10: Books I’ll Never Tire of Reading

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Hi all, I don’t know what you’re doing on a Saturday night but as a sign of what a banging social life I have I am recording a Solitary podcast because all my guests and my prospective guests are actually away on holiday at the moment. So welcome to all cooks, dog walkers and drivers

to everyone else on holiday. And thank you for joining the Indie Book Club podcast, which is sponsored by InkSpot Publishing. tonight I’m going to be talking about the books that I never get tired of reading. And there are probably about, well, up to 10 books that I periodically read.

over and over again just because I suppose the thing they have in common is that the writing is spectacular the characterization is incredible the dialogue especially is great and

They just really are very special books. so without further ado,

the first one we’re going to talk about is I, Claudius and its sequel, Claudius the God by Robert Graves.

They’re often presented in one volume and I’ve actually got two separate books but unfortunately I can’t find the second one. And the book means an awful lot to me because it was one of my father’s favourite books and I noticed when I was a child that he often went back to it and I couldn’t understand why he’d want to read about Roman emperors and their boring politics and their tiresome wars because they were always at war. Does that…

sound familiar and I did ask him about it and he said I’d just have to try the book for myself and I ignored him and carried on with asterisks or Jean Plaidy or whatever I was reading at the time.

we lived in Malawi, where my siblings  and I shuttled between the boiling hot African bush where my dad was involved in sugar farming and boarding school in Drizzly Wales where it always seemed to be raining and we used to have a saying that if you could see the hills was that meant that it was going to rain and if you couldn’t see the hills that’s because it was raining. There was no TV in Malawi so we used to play cards or board games in the evenings

or we’d meet up with our friends at the club and you know a bunch of teenagers and would generally misbehave. But my uncle who lived in the UK used to videotape things for us like Minder and Benny Hill and The Sweeney and some of the recording qualities were absolutely terrible. But one holiday he sent us all 12 of the BBC adaptations of I Claudius and Claudius the God and really none of us were that interested in watching it.

even my dad he didn’t want to watch because he loved the book so much and he was afraid that it just wouldn’t match up to the book but one evening we were super bored and we decided to give it a try

and we were absolutely riveted. And my mom, my sister and I were still watching the BBC adaptation at five o’clock in the morning after starting at about 9 p.m. the previous evening. And we were making each other super strong cups of coffee just so that we could stay awake to watch the entire series. And it was brilliantly done with amazing acting. Derek Jacobi was, he played Claw, Claw, Claudius, the stammering emperor.

and I really started to understand what the fuss was about and sadly those episodes are actually quite unwatchable now just because we’ve become so spoiled where special effects are concerned even though the acting was so great but the book really endures and it humanizes the emperors and their scheming wives and it’s fabulously gossipy and the dialogue is really pitch perfect and it starts with quite a

Proustian sentence actually

I Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nerogemanicus this that and the other for I shall not trouble you yet with all my titles who was once and not so long ago either known to my friends and relatives and associates as Claudius the idiot or that Claudius or Claudius the stammerer

or Claw Claw Claudius or at best this poor Uncle Claudius. I’m now about to write this strange history of my life starting from my earliest childhood and continuing year by year until I reach the fateful point of change where some eight years ago at the age of 51 I suddenly found myself caught in what I may call the golden predicament from which I have never since become entangled.

And the golden predicament, obviously, is that he’s made emperor. And that’s after the appallingly debauched Caligula is finally killed by the Roman guard. And in the chaos and confusion which follows, Claudius is made emperor by the soldiers just because he’s convenient and he’s handy, even though he’s really unwilling to take the job. So here’s the passage where the soldiers find him and elevate him to the loftiest position of all, basically Roman emperor.

The real news had by now reached the palace where it caused the most utter confusion. A few old soldiers thought that the opportunity for looting was too good to be missed. They would pretend to be looking for assassins. Every room in the palace had a golden doorknob, each worth six months’ pay, easy enough to hack off with a sharp sword. I heard the cries of, kill them, kill them, avenge Caesar, and hid behind a curtain. Two soldiers came in. They saw my feet under the curtain.

Come out of there assassin, no use hiding from us.” I came out and fell on my face. Don’t ⁓ kill me lords, I said. I had nothing to do with it. Who’s this old gentleman? Asked one of the soldiers who was new at the palace. He doesn’t look dangerous.

Why, don’t you know? He’s Germanicus’s invalid brother. A decent old

in him at all. Get up, sir, we won’t hurt you.” This soldier’s name was Gratis. They made me follow them downstairs again into the banqueting hall where the sergeants and corporers were holding a council of war. A young sergeant stood on a table waving his arms and shouting, Republic be hanged! A new emperor’s our only hope. Any emperor, so long as we can persuade the Germans to accept him.

In catarters someone suggested, guffawing. Yes, by God, better the old nag than no emperor at all. We want someone immediately to keep the Germans quiet, otherwise they’ll run amok. My two captors pushed their way through the crowd, dragging me behind them. Grattis called out, Hey, Sergeant, look who we have here. A bit of luck, I think. It’s old Claudius. What’s wrong with old Claudius for

The best man for the job in Rome, though he do limp and stammer a bit. Loud cheers, laughter and cries of Long live Emperor Claudius. The sergeant apologised. Why sir, we all thought you were dead. But you’re our man all right. Push him up lads where we can all see him. Two burly corporals caught me by the legs and hoisted me on their shoulders. Long live the Emperor Claudius. Put me down! I cried furiously. Put me down! I don’t want to be emperor. I refuse.

I refused to be emperor, long live the republic!” But they only laughed. That’s a good one, he don’t want to be emperor. Modest, innit? Give me a sword, I shouted, I’ll kill myself sooner. Messalina came hurrying towards us. For my sake, Claudius, do what they ask of you. For our child’s sake, we’ll all be murdered if you refuse. They’ve killed Cezonia already, and they took her little girl by the feet and bashed out her brains against a wall. You’ll be all right, sir, once you get accustomed to it.

