Books, the Booker, and the fiendish Folio Society

In this world of instant electronic communication and gratification, and inane knee-jerk tweeting, it’s good to remind yourself sometimes of how amazing and rewarding the simple book can be. As a source of knowledge, insight, new ideas and ways of thinking, and for general mind expansion (and yes, entertainment and escape) it’s hard to beat. In the fast-moving world it seems to be often regarded as slow and outmoded, which misses the point that things of real worth take time to be properly expressed and assimilated, and that sustained experiences can ultimately be more rewarding than the short-lived. The media recently reported that the average British home contains just 138 books, most of which are unread; why do these people limit themselves so? Especially given the implication that around half of homes have less than this number.

These thoughts came to the fore during my recent reading of Eleanor Cattons superb, Booker winning, novel The Luminaries which I would recommend to almost anyone. Don’t be put off by the erudite prize, it’s a real page turner of a murder, mystery, and ultimately romance, set in the New Zealand gold rush of the 1860s. Don’t be put off by its Dickensian length of 800 pages either, I got through this a lot quicker than some books a quarter the size. In fact it is remarkably reminiscent of Dickens, with much beautifully atmospheric description and building of characters and place, and set in the same era albeit on the opposite side of the globe – I think he might have approved. It’s also a book that doesn’t insult the intelligence of the reader, building a plot of initially bewildering colour, complexity and angles, dropping snippets of information for the reader to work on, before gradually resolving the whole into focus. I’ll need another read to more fully grasp it, but it’s an impressive and insightful work for someone the young side of thirty and bodes well for the future of literature.

That such a fine piece of work, that can entertain the reader for several weeks or more, is available so affordably is also surely something to cheer; good books are particularly accessible and democratic art forms.

Yet books are also, beyond the words, physical objects of potentially considerable allure - particularly in the hands of certain publishers. While I may like to believe the magic of a book is in the words alone, and hence can be extracted from the tattiest of cheap paperbacks, like many I am susceptible to the seduction of a beautiful edition. In fact I have recently had to admit the grubby truth that a beautiful edition can fundamentally affect my willingness to engage with certain books, and how avidly I read them! Enter the fiendish Folio Society who have produced stunning editions of major works for decades, and who, disturbingly, now seem to know my every weakness and predilection. I love them really of course, not just because of their jaw dropping  publications, but because by succumbing to their charms in a measured and selective way I have found myself contemplating and then devouring highly rewarding fiction that I seem in the last couple of years to have very belatedly developed an insatiable appetite for. For although the house is full of books fiction is very much in the minority and it seems to be time to put that right, so thank you Folio for making this happen.

The fruits of succumbing to temptation! Folio editions may be a guilty pleasure, but a substantial and long-lasting pleasure nonetheless.

It’s also good to note that the Folio Society is not all about the cover; as the Booker prize faltered a couple of years ago when it showed tendencies (since reversed I would suggest) towards putting populism above writing quality, the Folio stepped in smartly with a major new international literature prize which promised no such compromises. Nonetheless its first winner, announced earlier this month in George Saunders Tenth of December, looks a fascinating read; perhaps you really can have your quality cake and read it. Indeed maybe that’s the ultimate definition of a true classic.

Reaching for the Light - on the cusp of Spring in Gloucestershire

Munching our bacon butties and pouring our second cup of Lapsang Souchong from the flask, we’re managing to nicely stave off the worst effects of the cold drizzle as we wait on the bank of the River Severn, much to the envy of our fellow Bore watchers. We struck gold with our B&B this weekend; needing to get away too early for a full-on farmhouse breakfast we’re instead packed off two mornings in a row with a bag of butties and homemade flapjack for our riverside rendezvous. And here it comes, careering round the bend in the river…

Severn Bore near Minsterworth (3Mar14)

The Severn Bore is a strange thing, a wide fast quiet smooth ominous wave, a metre or more high, mostly audible due to its edges tearing along the banks. But more impressive still is registering that this is not an isolated lump moving rapidly up-river but rather the leading edge of a dramatic rise in river level, several metres in a matter of minutes and continuing to rise swiftly thereafter. And a complete reversal of a major river flow in seconds – from a fast flow towards the sea driven by rain sodden ground through the Midlands and Wales, to an even faster tide-driven “upstream” flow despite being tens of miles from anything that can be described as sea.

After all this excitement it was good to climb up to the local viewpoint of May Hill and get the wider perspective on the Severn down to the Bristol Channel. It was misty and atmospheric up there and the vista was stunning. And the sun also deigned to show itself eventually, joy!

Severn bends from May Hill (3Mar14)

Then it was on to Ross-on-Wye for lunch overlooking the river, and a subsequent stroll along the Wye. After chilling out in a fine café we pootled back to Gloucester to explore the renovated docks in the last light of the day, before a splendid pizza! A classic full day where a new spring light finally felt like it was emerging.

Chilling out in Ross-on-Wye (3Mar14)

 

Last light at Gloucester Docks (3Mar14)

This was reinforced the next morning, when we rose early to catch a second Bore, and opened the curtains to a glorious frosty sunny perfect morning. Sometimes the smallest things make all the difference; today it was heavy condensation on the inside of the bedroom window through which the rising sun shone fantastically. It created something magical that amplified enormously the wonderful morning light – we knew we were on a very special day. Today we walked a beautiful stretch of the Severn, and saw a smaller Bore, in brilliant sun, and all completely to ourselves. Such a perfect morning, in the new light, that after a briefer than planned stop in Chepstow we headed home, early, knowing we’d got what we came for...

Sunrise at Brawn Farm (4Mar14)

Sunrise at Brawn Farm (4Mar14)

Sunrise (Spring-rise?) at Brawn Farm (4Mar14)