On being published

The Persephone Books endpaper design for High Wages by Dorothy Whipple

I have finally received my copy of The Persephone Biannually through the post which is not only exciting because I love reading the Biannually but because in this edition of the Biannually I have been quoted in the 'Our Bloggers Write' section! I found out last week from Rachel at Book Snob and was immediately bursting with excitement as it was completely unexpected and made my week. But I had to wait for days and days before my copy came through the letterbox. At long last it arrived and I frantically ripped open the plactic wrapper like a mad woman and there it was - in print. My quote is happily next to lots of other quotes from familiar bloggers such as Simon at StuckinaBook, Claire at Paperback Reader, Claire of KissaCloud and Rachel at Book Snob.

Once the excitement of seeing my little quote in print faded I was able to settle down and read the Biannually. I am now completely over excited by the publication of Dorothy Whipple's High Wages. I cannot wait to find out what happens to Jane who works in the Draper's shop. Whipple, is fantastic at characterisation and bringing the ordinary, everyday, monotonous and tedious aspects of humanity to life with a view to dissection. She is highly moral in tone and a tad all-knowing but you can sink in to one of her books and look over her characters shoulders as they battle with ordinary aspects of life during the early twentieth century. History books leave out the 'small things' so it is to writers like Whipple that we turn to gain a sense of what went on in the domestic world; what went on in everyday life. I cannot wait to get my hands on the latest Whipple offering from Persephone Books.

Highgate Cemetery, High Tea and books

Highgate Cemetery taken by Wendy Keel

This week has been incredibly busy and tiring (hence no blog post) and I have just sat down to catch up on all the things that I should have done earlier in the week.

Yesterday I went to Highgate Cemetery with Rachel from Book Snob. We finally made it to the Cemetery after having experienced a bit of an epic journey. Firstly, Archway tube was closed for engineering works so I had to get off at Highgate tube (apparently nowhere near the cemetery) and then catch the number 134 bus down Archway Road. We met at Archway tube and set off for the Cemetery - we merrily hopped on to the bus only to alight and realise that we were in the wrong place. Essentially, we had gone back the way we came so we were back up Archway Road when we wanted Highgate Hill. We then got the bus back down the road. I can now hold my head up and say that Rachel and I are the only people in the world to have caught the number 134 bus three times within the space of 30 minutes. We are now experts on the Archway Road.

After all our bus riding we decided that we were too late for the 11am tour so we would have to go in to some charity bookshops to kill some time until the 12pm tour. Rachel found a stash of bargains and, despite my book-buying ban, I bought two books for 40p. I thought that it was no longer possible in 21st century Britain to buy anything for under £1 but I got two whole books for 40 pence! I found a copy of Those Fragile Years by Rose Franken and No Drinking, No Dancing, No Doctors by Martina Evans who was a Royal Literary Fund Fellow at my university and who I went to see once a week for writing advice. She is a lovely woman and I am very excited to have found her only novel (she is a poet) as I have been looking for it for a long time.

So, our book buying done we walked up the hill to the cemetery (having given up on buses in the area). Highgate Cemetery is one of the most beautiful places that I have ever been to. To say it is atmospheric is an understatement. We arrived as it was just starting to drizzle and it looked stunning in the murky gloom of a drizzly autumn afternoon.

I have not yet read Audrey Niffenegger's novel Her Fearful Symmetery which features the cemetery and has sparked a lot of interest in the place. This is something I will rectify as soon as possible especially as Rachel at Book Snob and Claire at Paperback Reader rate the book so highly.

Walking around the cemetery you can easily see how the place can spark stories within the imagination of any writer. Not only are there the life stories encapsulated within every tomb but the place itself lights the imagination and triggers literary possibilities. Our tour guide was wonderful but I just wanted to wander off the whole time and spend hours reading every single head stone and tomb and I am sure that I am not the only one. The cemetery is so much bigger than I had expected.

The Victorians managed death in a really interesting way. Every aspect of death was ritualised, from the funeral service, to mourning and the carvings on the tombs themselves. Our tourguide explained the meanings behind some of the symbols which was fascinating. A broken column on a tomb is representative of someone cut down in their prime, a torch upside down is life extinguished and a wreath is the gift or achievement of resurrection through death. There were also many statues of angels above peoples tombs. Essentially two types of angel were depicted; the triumphant angel conquering death and ready for the afterlife and the sorrowful angel. In some sense I felt that death for the Victorians is what sex is for us in modern Britain. Whereas sex was the taboo in Victorian society it is death which is the taboo for us. Apparently, visiting Highgate Cemetery was a regular day out for many Victorian Londoners and their families even if they were not visiting a particular grave. Our tourguide said it would have been a bit like Kew Gardens with lots of brightly coloured exotic plants.