Grattus said grinning, it’s not such a bad life. An emperor’s isn’t.

So Claudius the scholar, the idealist, the republican becomes the emperor and he gives Rome water and winter bread but ultimately his reign ends in apathy horribly disillusioned by the epic betrayal of his wife Messalina and he loves Messalina but it’s an open secret that she’s an insatiable nymphomaniac

who services legions of men indiscriminately behind her husband’s back. So, as Claudius described it,

I was told the most horrible and ludicrous story. During my absence in Britain, Messalina had issued a challenge to the prostitutes guild asking them to provide a champion to contend with her at the palace and see which of the two would wear out the most gallants in the course of a night.

The guild had sent a famous Sicilian named Silla after the whirlpool in the Straits of Messina. When dawn came, Silla had been forced to confess herself beaten at the 25th Gallant, but Messalina had continued out of bravado until the sun was quite high in the sky, and what was worse, most of the nobility at Rome had been invited to attend the contest and many of the men had taken part in it, and three or four of the women had been persuaded by Messalina to compete too.

I sat weeping with my head in my hands, just as Augustus had done some 50 years before, when he been told the same sort of story about his daughter Julia. And in Augustus’s very words,

I said that I had never heard the slightest whisper or entertained the faintest suspicion that Messalina was not the chastest woman in Rome. And like Augustus had the impulse to shut myself away in a room and see nobody for days, but they wouldn’t let me. Two lines out of a musical comedy, I forget the name, kept hammering absurdly in my brain.

I know no sound so laughable, so laughable and sad, as an old man weeping for his wife, a girl gone to the bad. I don’t think I’m giving any spoilers away as the history is so well documented and Kevin Claudius is then married to his niece Agrippina who is the mother of Nero and we all know how that panned out not very well and it’s an absolutely gripping book and I’ll never get tired of picking it up.

Another book I never get tired of is L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between, which is about a young boy Leo who spends the summer with his friend Marcus.

where he’s gulled into becoming a messenger between Marcus’s elder sister Marion and her lover who is the incredibly charismatic and sexy farmer Ted Burgess. And there are several problems for the lovers, not least of which is that for all of his abilities and talents Ted is very much below stairs and Marion is engaged to the Lord Trimingham.

And it’s most famous, this book, for the opening line, which is, the past is another country, they do things differently there. But it really exposes the repression and emotional restraint that was expected at the time, the loss of innocence of the young boy Leo, and also the class divisions, which were so ironclad. And the combination of all these things really leads to a disaster. And the way that the author maintains the tension of this is so masterful.

And it’s really a reflection on memory as well and how recollections not only vary, but that they change over time with experience and understanding, as illustrated by Leo’s conversation with Marion years later.

I keep going back to this book, for all the usual reasons. That’s the beauty of the writing, the characters and also the way that the author maintains the tension, as I’ve already said. And so here’s an example. And again, I have to read from the screen because I gave my copy of this book away.

So the passage that I have chosen is prefaced by a description of deadly nightshade which grows in profusion from one of the outbuildings and it is so beautifully described that anyway I’ll just read it and you’ll see what I mean.

The shrub had spread amazingly, it topped the roofless walls, it pressed into their crannies, groping for an outlet, urged by a secret explosive force that I felt would burst them. It had battened on the heat which had parched everything else. Its beauty, of which I was well aware, was too bold for me, too uncompromising in every particular. The sullen, heavy purple bells wanted something of me that I could not give. The bold, black, burnished berries offered me something that I did not want.

All other plants, I thought, bloom for the eye. They’re perfected for our view. The mysterious principle of growth is manifest in them. Mysterious yet simple. But this plant seemed to be up to something, to be carrying on a questionable traffic with itself. There was no harmony, no proportion in its parts. It exhibited all the stages of its development at once. It was young, middle-aged and old at the same time. Not only did it bear its fruit and flowers together, but there was a strange

discrepancy between the size of its leaves. Some were no longer than my little finger, others much longer than my hand. It invited and yet repelled inspection as if it was harboring some shady secret which it yet wanted you to know.” So the nightshade is a symbol of knowingness, of secrecy and corruption and so the author continues

Outside the shed, twilight was darkening the air, but inside it was already night, night which the plant had gathered to itself. Torn between fascination and recoil, I turned away, and it was then that we heard the voices. Actually, there was only one voice, or only one voice audible. I recognized it at once, though Marcus didn’t. It was a voice speaking, no doubt, the language whose excess imparts the power it feels so well.

But what I heard was a low, insistent murmur, with pauses for reply in which no reply was made. It had a hypnotic quality which I’d never heard in any voice, a blend of urgency, cajolery and extreme tenderness, and with below it the deep vibrato of a held-in laugh that might break out at any moment.

It was the voice of someone wanting something very much and confident of getting it, but at the same time willing, no constraint to plead for it with all the force of his being. Well, what woman would not want to be on the receiving end of that voice? I don’t think I’ve ever read anything more romantic or intensely erotic. And

The passage illustrates exactly why Marion is willing to risk so much for her stolen moments with the very earthy farmer Ted.

So here’s another one that I have to confess I’ve only read once, but I will definitely read this again, which is Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. And I avoided reading this book for years because of its very sketchy subject matter, and I

I did not want to read about a middle-aged man having a sexual relationship with a 12-year-old girl, but the…

The protagonist in this novel is Humbert Humbert, who is a vile, revolting, self-loathing pedophile who marries Lolita’s mother in order to seduce her 12-year-old daughter. And I eventually forced myself to read it as I was writing a blog post on books about girls in inappropriate relationships. I did this for Shepard.com. And the other books I featured were My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell,

This is Pleasure by Mary Gateskill. A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing by Ima McBride. And of course I had to include Lolita, which is the most famous novel of all time on this subject. And if you’d like to read that blog post, there’s a link to it in the description on Shepard.com.

