Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Reading and writing and falling in coils
I finished Sybille Bedford's 'A Legacy' last weekend, and it's wonderful; quite unlike anything else I've read. At moments, there are echoes of Henry James or Edith Wharton, but really, the novel is entirely itself. Then moved on to Penelope Fitzgerald's novel, 'The Gate of Angels', which is very different in tone (set in London and Cambridge in 1911), but equally remarkable. Anyway, both are highly recommended, if you haven't yet discovered them. Since then, I have fallen down the stairs, and am currently contemplating a disturbingly painful bruise on my foot; yet feeling distracted by the outline of my next book, at the same time as being completely absorbed within it. All quite discombobulating; as if I'm inhabiting two different landscapes (internal and external), and tonight they are jarring with each other, like the bones in my right foot.