The other day I wrote about the pair of Heinemann Classics I’ve read this year. Maybe you’ve seen their quintessential orange and black and white covers. They look a little like the vintage Penguins some people collect. But mostly I’ve been reading contemporary African writers. Sometimes, after Bill made
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The laundry hangs on the clothesline in the background, while Alistair MacLeod speaks to his wife Anita about what their life was like when the kids were young. It’s there, in the film “Reading Alistair MacLeod”, that I see Anita patiently waiting, while he pulls out a small stack
There is a line in Steven Price’s 2016 novel, By Gaslight, which seems to suit his new novel generally: “Everything is about the dead.” And another which seems even more appropriate: “The truth that is found in a story is a different kind of truth, but it is not
In which there is talk of the slim stories which have travelled with me within the city. While bulkier volumes stayed home. Like Robertson Davies' Murther and Walking Spirits (1991). And Nazanine Hozar's Aria (2019). These are awkward travelling companions: thick and heavy But some of the skinnies in