And I wrote it because my second novel, All Grown Up, is about a girl of 15 who has an affair with a much older married man who thinks she’s 22. But Humbert Humbert knows full well that Lolita is only 12. And here’s an example of the spectacular writing and why I will go back to this book again and again.

Okay, so… ⁓

in order to discern at once by ineffable signs the slightly feline outline of a cheekbone the slenderness of a downy limb and other indices which despair and shame and tears of tenderness forbid me to tabulate the little deadly demon amongst the wholesome children she stands unrecognized by them and unconscious herself of her fantastic power. So

Humbert Humbert puts the onus on the girls, which is, I suppose, what every single pedophile on the planet probably does.

But the thing that I found so spectacular about this book and so surprising is just how funny it is. So Humbert Humbert mocks American culture in such a witty and obeying way. He mocks diners, bad coffee, the hotels, the characters that he and Lolita meet while they’re on their very sinister road show where they stay in a series of cheap motels posing as father and daughter. And he’s like an ultra witty standup in his use of language.

is just spectacular. It’s so funny and so sharp and very self-aware and then you realize what you’re laughing at. You’re complicit in the abuse and corruption of a very young girl and he laughs at her too, at her her childishness. Well guess what she’s only 12. Her cheap vulgarity, know her gum chewing and her taste for trashy snacks and and for cheap clothes and jewelry and it’s just awful and yet it is

just amazingly written and if you pronounce his name in the as probably Nabokov intended it, ombre ombre, ⁓ the French pronunciation there’s a whisper of the French word ombre which means shadow which is possibly why he chose it for his awful character in the first place

it is just such a fantastic book and the way that Nabokov plays with the language is just incredible and no wonder it is, a modern classic.

Here is another book that I love reading and will go back to again and again. I listened to it first on Audible actually, where it was wonderfully narrated by Lee Horsley. And now I can’t for the life of me find that recording anymore, probably because, well, probably because a new version’s being recorded by Will Patton. That’s what I found out online.

and I really loved the Lee Horsley version. was hours and hours of really happy listening, because it’s a really thick book. it’s, 865 pages.

And now I own a copy and it was actually really hard to pick out a piece of text to read just because you can open the book at random and you will find on every page wonderful characterization and incredible dialogue. And the story is about two Texas Rangers turned cattlemen, Augustus McCray and Woodrow Call And their story is very loosely based on Charles Goodnights and Oliver Loving who were

very legendary cattlemen who built trails in the in Midwest and according to McMurtry who was actually from Texas he took the skeleton of the of the good night loving story and he hung Lonesome Dove on it

and it is such an amazing story. It’s achingly funny and it’s very matter of fact about sex and violence and but it’s never gratuitous all of these scenes are always done to serve the story and the characters are really wonderfully drawn and so memorable that I actually when I think about it I really feel that my life is immeasurably poorer for not having Gus McCray in it Gus isn’t afraid of anything he’s

He takes daredeviling to ridiculous heights but it’s always realistically done, it’s always believable. And like his partner, he’s an absolute killer and he’s not afraid to separate souls from bodies but only when warranted and above all he’s funny and he’s kind.

So I’ve got two passages I’d like to read from this book. the central story is about ⁓ Call and McCray traveling from Lonesome Dove in Texas, this little one-horse town, to Montana with their cattle. And they have a group of cowboys with them and they have some trackers and they decide to take these cattle to Montana

and

they have quite a few adventures along the way.

And they’ve got a number of young boys with them. And when they finally get to a town, the young boys are given their wages. And of course, the first thing they do is they decide to go to the local whorehouse and a lot of them are virgins. They’ve never had sex before and it’s just so wonderfully described. So I will, I’ll read this passage out to you. So this is Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry.

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The stairs had seemed long and steep from the bottom, but in a second he found himself standing at the top. This, by the way, is Newt, who is actually, turns out to be Call’s son. The door was slightly ajar and he saw that someone was there. All he could see was a large shape.

Then before he could speak he saw a woman with almost no clothes on come out of a room behind the shape. The woman’s legs were naked, a sight so startling that Newt couldn’t believe he was seeing it. Who is it, buff? the girl with the naked legs asked. I guess the cat’s got his tongue, the shape said in a husky voice. He ain’t introduced himself. I’m Newt, he said, feeling uncertain, suddenly about the whole enterprise. The other boys were just making their way up the stairs.

The shape, it was a woman. Two stepped half out the door and surveyed the group on the stairs. She was a large woman and she smelt rather like P.I. had after he came out of the barber shop. Newt saw to his astonishment that her legs were naked too. It’s a trouper little fella, she said to her companion in the hall. They must have just let out school. Better get on here while we ain’t busy then, her friend said. That is, if they can afford it.

we got money,” Newt volunteered. We come up with a herd and we just got paid. I didn’t know cowboys came this young, the big woman said. Show me the money. Newt pulled out his gold piece and the woman leaned in the hall to look at it under the light. I take it all back, she said to her friend. It’s a bunch of rich cattlemen. Newt noticed that she didn’t give him back his gold piece, but he didn’t feel he ought to say anything.

Maybe it cost $10 just to get in the door of a place where women went naked. So the two whores are Mary and Buff and Mary is skinny and Buff is a very large girl and Newt ends up with Buff. so Mary says, we got the whole night to get through, Mary said. We can’t waste too much of it on these tadpoles

She took Ben Rainey’s hand and quickly led him into a little room off the hall. Mary gets the fidgets if something ain’t happening every minute, Buff said. Come on, Newt. Jimmy Rainey didn’t like being left in the hall by himself. What do I do? he asked plaintively. Just stand there like a post, Buff said. Mary’s quick, especially with tadpoles. She’ll get you in a minute. Jimmy stood where he was looking for Lorne.

She led Newt into a small room with nothing much in it but an iron bedstead and a small wash basin on a tiny stand. a small unlit coal oil lamp with no shade over the wick sat on a windowsill. The window was open and the rim of the prairie still red as if a line of coals had been spread along it. Come far, Buff asked in a husky voice.

