E is for Exit...
I'm back in the wilds of Burgundy, or the Haute Marne to be precise, where electricity is pretty hard to come by on the impenetrably green river banks (it's available for one hour in the morning, one hour at noon and one in the evening, if you're very, very lucky) and wifi is virtually unheard of, so forgive me if posts are sporadic at the moment.
Reading and reading and reading - total immersion in writers I know (Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary) and - oh joy - writers who are completely new to me. I've been bowled over by Margaret Leroy's unassuming but enormous talent, her writing flows and eddies like water (I'm in canal mode at the moment as you see), so rush out and buy The Collaborator if you can. I've also plunged into The Song of Achilles, this year's Orange prize winner by Madeline Miller, which is well-researched and lyrical and intuitive and delightful. Now I've re-surfaced I'm reading Alastair Horne's gripping history of the Paris Commune and life feels rich in all kinds of pleasure.
Exit only temporary, normal service will resume...
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