Book(ish)

This is a question I often ask myself when faced with a tricky situation. Agatha Christie is not simply my comfort author of choice (she has seen me through many a long night), she has always struck me as eminently can-do. Imaginative yet sensible with an excellent mind for solutions. This is also the question Cathy Rentzenbrink asked herself when she was stuck.

I intended this to be a confined to a round-up my holiday reading, but it’s become a mish-mash of the books I’ve read over the last few weeks in between working and domestic-ing and answering questions about food and wondering why people insist upon a clean glass for every drink.

You may already be one of the many, many people acquainted with Emma M. Lion. Beth Brower’s heroine is so popular, she has online fan clubs. If not, heed my words and heed them well: I think you will love these her journals. They are the descendant of Austen, L.M. Montgomery, and Eva Ibbotson - those novels and heroines you wish there were more of. Well, now we have more. And what a treat they are. Further treat in store: an interview with Emma’s amanuensis, Beth Brower.

I started writing this in France, with the sun beating down, the hollyhocks drowsy in the breeze, and whilst eating my umpteenth giant peach. I am fairly certain I am now constituent parts croissant, baguette, peach and white wine. Since returning, I have moved between desk, washing machine, and garden - heaving an ancient and heavy watering can between plants gasping for water. But how I do love a holiday.

This is where you will find me this week: basket of books and baguettes (there are two and a half in there - half accounted for by my son, who munched his way through it en route to the beach) in hand, in search of golden sands; skin salty and hair tousled.

Sometimes you need a change of reading pace. Something short and sharp, like a blast of air conditioning for the brain. Having enjoyed some hefty doorstoppers of late, I decided to read Rebecca Perry’s slender May We Feed the King ahead of the Waterstones Debut Fiction Prize.

Photo by Chen Mizrach on Unsplash Right, so I’ve had my say (here and here), but it’s not all about me. But it’s your newsletter, Natasha! I hear you protest. To which I say, this is true, but I am also incurably nosy - particularly when it comes to what other people are reading. So I asked bookish types (many of whom have written books on my own summer reading lists - see links above) to share the books they’ll be slipping in their suitcase this summer.

“Summer afternoon – summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”- Henry James I write with an ice lolly in one hand and my feet on the windowsill, desperately seeking a breeze. This weather is less than ideal for work, but it is perfect for reading. In summer, time blurs in slow motion; days shimmer in the heat. The world is in repose. With it comes an interruption to the rules as the haze makes limbs and morals indolent.

Ready for aperitivi on the terrace - Lotta Camilla Teale Not to be too English, but heavens, June was hot, wasn’t it? I wanted to recline in the shade of a tree, preferably by a river I could dive into, with a book and a pitcher of homemade lemonade. (I have never made lemonade. Perhaps I ought to try?) I would also like to sit on this terrace and have an apertivo.

June has conspired to a. render me melting and b. remind me that women are, as a rule, excellent. I went to the Women’s Prize aka a strong candidate the best party of the year, even when the weather is unseasonably chilly (which feels a far cry from the temperature as a I type). It was glorious, an event characterised by an abundance of good will, and the raising up of other women. It’s also heavy on hope: “Books can change the world,” said founder director/goddess Kate Mosse.