Yes ma’am from Texas Newt said. Well skin them pants off Texas she said and to his astonishment she unbuttoned three buttons on the front of her gown and pitched it on the bed. She stood before him naked and since he was too startled to move reached down and unbuckled his pants. The problem with cowboys is all the time it takes to get their boots off she confided as she was unbuttoning his pants.

I don’t get paid for watching cowboys wrestle with their darn boots, so I just leave the sheets off the bed. If they can’t shuck them quick, they have to do it with them on.” Meanwhile, she’d unbuttoned his pants and reached for his peter, which, once it was freed, met her halfway at least. Newt couldn’t get over how large she was. She could easily make two of him. “‘I doubt you’ve had a chance to get much, but it won’t hurt to check,’ she said.”

She led him to the window and lit the oil lamp. The movement of her large breast threw strange shadows on the wall. To Newt’s surprise she poured a little water on his peter. Then she lathered her hands with a bar of coarse soap and soaked him so vigorously that before he could stop himself he squirted right at her. He was horrified. Sure that what he had done was a dreadful breach of decorum, far worse than not being able to get his boots off quickly.

Of course he’d seen boys jerk at themselves and he’d done it plenty, but having a woman use soap and warm water on it brought madders to her head much quicker than was usual. But Buff merely chuckled, exposing her black tooth. I forgot you Ted poles are so randy you can’t tolerate the soap and she said wiping him off on a piece of sacking. She walked over to the bed and laid back on the corn-shuck mattress which crackled in protest. Come on, try it, she said.

You might have another load yet.

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So here is an example of Gus in a place where life is cheap and where women are anything but respected

So Gus is about to have a game of cards with this low life in a bar. Just then a girl walked in, painted and powdered. Several of the mule skinners whooped at her, but she came over to where Augustus sat. She was skinny and could hardly be more than 17. Now Nellie leave us be, the gambler said. We were about to have a game.

Before the girl could answer, one of the mule skinners at the next table toppled backwards in his chair. He’d gone to sleep with the chair tilted back and he fell to the floor to the amusement of his peers. The fall didn’t wake him. He sprawled on the saloon floor dead drunk. ⁓ go along, Shaw, the girl said. There ain’t but two of you. What kind of game would that be? I made that point myself, Augustus said. A bartender came over, got the drunk man by the collar and drug him out the door.

Wanna go next, mister?” Nellie asked. The gambler, to Augustus’ surprise, suddenly cuffed the girl. It was not a hard blow, but it surprised and embarrassed her. Now here, Augustus said, there’s no excuse for that. The young lady was talking perfectly polite. She ain’t a lady. She’s a tart. And I won’t have her interfering with our pleasure, the gambler said. Augustus stood up and pulled out a chair for Nellie.

Sit down, miss,” he said. Then he turned to the gambler. You scoot, he said. I don’t gamble with men who mistreat women. The gambler had a ferret-like expression. He ignored Augustus and glared at the girl. What have I told you, he said. You’ll get a beating you won’t forget if you interfere with me again. The girl trembled and seemed on the verge of tears. I won’t have a slut interrupting my play, the gambler said.

Augustus hit the man in the chest so hard that he was knocked back onto the next table amid three or four mule skinners. The mule skinners looked up in surprise.

He ain’t hurt, Augustus assured the girl. Would you like a sip of whiskey? And then later on as they talk she tells Gus that she’s got a terrible madam and the other one in town is no better.

I guess you better bribe that gambler if that’s the situation, Augustus said. Give him five and Rosie five, that’s the madam, and keep the rest for yourself. He handed her twenty dollars. The girl looked surprised but took the money and quaffed another whiskey. Then she went up to the bar and had the bartender change the money for her. Soon she was talking to Shaw as if nothing had happened. Depressed, Gus bought a bottle to take with him and left town.

in this book is one of the most affecting scenes I’ve ever read.

will have to read it and hide the name of one of the characters because it’s such an important spoiler but it’s a really incredible piece of writing and I just think that no one else could have done it so well and by the way Larry McMurtry did the screenplay for Brokeback Mountain and he also also for the last picture show and this is a useless piece of trivia but he

was actually married to Ken Casey’s widow so there is a woman who obviously had really good taste in literature have to hide the name of this character and so I’m going to read this and I’m going to call the person

James just because of Jesse James the famous cowboy so I’m going to call him James.

So this scene is where Gus and Call with James find that their horses have been stolen by a tribe of starving Indians who they’ve stolen the horses in order to eat them.

let’s go, Augustus said. We don’t want to be shooting these people, although it would probably be a mercy. I don’t think they even have guns. I didn’t shoot nobody, Call said, but they’re our horses. At the shot, one of them shot in the air. The whole tribe looked up stunned. One of the young men grabbed an old single shot rifle, but didn’t fire. It seemed to be the only firearm the tribe possessed.

Call fired in the air again to scare them away from the horse and succeeded better than he had expected to. Those who’d been eating got to their feet, some with sections of guts still in their hands, and fled towards the four small ragged tepees that stood up the draw.

The young man with the gun retreated too, helping one of the older women. She was bloody from the feast. They were just having a picnic, Augustus said. We had a picnic the other day without nobody shooting at us. We can leave them two or three horses, Call said. I just don’t want to lose that sorrow they’re about to kill.

In the tribe’s flight a child had been forgotten, a little boy barely old enough to walk. He stood near the neck of the dead horse crying trying to find his mother. The tribe huddled in front of the teepee silent. The only sound for a moment was the sound of the child’s crying. He blind, James said. Augustus saw that it was true. The child couldn’t see where he was going and a second later tripped over a pile of bloody horse guts falling into them.

