It’s been a while since I did one of these, and even longer since I read and reviewed the chosen spin book. I do read it, it’s always the reviews that I fall behind with. Anyway, let’s see what happens this time around. Continue reading “Classics Club spin #20”
While any good writing will transcend national borders it is still in literature, and perhaps most of all in the novel, that national identity and character are often best reflected.
It’s about time I rounded off my Dewithon experience, late as usual. Including the two books still unfinished, I notched up twelve books. Continue reading “Dewithon Diary iii: rounding off”
This year we seem to have been dancing back and forth, dallying between the seasons on a daily basis.
Since April arrived, we have been thrust back into winter. Those balmy February days which turned my head and had me harbouring thoughts of an early spring seem a long way back. Continue reading “The View from Here: snatches of spring”
As I researched the details of what happened at Aberfan, I realised this was a historical story with a deeply urgent contemporary resonance: a story of what can happen when a community is run by a corporation.
On Friday 21st October 1966 a slag heap shifted. It slid inexorably towards a small mining village in South Wales, destroying several houses and at least one farm. The worst hit building was Pantglas Junior School. In total, 144 people were killed. 116 of them were children. The name of the village was Aberfan.
I remember this disaster; I was a contemporary of the children in that school. I remember the shock waves and the disbelief and later, the country’s sadness. I would have been nine years old. Continue reading “The Green Hollow by Owen Sheers: How to talk about it”
My Welsh spider’s lattice trembles with the passion of those fighting to preserve a native tongue.
Margaret’s weekly prompt for ragtag Saturday is ‘tracery’. In words and photographs, she offers us nature, pared back to the bones. Like Margaret, I take much from the skeletal branches of winter trees. When I think of tracery I think of intricate and often irregular pathways: interlocking, overlaying. Tracery is embodied by the slumbering arterials of naked branches against a winter sky. Continue reading “Dewithon Diary ii: Welsh Tracery”
When they went home, at last, the sky was a riot of violent colours and a lonely bird, hidden in the chestnut tree, cried out, like an augury.
(Read as part of Dewithon 19 and for The Classics Club.)
“If you want to find God,” Jon says “you just have to come here and look, don’t you?”
It’s St David’s Day – or it was when I first sat down to write. I have daffodils in the garden and on the window sill. And we are at the start of Dewithon 19, hosted by Paula aka Book Jotter. I’ve been swept up with the idea of a Welsh readathon; I have an impossibly long list of books in mind with others being added all the time. And I feel that I should post something on this, the first weekend of the event. But what, with several books started and none yet finished? Continue reading “Dewithon Diary”