Conscious that I had been rattling through vast amounts of crime reading, typically set in Finland or Iceland, Sweden and Norway, I took a conscious decision. A break from my favourite sleuths, reporters, criminologists and their various tangled family circumstances.
That period with covid last month had seen peak reading, in the hours between slumbers, such that a book a day was being ticked off. I look back through my notes. Gunnar Staalesen features heavily, his many volumes of Bergen's favourite PI from a couple of decades ago. Kjell Ola Dahl, Kristina Ohlsson, Maria Adolfsson, Mari Jungstedt all became firm favourites. Each has more on the wishlist.
It wasn't all crime. Cal Flyn mesmerised me, first with Islands of Abandonment, and later her ancestral quest Down Under, Thicker than Water. Agnes Ravatn thrilled with The Seven Doors, beautifully crafted, tales within tales.
I had to slow down, go back to my reading roots. Ground myself.
From the shelf a few old classics drew the eye, hauled themselves to the table. Laurie Lee; Bruce Chatwin; Gavin Maxwell; Richard Halliburton. And there's more earmarked to follow. Second reads will come shortly for Elly Beinhorn, and Michael Carroll.
For Laurie Lee it was his short form writings that gave an ease into the world of travel, of beautiful writing. His collection of essays, I Can't Stay Long is wonderfully varied. He tells of how he writes biography, the skills used in bringing Rosie to us. My favourite essay took me to Tuscany, his walk from Firenza to Siena. And I can hear the thundering hooves of The Palio. A day never to be forgotten. Forget those opening scenes from Bond. Good as they are they don't do justice to the city on the day.
Chatwin had me, twice. The Songlines. That was a follow up to Cal Flyn, who had taken me to the early days of colonised Oz. Bruce takes us to The Ancestors. The real ones, rather than just Flyn's distant uncle. I stuck with him. More essays. What Am I Doing Here. Across the globe, people and places. And a special mention for Maria Reiche, and her work on the Nazca Lines.
Gavin Maxwell has long been a favourite. I opted for the final volume of his trilogy, Raven Seek The Brother. Straight back to Sandaig, that lifestyle, the people around him. And the animals. The tragedies. The curse. And the fire.
Within an hour of finishing, a post on BlueSky caught my eye. Kathleen Jamie, on Maxwell. As it happens I had finished his book on the anniversary of his birth. Which is why she had been writing of her Maxwell experiences. Leading into a book published last year, on the relationship between Kathleen Raine, and Maxwell. I've put Kirsten MacQuarrie's Remember the Rowan on the wishlist. Essential for my Maxwell collection, and another little bit of of the poetry learning curve.
Richard Halliburton. What a story he had. What a tragedy to be taken so young. What a way to go. The Flying Carpet tells of his epic travels, with Moye Stephens, in their bi-plane. The adventure and the joy burst from the page. Infectious. I may read his other works. Again. They met Elly Beinhorn, in her little plane.
So Flying Girl will be read again soon. Very scarce in the English version. Hard to find. Never to part with. Michael Carroll's From a Persian Teahouse continues the exotic from those golden years. Another that will be read again soon.
This is all part of the planning to move some of a library from Peelhill to Portknockie. Some books have to go. Just last week three Halliburton's, in paperback, found a new home, via eBay. The hardback firsts will make the move with me. As will the collections of Lee, Chatwin and Maxwell, and associated works.
I've hugely enjoyed spending time with these old friends. It'll be back to a life of crime shortly, the kobo loaded, as we take a break from work pressures. Portknockie calls, with Calypso lying at anchor along the coast. Filming of The Odyssey is well under way. Forgot to mention I've just finished reading Emily Wilson's translation of that classic. A first read, and not an easy one. But I think I'll go and see the movie next year. And not just to ooh and aah at familiar parts of the Moray Coast.
Happy reading. Is there another type?