James, who was closest to the dead horse, walked over and picked the child up. The little blind boy kept wailing. Hush now, James said. You a mess. You done rolled and all that blood. At that moment, there was a wild yell from the teepees and James looked up to see one of the young braves rushing towards him. He was the one who’d picked up the rifle, but he discarded it and was charging with an old lance, crying his battle cry.

James held out the baby and smiled. The young man, no older than Newt, didn’t need to cry any battle cry. James kept holding the baby out towards the tribe and smiling, trusting that the young brave would realize was friendly. The young man didn’t need his lance. He could just take the squalling baby back to its mother.

Call and Augustus thought too that the young man would probably stop once he saw that James meant no harm. If not, James could whoop him. He was a good hand-to-hand fighter. It was only at the last second that they both realized that the Indian wasn’t going to stop. His charge was desperate and he didn’t notice that James was friendly. He closed it a run. Shoot him, James! Call yelled, raising his own gun. James saw too at the last second.

The boy wasn’t going to stop. The young warrior wasn’t blind, but the look in his eyes was as unseeing.

as the babies. He was still screaming a war cry, was unnerving in the stillness and his eyes were filled with hate. The old Lance just looked silly. James held the baby out again thinking the boy hadn’t understood. Here, take him. I’m just helping him up, he said. Only then he saw it was too late. The young man couldn’t stop coming and couldn’t stop hating either. His eyes were wild with hatred.

James felt a deep regret that he should be hated so by this thin boy when he meant no harm. He tried to sidestep hoping to gain a moment so he could set the baby down and wrestle with the Indian and maybe calm him. But when James turned the boy thrust the lance straight into his side and up into his chest.

Call and Augustus shot almost at the same time. The boy died with his hands still on the lance. They ran down to James who still had the baby in his hands, although he had over a foot of lance inside him. Would you take him, Captain? James asked, handing Call the child. I don’t want to sit him back in all that blood. Then James dropped to his knees. He noticed with surprise that the young Indian was near him, already dead.

For a moment he feared that somehow he had killed him. Then he saw that his own gun was still holstered. It must have been the captain or Mr. Gus. That was a sad thing, that the boy had to die just because he couldn’t understand that they were friendly. It was one more regret. Probably the boy had just been so hungry he couldn’t think straight.

here we see. It’s so affecting and this book is just an incredible read and I would highly recommend it and by the way I would never have read this book if I hadn’t

signed up to Audible and googled the longest audiobooks imaginable so that I would really get bang for my buck being as tight as a gnat’s chuff. And this book came up, so did War and Peace, so did the Cormoran Strike books which I really enjoyed, those are the J.K. Rowling books.

incredibly long books which gave hours and hours of reading and this one was such a lucky find because I I seriously would never have have picked it up otherwise and It is just astonishing

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So another book that I have read twice and will definitely read again is Geraldine Brooks’s The People of the Book, which is about,

The Sarajevo Haggadah, which was this beautifully illustrated Jewish manuscript that survived through centuries of war, exile, persecution. And the story is about a young Australian rare book expert.

who is called to Sarajevo to examine the surviving Haggadah and she finds tiny clues in the binding and the pages like for example a wine stain, ⁓ a hair, some salt crystals and I think a butterfly wing, something like that and each clue takes the reader back to a different period in time.

and the characters that were involved in the book survival. so, for example, the 1940s a Muslim librarian, saves the Haggadah from the Nazis. And he and his wife befriend a young Jewish girl. ⁓ anyway, her story is really not a happy one at all. and then there’s Vienna in the 1890s, where a bookbinder

leaves his mark and then there’s 1609 Venice where there’s this wonderful story about a rabbi who is a gambling addict and it is so wonderfully described and written ⁓ and then the the Haggadah is there at the expulsion of the Jews in Spain

during the reign of Isabella and Ferdinand and goes back to the book’s very creation and the very surprising person who basically created the Haggadah.

book is really about cultural identity and also the survival of art and the depiction of art and, the endurance of culture ⁓ against war and fanaticism and how when you save a book, you basically save history. I don’t have a copy of this book anymore because of course I lent it to a neighbor and I never got it back.

but.

some of the quotes will give you an idea of the flavour of the book. ⁓

you who wrote that quote but it is really true and this is really part of it and so when you save a book you save the world entire and what survives is not the thing itself but the idea of it the story of it and anyway Geraldine Brooks is writing in this book is so spectacular and she wrote another book about the plague in medieval times which was also fantastic

The book about the plague is called The Year of Wonders, set in 1666 and it was about the village of Iyam which voluntarily quarantined itself to stop the spread of the plague and there were quite a number of true stories that were incorporated into this novel and while I loved it, I think ⁓ the people of the book will always be my favorite and I

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another book I never get tired of reading is Kolymsky Heights. I have read it twice.

and will definitely read it again. It is such an exciting book. It is the only book I’ve ever read which manages to sustain a chase over about 150 pages. states are incredible and the central character.

is a Canadian who belongs to a First Nation tribe and he’s a genius linguist and he’s able to fit into almost any environment and he is a much more grounded realistic character than say for example James Bond and the stakes in this book really are

amazing and I can’t tell you too much about it without introducing spoilers but is it enough to say that Philip Pullman gives a introduction to this book where he describes it as the best thriller that he’s ever read and

This book contains a very special character called Ludmilla, who again I can’t tell you too much about because it will introduce too many spoilers. But it is just a really high stakes book that…

is effectively about a Siberian research facility. the coldest remote places on earth where Russian scientists are

working on a discovery so huge it could actually transform scientific understanding. And the West learn about it when a message is smuggled out of the research facility under really extraordinary circumstances. it is just an incredible book. I actually now I’ve got it here on my desk. I really can’t wait to read it again.

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the next book that I want to talk about, which is a beautifully illustrated hardback. this is of Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat, which is so funny and

It is basically a perfect blend of satire, farce and travelogue where basically there three men and well there four of them on the boat that includes a dog called Montmorency who the dog’s main ambition in life is to get in the way and be sworn at and it’s a book where nothing really happens but the three guys are incredibly bumbling.