One of the most interesting parts of the tour was going into the catacombs which are essentially a series of corridors within which were shelves where the coffins were placed. It was really cold and dark in there and you can see the coffins in their compartments. Obviously, my imagination turned to the contents of the coffins which spooked me a little. It is a slightly odd thing to see coffins stacked in neat rows. I felt a bit lonely for the corpses as it is literally being left on a shelf. But when their relatives were alive the catacombs would have been lighter with oil lamps burning and you could go and visit your relative and, I guess, have a chat.

After we burst back in to the light and the tour was over Rachel and I decided that we were absolutely in need of a reviving cup of tea. We found High Tea of Highgate which is a really jolly little tea room that serves homemade cakes and a lovely variety of teas.
I had a slice of Lavender cake with a traditional afternoon tea and Rachel had a Scone with jam, clotted cream and some sort of Orange tea which shockingly I cannot remember the exact name of. I have a real penchant for floral flavours. Rose, violet, geranium, lavender, all of them together in one go - I am in love with anything floral tasting so I immediately went for the Lavender cake. I have to say the sponge was not as good as my mum's but it was still delicious and 'lavendery' enough for my floral requirements. The tea was superb and just what I needed after a tramp about the cemetery.

The interior decor is gorgeous and the crockery is suitably mismatched and floral. It only has tea, a selection of other hot drinks and cake on the menu so don't go expecting anything suitable for lunch unless, like us, you are perfectly happy with cake for lunch.

I am now off to prepare for another mad week - this will teach me to do two evening classes. It is Colm Toibin's fault.

Dreaming Spires

Yesterday I went to Oxford with a group of friends from the City & Guilds Bookbinding Course that I recently completed. It was the loveliest day as the early winter sun was peeping through the clouds, showering golden light on the wonderful university buildings.

We went to an exhibition at the Bodleian Library called 'An Artful Craft: Fine and Historic Bindings from the Broxbourne Library and other collections'. The exhibition examines the book as an object valued for more than its functional purpose - the book as an object of beauty. The Broxbourne Library was compiled by the diamond merchant Albert Ehrman (1890-1969) and is comprised of more than 1,500 bindings which were presented to the Bodleian Library by Albert's son John, in 1979, in memory of his parents. Albert Ehrman bought his first rare book in 1919. He collected early printed books and his primary interest became the stylistic and decorative features of their covers.

The majority of the books on display in the exhibition are examples of exquisite gold tooled covers. Gold paint was used to decorate the covers of books in the early Middle Ages. Later, during the 14th and 15th centuries, Islamic craftsmen heated metal tools and used them to make impressions in leather in gold and silver leaf. This technique reached Europe and became the dominant technique for the decoration of fine bindings.

What I love about books is that they are valued as much as material objects as they are for the ideas and stories that they contain. Books were used as symbols of power - the exhibition contains fine bindings presented to Elizabeth I and Cardinal Wolsey as exquisite and expensive gifts. In aristocratic houses finely bound books would be on display for all to see - they were a symbol of wealth. Books carry sentiment; we collect books for their covers as well as their content. I collect Virago Modern Classics, Persephone Books, first edition Iris Murdoch novels and early edition books published by the Hogarth Press. I don't just collect these books for their content, I collect them because I love their design.

I wasn't permitted to take photographs in the exhibition so on the right is a photograph that I took of a postcard. It shows a gold-tooled binding for Cardinal Wolsey - the stamped blocks of gold show Tudor badges and St. George. This is believed to be the earliest English gold-tooled binding as it is dated 1519. The binding is astounding and to think that this book has survived almost 500 years is mind-blowing. The book contains various Latin texts; books were not originally decorated to represent the content within as the object itself carried independent status.

I love early bindings and there were bindings in the exhibition that contained texts which dated from the 12th century. One of the earliest bindings in the Broxbourne Library was bought by Albert Ehrman for £8,000 which is a lot of money today but when you think how much that would have been in 1951 when he made the purchase it makes you realise just how much Ehrman spent on his collection and how much the collection is worth now.

This binding was one of my favourites in the exhibition and contains the Poems of Henry Constable. It dates from 1930 and was bound by Sybil Pye. The binding is made up of inlays of leathers of different colours. It is wonderful as it is an early twentieth century style, Art Deco, and it is great to see examples of books bound by women as there were few women binders. Sybil Pye was one of the most respected binders of her generation.

