Off road with mum
WE’RE TWO WEEKS INTO the hottest summer since records began. The chalkland garden outside the house is cringing and wilting despite my best efforts with the old zinc watering can. The molten heat melts candles on windowsills, and the blinds do little to defy the suffocating power of the normally welcome sunshine. I’m hot, bored...
Writers behaving badly
SHARP, SLY, AND IMPOSSIBLE to put down, The Book Game is a biting, often funny exploration of friendship, ambition, class, rivalry, missed chances and the reckless pull of desire. Its modern-day setting is Hawton Manor, in the lush Cambridgeshire countryside. Successful egomaniac Cambridge professor Lawrence and his wealthy stay-at-home wife Claudia host eight close friends...
Under the circumstances
SWEET AIR, DIVINE LIGHT! How long have we waited for this happy sight? This ancient city, its sun-baked streets, the Acropolis in the distance, raging with light. We are here, so it begins. The first night. Everybody orders wine. It comes in little jugs called carafes. Red or white, it doesn’t matter. We simply ask...
The incident
Over the long days she spent behind the counter, Nofar had developed a habit – she looked into the customers’ faces and tried to guess which of them had come into the ice-cream parlour by accident and which were there by design. The accidental visitors were nicer: people strolling leisurely down the street, sailing along...
Premontions
When I was young, a remarkable woman lived in the village where I grew up. Her name was Frida Andersson. Frida lived alone in a cottage by herself but she had a daughter and a grandchild in the city. Sometimes in summer they would come to visit, but as Frida grew more and more peculiar,...
A broken wing
When, towards the end of her life, Edith Wharton named her five personal favourite works among her fiction, one short novel featured on the list: Summer. Published in 1917, Summer was the most important work the writer produced during the years of the First World War. Despite Wharton’s own judgement, however, Summer has never found...
Dennison’s dolce vita
July 9, 2015 “So, where were we?” I say, as she fills her water bottle and I rescue a fragile, yellow spider from the yoghurt container, in which I have packed the blueberries from my bushes. “What were we talking about?” Ruth Ozeki and I haven’t seen each other in over nine months. Time enough...