They’re trying to be healthy and outdoorsy because they decide that all of them are ill and ailing. And in fact, the central character, Jay, who is based on Jerome K. Jerome himself, at the very beginning of the book, he peruses a medical encyclopedia and he decides that he has every single ailment listed in the encyclopedia. Some of them obviously from birth, except for housemaids knee.

And it is just so funny. And I have an extract to read from this book they stop at a pub where there is a huge fish which has been stuffed and hung above the wall in the bar.

so sorry the type is very small so excuse me squinting. Some people are under the impression that all that is required to make a good fisherman is the ability to tell lies easily and without blushing but this is a mistake. Mere bald fabrication is useless the various Tyro can manage that. It is in the circumstantial detail the embellishing touches of probability

the general air of scrupulous, almost a pedantic veracity that the experienced angler can be seen. Anybody can come in and say, I caught 15 dozen perch yesterday evening, or last Monday I landed a gudgeon weighing 18 pounds and measuring three feet from the tip to the tail. There’s no art, no skill required for that sort of thing. It shows pluck, but that’s all. No, your accomplished angler would scorn to tell a lie that way.

His method is a study in itself. He comes in quietly with his hat on, appropriates the most comfortable chair, lights his pipe and commences to puff in silence. He lets the youngsters brag away for a while and then, during a momentary lull, he removes the pipe from his mouth and remarks as he knocks the ashes out against the bars. Well, I had a good haul on Tuesday evening that it’s not much good my telling anybody about.

why’s that? ask. Because I don’t expect anyone will believe me if I did, replies the old fellow calmly and without even a tinge of bitterness in his tone as he refills his pipe and requests the landlord to bring him three of scotch cold. There’s a pause after this, nobody feeling sufficiently sure of himself to contradict the old gentleman, so he has to go on by himself without any encouragement.

No, he continues thoughtfully. I shouldn’t believe it myself if anybody told it to me, but it’s a fact for all that. I’d been sitting there all afternoon and had caught literally nothing, except a few dozen days and a score of jack, and I was just about giving it up as a bad job when I suddenly felt a rather smart pull at the line. I thought it was another little one and I went to jerk it up. Hang me if I could move the rod, took me half an hour, half an hour sir, to land that fish.

And every moment I thought the line was going to snap. I reached him at last and what do think it was? A sturgeon. A forty pound sturgeon. Taken on a line, sir. Yes, you may well look surprised. I’ll have another three of scotch, landlord, please. And then he goes on to tell the astonishment of everyone who saw it and what his wife said when he got home and what Joe Buggles thought about it.

I asked the landlord of an inn up the river once if it didn’t injure him sometimes listening to the tales that the fishermen about there told him and he said, ⁓ no, not now sir. It did used to knock me over a bit at first, but for, but Laura love you. Me and the Mrs. Wee listens to them all down day now. It’s what you’re used to, you know, it’s what you’re used to. I knew a young man once. He was the most conscientious fellow.

And when he took to fly fishing he determined never to exaggerate his hauls by more than 25%. When I’ve caught 40 fish, said he, then I will tell people that I’ve caught 50 and so on. But I will not lie any more than that because it is sinful to lie. But the 25 % plan did not work well at all. He never was able to use it. The greatest number of fish he ever caught in one day was three and you can’t add 25 % to three, at least not in fish.

So he increased his percentage to 33 1 3rd. But that, again, was awkward, when he’d only caught one or two, so to simplify matters he made up his mind to just double the quantity. He stuck to this arrangement for a couple of months, and then he grew dissatisfied with it. Nobody believed him when he told them that he’d only doubled and that he’d therefore gain no credit that way, whatever, while his moderation put him at a disadvantage among the other anglers.

When he’d really caught three small fish and said he’d caught six, it used to make him quite jealous to hear a man, whom he knew for a fact had only caught one, going about telling people he’d landed two dozen. So, eventually he made one final arrangement with himself, which he has religiously held to ever since, and that was to count each fish that he’d caught as ten, and to assume ten to begin with. So, for example, if he didn’t catch any fish at all, then he said he’d caught ten fish.

You could never catch less than 10 fish by his system. That was the foundation of it. Then if any chance he really did catch one fish, he called it 20, while two fish would count 30, three 40 and so on. It’s a simple and easily worked plan and there’s been some talk lately of its being made use of by the Angling fraternity in general. Indeed, the committee of the Thames Anglers Association did recommend its adoption about two years ago, but some of the older members opposed it.

They said they would consider the idea if the number were doubled and each fish counted as 20.

This book is just a joy and it actually reminds me so much of P.G. Woodhouse.

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So the next book I will never get tired of reading is Alan Patton’s Cry the Beloved Country, which was published in 1948. And it’s an extraordinary story. set in pre-apartheid South Africa,

where a humble black Anglican priest goes to search for his delinquent son in Johannesburg and he finds out that his son Absalom has taken part in a botched burglary and has actually killed a white man and the white man that he’s killed is a social reformer who has dedicated his life to improving the lot of black people in South Africa.

it was an accidental killing but obviously it destroys the lives of both men and it is a really extraordinary book. It’s so humane and

the passage I want to read is where Stephen Camalo, the father of Absalom, goes to visit the father of Arthur Jarvis, the man who’s been murdered.

and it’s an extraordinarily tense passage,

told from, this is from James Jarvis’s point of view, that’s the father of the murdered man, ⁓

showing the whiteness of his head and he looked startled and afraid and he was trembling. Good morning, Umfundisi said Jarvis in Zulu of which he was master. By the way, Umfundisi means teacher or pastor and the term that Kamala uses to Jarvis is umnunsana which is sir or respected man.

and to Jarvis’ surprise he sat down on the lowest step as though he were ill or starving. Jarvis knew this was not rudeness for the old man was humble and well-mannered, so he came down the step saying, Are you ill, Umfundisi? But the old man did not answer. He continued to tremble and he looked down on the ground, so that Jarvis could not see his face and could not have seen it unless he had lifted the chin with his hands.

which he did not do, such a thing is not lightly done. Are you ill, oom Fondisi? I shall recover, oom Nonzana. Do you wish water, or is it food? Are you hungry? No, oom Nonzana, I shall recover.