The exhibition is free and is on until 31 October so go and see it if you can as bookbinding exhibitions are sadly few and far between. I often wonder just what treasures are stowed away in academic libraries up and down the country that we rarely ever get to see.

After the exhibition it was time for lunch so we wandered around the Radcliffe Camera to the Vaults and Garden Cafe which is in the vaults of the University Church of St Mary. I really recommend this cafe as the food is always freshly cooked, relatively inexpensive, warming on a cold day and the vaulted ceiling is stunning and dates from 1320.

After lunch we went for an afternoon stroll around Christchurch Meadow which is one of my favourites places. Cattle were grazing in the meadow which is situated in the centre of the city. It is a peaceful space and you can walk around the meadow following the river, watching punts and rowing boats bobbing along the Thames. The trees were all turning bronze and golden and the dappled light filtered through the remaining leaves and fell at our feet.

As we walked the sound of the bells drifted over to us and called us back to the melee of the city on a Saturday afternoon. The High Street was jam packed with shoppers all bustling along for their next purchase and of course I couldn't help but join in so I went to the fantastic Blackwell's bookshop on Broad Street whose top floor is a secondhand bookshop.

The shop opened in 1879 and is a book lover's paradise. I went straight up to the secondhand section and was absolutely spoilt for choice as they had so many fantastic titles in stock. My resolve not to buy any books until I have seriously dented the pile of books in my flat waiting to be read fell by the wayside completely and I found myself with an armful of books (some Christmas presents) darting towards the cashier before I had time to think sensibly. I have an addiction and it is literally taking over my life as I am having to manoeuvre myself around the piles of books around the flat. But I have decided that I am beyond help so I am carrying on with my crazed book buying.

I picked up some great bargains and added to my VMC collection.

So, I only bought four books for myself. I am very excited about reading Molly Keane's Young Entry and I love the cover of Naomi Mitchison's Travel Light which shows a detail from the Unicorn Tapestries in the Metropolitan Museum, New York, which I have been longing to see for a long time.

A great Saturday spent in Oxford. Now I am going to confront the pile of books waiting to be read with a pot of tea and a few (packets of) biscuits.

A Secret Hideaway...

'It rained outside so we camped inside'

Chanters House, Devon, England 2002 © Tim Walker

This photograph by Tim Walker reminds me of making camps indoors with my sister when we were little. Some days I still feel like putting a sheet over a table and hiding; how wonderful would it be to camp in this library? A library would be a dreamy home.

The first whip of winter

The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh. Saint Rémy, June 1889.

Copyright: Moma, New York

The other night I felt the first whip of winter and was glad at the thought of all the cosy nights ahead of me. The night skies at this time of year are clear, limitless, crisp and full of sparkle. However, as I live in London the light pollution hampers my star-gazing so I turn to the wonderful poet Alice Oswald who takes me to the night skies and familiar evening smells of woodsmoke and leaves every time I read her poem A Star Here And A Star There which is from her collection Woods etc.

the first whisper of stars is a faint thing

a candle sound, too far to read by

the first whisper of stars is a candle sound

those faraway stars that rise and give themselves airs

a star here and a star there

the first whisper of stars is that faint thing

that candle sound too far away to read by

when you walk outside leaving the door ajar

and smell the various Danks of Dusk

and a star here

and a star there

you walk outside leaving the door ajar

and on by one those stars bring you their troubles

and a star

those deafmute stars - Alkaid Mizar Alioth -

trying to make you hear who they once were

and a star

here and there

and

here and there the

start of a

Phad Merak Muscida - it's like blowing on a ring of cinders

all that sky that lies hidden in the taken for granted air

it's like blowing on a ring of cinders

the crackle of not quite stars that you can hear

when you walk outside leaving the door ajar

and smell the various Danks of Dusk

and here and there

the start

of a star

someone looks up, he sees his soul growing visible

in various shapes above the house

he sees his soul tilted above the house

all his opponent selves hanging and fluttering

out there in the taken for granted air

in various shapes above the house

star

he sees a star here and a star there

and a star here

and a star a star

here and there he sees

there flies that man they call the moon,

that bone-thin man, his body almost gone

star

there he flies among the stars,

that deafmute man, urgently making signs

among those first faint stars

those whispered stars, their meanings almost gone

Poem taken from Woods etc. by Alice Oswald

published by Faber and Faber 2005