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)

 

A Winter Weekend in the Highlands - and the Imperative of The Good Day

It wasn’t a difficult decision, either get off and push the bike up the final rough climb - or vomit, and then do the former for a slightly shorter distance anyway. Mark and I were five miles along the private, doggedly uphill, single-track road to Loch Fannich, pedalling in full waterproofs, heavy winter walking boots, and lugging dense rucsacs laden with winter ironmongery, while being pelted by rain from an ominously dark cloud. I could see about two yards ahead with my head down and hood up, but still caught the ear-to-ear grin of an estate worker in his snug 4x4 as he waited for us to grind past, wishing us a good day with undisguised glee.

But we knew better, we knew this was indeed The Good Day of our long weekend in the winter hills; we had faith in the forecast and we were committing ourselves to a full day. Unfortunately it was also my first day in the bigger hills this year, and the urgent need to forgo any gentler warm-up days was rather an uncomfortable shock to the system. No amount of walking the South Downs in preceding weekends prepares you for this level of effort.

Locking the bikes to a deer fence a further mile on, the rain eased off and the sky became broken with increasing brightness cracking through as we began our walk – a simple but fine anticlockwise circuit of the two easternmost snow-plastered summits of the Fannichs. After an hour and a half slog we reached the top of An Coileachan, and in so doing became part of an elegant blue and white world with wispy clouds occasionally coming and going, where we remained for the next couple of hours. After a necessarily brief rest/snack stop, since the sub-zero temperatures with added wind chill tend to keep you moving, and donning crampons due to the harder frozen conditions underfoot, we savoured the two mile crunch along the undulating ridge to Meall Gorm.

Mark heading NW from An Coileachan, above Loch Gorm, in the Fannichs (7Feb14)

 

Looking NW along the Fannichs towards Meall Gorm, with Sgurr Mor at right (7Feb14)

 

Mark heading NW towards Meall Gorm in the Fannichs, with Sgurr Mor at right (7Feb14)

 

Remote Loch Fannich from Meall Gorm, with Fionn Bheinn behind (7Feb14)

The subsequent descent to Fannich Lodge, and along to the bikes was all too quickly done, with great views across Loch Fannich and the hills to the west. A terrific six mile whizz back down the track to the main road in less than 30 minutes completed a memorable eight hour day. We had done justice to The Good Day, knowing full well the following couple of days the weather would be much less friendly. And so it proved, with a tough outing on Beinn Loinne above Loch Cluanie the next day (Saturday), where we climbed into increasingly dense and wet falling snow, only to emerge all the soggier some hours later with poor views and no photos to be had. The Sunday was an even worse forecast and so we chose to have a recovery day, saving ourselves for the final day - and planning a trip to the dry, warm, sunny Pyrenees later in the year into the bargain! (Oh, and did I mention going to the pub?)

The Monday forecast was no better than Saturdays, yet the fickle nature of Scottish mountain conditions is such that we had a much more satisfactory day – it often pays to call the forecasts bluff, sometimes it comes off (err, and sometimes it doesn’t). This was not the idyllic conditions of The Good Day, but a more typical fast-changing winter day with solid high-level cloud cover, rain and snow showers but enough lower-level cloud breakage to get interesting, if fleeting, views. The temperature had risen over several days so the steep slopes of Sgurr Mhic Bharraich above Loch Duich at the western end of Glen Shiel were covered in soft wet snow requiring care. It’s an exceptionally fine viewpoint in good conditions, but the weather only allowed us carefully edited highlights – sometimes we were completely clouded in, then we had snatches of views in various directions for seconds at a time. Very tantalising, but engaging enough to keep us on the summit until our fingers had gone numb trying to grab photos.

Grinning or grimacing? Mark at the summit of Sgurr Mhic Bharraich (10Feb14)

It was the final act of another great long winter weekend, which has become a highly rewarding if demanding annual fixture for me. The success of which is always almost entirely down to having extraordinarily generous, selfless friends and hosts with an equally ferocious appetite for “getting out there” in all winds and weathers. Thanks again Mark and Lorna.