Jarvis stood on the paved stone below the lower step but the old man was not quick to recover. He continued to tremble and to look at the ground. It is not easy for a white man to be kept waiting but Jarvis waited for the old man was obviously ill and weak. The old man made an effort to rise using his stick but the stick slipped on the paved stone and fell clattering on the stone. Jarvis picked it up and restored it to him but the old man put it down as a hindrance.

and he put down his hat also and tried to lift himself up by pressing his hands on the steps. But his first effort failed and he sat down again and continued to tremble. Jarvis would have helped him but such a thing is not so lightly done as picking up a stick. Then the old man pressed his hands again on the steps and lifted himself up.

Then he lifted his face also and looked at Jarvis, and Jarvis saw that his face was full of a suffering that was of neither illness nor hunger. And Jarvis stooped and picked up the hat and stick, and he held the hat carefully for it was old and dirty, and he restored them to the parson. I thank you, Amnon Zahna.

Are you sure you’re not ill, Umfundisi? I’m recovered, Umnumzana. And what are you seeking, Umfundisi? The old parson put his hat and his stick down again on the step, and with trembling hands pulled out a wallet from the inside pocket of the old green coat, and the papers fell out on the ground because his hands would not be still. I am sorry, Umnumzana.

He stooped to pick up the papers and because he was old he had to kneel and the papers were old and dirty and some that he had picked up fell out of his hands while he was picking up others and the wallet fell too and the hands were trembling and shaking. Jarvis was torn between compassion and irritation and he stood and watched uncomfortably.

I know you, Umfundisi, he said. The suffering in the old man’s face smote him, so that he said, sit down, Umfundisi. Then the old man would be able to look at the ground, and he would not need to look at Jarvis, and Jarvis would not need to look at him, for it was uncomfortable to look at him. So the old man sat down, and Jarvis said to him, not looking at him, there is something between you and me, but I do not know what it is.

You are in fear of me, but I do not know what it is. You need not be in fear of me. It is true, Om Nonsana. You do not know what it is. I do not know, but I desire to know. I doubt if I could tell it, Om Nonsana. You must tell it, Om Fundisi. Is it heavy? It is very heavy, Om Nonsana. It is the heaviest thing of all my years. He lifted his face, and there was in it suffering that Jarvis had not seen before.

Then said the old man,

Jarvis looked at him at first bewildered, but then something came to him. You can mean only one thing, he said. You can mean only one thing, but I still do not understand. It was my son that killed your son, said the old man. So they were silent. Jarvis left him and walked out into the trees of the garden. He stood at the wall and looked out over the felt, out of the great white dumps of the mines, like hills under the sun.

When he turned to come back, he saw that the old man had risen his hat in one hand, his stick in the other, his head bowed, his eyes on the ground. He went back to him. I have heard you, he said. I understand what I did not understand. There is no anger in me.

 (56:01)

I’ve taken a moment to compose myself after that really traumatic scene from Cry the Beloved Country and another book that I really absolutely love and have read.

Actually, I’ve read it twice and will definitely read it again is the Judas tree and AJ Cronin also wrote The Citadel which was a really clever novel about the formation of the NHS. It was about a young doctor working for the NHS and it’s a really interesting read. But this book I think is really cleverly done it’s about a young Scottish doctor

David Morey who falls in love with a Scottish girl and and he persuades her to marry him before he goes on a on a cruise to earn some money and he while he’s on the cruise he meets this very wealthy heiress and her parents persuade him to marry her and so he abandons his principles and does so he marries this girl and

He really lives to regret it even though he becomes immensely wealthy as a result because his father-in-law runs a pharmaceutical company and he becomes Richard’s creases, but he has betrayed the girl that he loved. And so when his marriage comes to an end, he goes back to Scotland to find the girl that he loves and

Well, I can’t really say much more except to say that after betraying her once and really, really living to regret it, he does it again. And the resulting chaos that ensues is just heartbreaking. And it’s a very cleverly written book and it was published in, let’s see.

1961 and

It reminds me a little bit of Lord Jim, where you know Lord Jim makes this unbelievable mistake in his life. He makes a terrible error of judgment and which he really lives to regret. And then when he’s given a chance to redeem himself, he actually does it again.

it sort of reminds you of the frog and the scorpion that if it’s in your nature to do something like that then you have to do it. you’re almost pre-programmed to behave badly. Anyway, it’s a great read and I really, really recommend it. I absolutely love this book.

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Fall Apart It’s a very short book but it’s so powerful and it’s written by Nigerian author Chinua Achebe and it is about Okonkwo who is a Igbo warrior and how his life is

derailed by the arrival of the missionaries the Christian missionaries in Nigeria and effectively Echebe shows how a conqueror’s life is ruled by fear by the fear of appearing weak and so therefore the choices that he makes are really flawed and

His whole life is dominated by fear, the fear of failure and weakness because his father was weak his father was poetic and musical and did not want to be a warrior. And the title comes from Yeats’ poem, The Second Coming, which is, Turning and turning in the widening gyre, The falcon cannot hear the falconer, Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold, Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.

And really the book is about change and the collapse of tradition. he describes how the white man is very clever. He came quietly and peaceably with his religion. We were amused at his foolishness and allowed him to stay. And now he’s won our brothers and our clan can no longer act as one. And really the, O’Conquist’s son.

