I'm still writing in my little Devon bubble, away from the real world, and in the last couple of days we've visited Greenway and Coleton Fishacre, homes of Agatha Christie and the D'Oyly Carte family respectively. Coleton was more beautiful (and the bedroom curtains were designed by Raoul Dufy - how fantastic is that?) but it was Greenway which made a greater impression on me.
I think it's hard to separate the lives of writers and the
locations in which they are lived, from their work. I know that great novels exist as an entity
in themselves, but I can't believe that what occurs in a writer's imagination
isn't profoundly influenced by what has happened to him (or her, or her). Winemakers say that the most important factor
in making wine is the terroir - that geographical combination of landscape and
climate -- and I suspect the same is true of fiction. It was wonderful to walk through the woods of
Greenway, listening out for subliminal echoes (almost drowned out by the sound
of squirrels on the rampage). There has
always been a fascination with writers’ rooms, perhaps Dylan Thomas's evocative boathouse started the trend, but as someone who gazes out
of her window for hours on end, thinking, searching for words, what really
interests me is the views that writers look out at. The vista from Agatha Christie's house was
breathtaking, although I've never been a fan of her books, so it wasn't
surprising to learn that she did most of her writing in London…
No comments:
Post a Comment