When Music and Mountains Meet - The Strathglass Trilogy

There’s something special about finding an unexpected connection during the course of pursuing two apparently independent activities – a glimpse perhaps of some deeper personal motivation that underpins the various things one feels passionate about…

Ten years ago this summer I camped for four nights at a midge-infested site on the outskirts of the small highland village of Cannich in Strathglass, 12 miles west of Loch Ness. Over three consecutive days there, I drove up each of the three parallel glens stretching west (Strathfarrar, Cannich and Affric) in turn, to park up, shoulder my rucksack and take in as many of the highest mountain ridges and summits as I could in a single days circular walk. The net result was a particularly satisfying and continuous appreciation of a sizeable chunk of the Highlands; the stunning glens, their rivers, birch, birds and squirrels, and the airy perspective from the mountains of the full spread of the land and the many large and deeply embedded lochs. On the third morning, I set off on foot from the Mullardoch dam (the largest in Scotland, half a mile wide in a distinctive V-shape, and completed in 1951) which defines the point beyond which the upper ten miles of Glen Cannich is now submerged. Despite some urgency to stay ahead of forecast incoming bad weather I was almost immediately stopped in my tracks by a striking cairn overlooking the north side of vast Loch Mullardoch. This turned out to be the Chisholm Cairn, commemorating 700 years of the Chisholm clan living and working the glen and surrounding lands, and also marking a spot near a now submerged clan gathering point. The cairn had a number of intriguing Moses-style stone tablets (albeit lacking text, being either blank or of sparsely abstract design) embedded in it, the symbolism of which still escapes me, but its strange nature stuck in my mind, along with the name of Chisholm.

 

Fast forward to a month ago, when I obtained a copy of the very fine recent album Affric by Scottish fiddler Duncan Chisholm. I was slow to register the implication of this combination of names, perhaps because I was initially so blown away by the music, but a read of the sleeve notes had my eyes widening. Duncan is something of a Scottish Sibelius in that his modus operandi is the evocation of specific wild landscapes and its associated history through his original compositions and exquisite playing – in his case a seductive and addictive mix of beautiful slow airs and compelling energetic pieces that stir the emotions at every turn yet are extraordinarily easy on the ear. He is of course a Chisholm rooted in the very area I explored, and currently based in Inverness; and it further transpires that Affric is simply the final splendid act in a multi-year project to evoke the three glens running west from Strathglass in three albums, the others being Canaich (2010) and Farrar (2008). Having now tracked down the latter two and confirmed that they match Affric for sheer quality, diversity, listening pleasure and raw evocation of some very special places, I find myself sitting back in admiration at the scale of his dedication and musical achievement. The music has been variously described as cinematic and semi-classical, but the traditional basis is all-pervading - but highly accessible. This may even be fiddle (and viola) music for the person who avowedly protests they don’t like fiddle music! 

It was fitting that the completion of the Strathglass project was celebrated last January with a concert on a stormy night at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery in Glasgow at the Celtic Connections festival, where pieces from the entire project were woven together into a coherent whole, the Strathglass Suite. Reports from attendees are that this was a very special occasion indeed where performer, audience, music and sense of place and history connected marvellously – and fortunately for all it was recorded and has recently been released. That’s one I have yet to savour...

Perhaps I should have included some of my photos of this landscape of Duncan’s that I explored and am now anxious to return to, though currently they languish on 35mm slides in a draw, yet to be scanned into the digital era. There again, the images will come to your minds eye easily enough if you simply listen to the music – it’s that good. And the evocative imagery in the album sleeve notes, by local artists and photographers, are both original and beautiful – a further manifestation of the dedication and love that is everywhere in this project.

Favourite Listening of 2013

As someone with a lifelong passion for searching out and savouring new, interesting and exciting music it's always instructive at the end of the year to identify those albums that I have most reached for in the last 12 months.

