhouse and sat in their orchard watching the people around me. Families chattered, students were alight with finding out all the summer activities of their peers and apples plopped from the over-laden boughs. Autumn is full of smells and sounds - it has its music too.

The day brought the following poem by Keats into my mind. I love autumn and I also love Keats so the two combined is a perfect marriage.

To Autumn

John Keats (1820)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

On A Slope of Orchard

Another holiday snap - food stalls in Bologna

The food shops in Bologna are incredible. We gorged ourselves on bread, olives, pecorino cheese and the sausage Mortadella which is a speciality of the area. We were spoilt for choice as we went from one deli to the next, our eyes increasing to three times the size of our stomachs, and we bought bag fulls of food to eat on the train to the coast. I have never had such a feast on public transport before - as we looked out of the train windows we saw endless olive groves and vineyards speeding by so even though we were not quite on the slope of an orchard we had a picnic that I am sure Francis would have been proud of!

On A Slope Of Orchard

There on a slope of orchard, Francis laid
A damask napkin wrought with horse and hound,
brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home,
And cut down, a pasty costly made,
Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret, lay
Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks
Imbedded and in jellied.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Italian Riviera

Riomaggiore

To say that I have come crashing back to earth with a bump is an understatement. Mr Bell and I spent just under a week in Italy. First stop was Bologna where we indulged in pistachio ice cream from what is apparently Umberto Eco's favourite ice cream shop. And it was heavenly.

We then caught a train, armed with enough food to feed the Roman Army, for a 4 hour journey to the Cinque Terre or five towns. We spent days walking the coastal path and having our breath taken away by the views.

We swam in the sea, found ancient churches up in the hills and spent our evenings watching the incredible sunsets.

We stayed in Riomaggiore and as you can see in the photo, bunting has been strung between buildings in the harbour. I am a huge fan of bunting so was thrilled to turn a corner and see it festooned over the boats.

We stumbled upon an old monastery above Monterosso that has a statue of St Francis at the entrance, to protect the bay. The evening light was incredible, as you can see from the photo, and we wandered around the cemetery accompanied by the sound of the waves far below us. An idyllic resting place.
We met this cat on a path up in the hills, in the middle of nowhere. I was very tempted to put him in my rucksack and bring him home. But, he scurried off into some nearby olive groves. After all, who would want to leave such a haven?

We spent hours watching the light play on the sea.
The view of Vernazza from the coastal path.
Bologna was lit by golden evening light which I always think of when I think of Italy.

On our last day in Italy I made Mr Bell accompany me on a 3 hour train journey to Florence as I just had to pop into my favourite paper shop for bookbinding supplies. I spent a vast sum of money on many sheets of hand marbled paper which I had to transport back on a rather packed Ryan Air flight. I managed to get them home without any creases and they are now waiting for me to turn them into notebooks.

In search of wine, olives and the Cinque Terre

Bologna

In a few short hours I will be leaving for Bologna and the Cinque Terre where I will be partaking in much wine, cheese, pizza, pasta and olive consumption! I have not yet packed, but when I do I will be prioritising books over thick jumpers (which may come in handy for the chilly evenings) as we are only taking one small rucksack each. I am going to take The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Arnim and either the biography of Nancy Mitford by Harold Acton or The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. Decisions, decisions.

Ilyrian Spring by Ann Bridge

Occasionally I finish one book and drift over to my bookshelves to contemplate which book to read next - and the next read turns out to be the most perfect book to suit my current mood. This does not happen often enough, but when it does, oh! The delight! I love being gripped from page one and being unable to think of anything else for days. The sheer joy of slipping in between the book covers and burrowing down into the plot so that the characters are a whisper's breath away is incomparable to anything else.

Illyrian Spring is one of those reads that pulls you in so that you are the characters. Their experiences are as vivid as your own and they become so real that to finish the book is a wrench. The protagonist is Lady Kilmichael who is also the famous painter Grace Stanway. Grace decides to escape her family and leave her life behind to go on an unplanned trip drifting and painting her way through Italy, Croatia and the eastern coast of the Adriatic sea which used to be known as Dalmatia.

Whilst in Venice, Grace meets the young Nicholas Humphries who is around the same age as her twin sons. He is an aspiring painter whose parents have convinced him to pursue the sensible route of architecture and give up painting. Just as Grace is looking for freedom from the pressures of domestic life and the associated responsibility, so Nicholas is looking for freedom from his parents rule.

Grace and Nicholas go on a journey together. They paint and explore the landscape and their lives become further and further entwined as each embarks upon an intense journey of self-discovery.

What is so interesting about Ann Bridge's writing is the insightful portrayal of characters who are in a state of flux and running away from their lives. There is no melodrama, only the deep intensity of two souls searching for answers and finding each other to aid them in their understanding.

The search for freedom on Grace's part leads her to make some startling discoveries about herself. The freedom that she craves is not gained from running away from her life but from looking inside herself and examining the truth of her problems with her family. In this way, Bridge writes with psychological astuteness and her novel is timeless as a result. After all, how many of us avoid a difficult situation by leaving it?

This book is a simply lovely and wonderful read, made more wonderful by the description of the beautiful landscapes that Nicholas and Grace explore. It made me yearn to go travelling along the Adriatic coast with only a rucksack and a pair of tennis shoes. I would swap the paint and canvas for a notebook and pen though.

Illyrian Spring seems to be a difficult book to get your hands on, I was fortunate enough to be given it by my lovely friend Rachel. She loved it and raved about it and I know exactly why - it is an honest portrayal of a realistic adventure. In other words, the reader feels as if the experiences of Grace are obtainable, if we just left a note and hopped on a train. In that way, it is made even more magical as it delves into a part of us that we all keep hidden. The part that wants to run away. The novel makes it perfectly clear though, that at some point we have to make a decision about going back and Ann Bridge leads us gently by the hand to the right decision.

If you can find this book, buy it. Beg, borrow or steal it. Reading it is like slipping into a new skin and embarking upon a trip during which life presents some answers to a few troubling questions. All this in the midst of a delicate romance in a breathtaking location where the sea sparkles and time is an irrelevance. I think I may have to dive back in.

Bloomsbury Books go Gleeful

Ok - this is just a quick post for those of you who haven't seen it. This video here by members of staff at Bloomsbury Publishing is possibly the best thing I have seen in years - how is it possible that I can spend five minutes cringing and grinning all at the same time? A work of genius. Enjoy!