 

In no particular order, they are:

Olivia Chaney: Olivia Chaney (EP)  Even though I am continually trying new music it is usually several years between those full-on "hair standing up on the back of the neck" moments. Ms Chaney is responsible for the latest of these, being an astonishing singer and instrumentalist who simply has to sit down at a piano and get stuck in to hold you in her hand. Elegant and slightly classical in feel, with mostly traditional/folk style (but highly original in content) song material it manages to be both simple and spellbinding. Exasperatingly, given her obvious talents, Chaney has for some years remained almost wilfully inaccessible - preferring to play many random supporting roles for other better-known (but possibly not better) performers rather than release any albums of her own, or tour solo. This EP contains just five songs and is stunning, and is clearly a kind of holding action in the face of growing pressure to do more. Unfortunately it's so good that pressure is now likely to rise noticeably to get that first proper album out! Rumour has it she has finally signed a deal to do such a thing in 2014, fingers crossed!

Katy Carr: Paszport  Katy Carr is half-English, half-Polish and seemed to arrive in the music worlds consciousness about 18 months ago - mainly as a result of this captivating and moving album (though its predecessor Coquette is arguably just as good). Paszport tells the wartime exploits of various Polish protagonists in varied and engaging ways, demonstrating Carrs huge musical versatility in the process - it is utterly involving from start to finish, including the sound of a Spitfire flypast on one track! Carr is a qualified pilot (something I read suggested an ex-RAF pilot), has a band called the Aviators, and is always immaculately dressed in 1940s vintage fashion. She spends a lot of time performing to Polish audiences both in Poland and the UK, and I continue to try and triangulate on a live performance I can attend. One to savour when it happens.

Helene Blum: En Gang Og Altid  Danish singer Helene Blum is stunning in both appearance (well someone has to say it) and in terms of what she is capable of vocally. Although sung entirely in Danish this debut album from 2008 remains my favourite for being more lively, varied and just plain beautiful than the two more measured subsequent albums I have (Christmas album Liden Sol and Men med abne Ojne) which are still very satisfying but in more of a slow-growing sort of way. Blum is married to fiendishly talented fiddler Harald Haugaard and the two have toured the UK regularly in recent years, generally playing in small village halls and churches. The prospect of seeing them perform in such a venue is very enticing; frustratingly I have yet to be able to make the date/place combinations on offer - but hopefully next time...

The Jimmy Hendrix Experience: Electric Ladyland  Well, how did I get to my age without doing Hendrix justice? I thing it's a measure of how much wonderful music there is out there that the temptation is to ignore the big obvious stuff and seek out the embarrassment of well hidden riches. This would be played even more if I didn't have to wait for the neighbours to go out first, so I can put the volume up to where it has to be. This is guitar playing that will never be surpassed, and to think I now have the rest of his back-catalogue to discover!

Lisa Knapp: Hidden Seam  This is Lisa Knapp's second album, a solid 7 years after her very promising first (Wild and Undaunted), and it confirms she is on her own very special and creative trajectory and not "just another folk singer". This album is so full of highlights, and lacks a duff track, that it's hard to pick out just one. I love the simplicity of the Shipping Song, based on the BBC shipping forecast, which burrows into your head - never to leave, and a number of other songs are similarly captivating and memorable (like the best (or worst?!) pop songs). Innovation is everywhere so that despite an underpinning traditional ethos this is highly engaging, accessible and entertaining throughout. Seeing Lisa and talented husband Gerry Diver performing recently in a very small, modest venue was a joy, the highlight being an extraordinary rendition of the Shipping Song.

PJ Harvey: Let England Shake  Released in 2010, this is an album I will continue to play regularly for a long time to come. That it would win the Mercury prize was a given for me as soon as I heard it was on the shortlist - it is so powerful and untouchable, and clearly the pinnacle of PJs output to date. Focusing on Britain's military history and the brutal realities of war and its legacies, it is pretty important, relevant stuff that everyone should engage with. That it was recorded in a country church, yards from where my grandparents are buried, adds considerable personal poignancy. I also recommend the DVD version of this album that contains 12 short films by Seamus Murphy to accompany the songs. Given the powerful nature of the songs it seems unlikely the films should work - but they really do.