Ikomafuna is devastated because his father has killed one of his friends and

it’s really easy to see why some of the Igbo tribe would have been really attracted by the new religion, not only because of the poetry and the symbolism of the new religion, but also where mothers who had given birth to twins who were killed or left out in the forest, you can imagine why if they were allowed to keep their children in the future, they would definitely convert.

to the new religion. And it’s a really powerful book about about change and I just remember

seeing an interview where Echebe said that while he was reading western literature there was nothing of his own life

the African way of life before the African world was changed by colonialism.

 (1:01:14)

this book, Middle of March, is by George Eliot. I first read as a O-level student millions of years ago and initially it was a bit a chore to read the book.

I gradually got really immersed in it because there are several storylines. The central storyline is of Dorothea Brooke, who’s a young girl who is very idealistic and she falls in love with a… well, does she really… She is golden to marrying this dry old stick, Casabon, who is a cleric and…

The reason why she marries him is because she’s convinced that he has a great mind and she has this idea that she can help him in his endeavors and he’s writing a great work, the key to all mythologies and actually everyone around them understands that Casabon is not a great mind and he’s all talk and no trousers and actually he has really no business at all marrying

girl more than half his age, and that as Mrs. Cadwallader says, the rector’s wife, she says within a year that girl will hate him. And it’s a very interesting story where Dorothea marries this guy and she then becomes interested in his in his cousin Will Ladderslaw.

But actually one of the side stories that really affected me the most was the story of Fred Vincy who is in love with a girl, Mary Garth. And Fred is a very careless young fellow and he persuades Mary’s father to sign surety for a bill for 160 pounds. And then Fred has to go and tell them that actually they have to come up with the money because they’ve signed surety.

And this is the passage

So Fred goes to see the Garth family. Mrs. Garth was surprised to see Fred at this hour, for surprise was not a feeling that she was given to express, and she only said quietly, continuing her work, You, Fred, so early in the day, you look quite pale. Has anything happened?

I want to speak to Mr. Garth, said Fred, not yet ready to say more, and to you also.” He added after a little pause, for he had no doubt that Mrs. Garth knew everything about the bill, and he must in the end speak of it before her, if not to her solely.

Kayla will be in again in a few minutes said Mrs. Garth who imagined some trouble between Fred and his father. He’s sure not to be long because he has some work at his desk that must be done this morning. Do you mind staying with me while I finish my matters here?

He was not yet sure whether he should wait for Mr. Garth or use any good opportunity and conversation to confess to Mrs. Garth herself, give her the money and ride away.

I’m not getting a great income now said Mrs. Garth smiling. I’m in a low ebb with pupils but I have saved my little purse for Alfred’s premium. I have 92 pounds. He can go to Mr. Hammers now. He’s just the right age. This did not lead well towards the news that Mr. Garth was on the brink of losing 92 pounds and more. Fred was silent.

Young gentlemen who go to college are rather more costly than that,” Mrs. Garth innocently continued, pulling out the edging on a cap order. And Caleb thinks that Alfred will turn out a distinguished engineer. He wants to give the boy a good chance. There he is. I hear him coming in. We’ll go to him in the parlour, shall we? When they entered the parlour, Caleb had thrown down his hat and was seated at his desk.

What, Fred, my boy?” he said in a tone of mild surprise, holding his pen still undipped. You’re here but times. But missing the usual expression of cheerful greeting in Fred’s face, he immediately added, Is there anything up at home? Anything the matter?

Yes, Mr. Garth. I’m come to tell something that I’m afraid will give you a bad opinion of me. I’m come to tell you and Mrs. Garth that I can’t keep my word. I can’t find the money to meet the bill after all. I’ve been unfortunate. I’ve only got these £50 towards the £160.

While Fred was speaking, had taken out the notes and laid them on the desk before Mr. Garth. He had burst forth at once with the plain fact, feeling boyishly miserable and without verbal resources. Mrs. Garth was mutely astonished and looked at her husband for an explanation. Caleb blushed and after a little pause said,

I didn’t tell you, Susan. I put my name to a bill for Fred. It was for £160. He made sure he could meet it himself. There was an evident change in Mrs. Garth’s face, but it was like a change below the surface of water which remained smooth. She fixed her eyes on Fred, saying,

I suppose you’ve asked your father for the rest of the money and he’s refused you?” No, said Fred, biting his lip and speaking with more difficulty. But I know it will be of no use to ask him, and unless it were of use I should not like to mention Mr. Garth’s name in the matter.

It has come at an unfortunate time said Caleb in his hesitating way, looking down at the notes and nervously fingering the paper. Christmas upon us, I’m rather hard up just now. You see I have to cut out everything like a tailor with short measure. What can we do Susan? I shall want every farthing we have in the bank. It’s a hundred and ten pounds the deuce take it.

I must give you the £92 that I have put by for Alfred’s premium, said Mrs. Garth, gravely and decisively, though a nice ear might have discerned a slight tremor in some of the words. And I have no doubt that Mary has £20 saved from her salary by this time. She will advance it.

Mrs. Garth had not again looked at Fred, and was not in the least calculating what words she should use to cut him the most effectively. Like the eccentric woman she was, she was at present absorbed in considering what was to be done, and did not fancy that the end could be better achieved by bitter remarks or explosions. But she had made Fred feel for the first time something like the tooth of remorse.

Curiously enough, his pain in the affair beforehand had consisted almost entirely in the sense that he must seem dishonourable and sink in the opinion of the Goths. He had not occupied himself with the inconvenience and possible injury that his breach might occasion them. For this exercise of the imagination on other people’s needs is not common with hopeful young gentlemen.

Indeed, we most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong. But at this moment he suddenly saw himself as a pitiful rascal who was robbing two women of their savings. I shall certainly pay it all, Mrs. Garth. Ultimately, he stammered out. Yes.

Ultimately said Mrs. Garth, who having a special dislike to fine words on ugly occasions could not now repress an epigram, but boys cannot well be apprenticed ultimately. They should be apprenticed at 15.

 (1:09:01)

So I’m gonna finish off with…

P.G. Woodhouse.

I love the Jeeves and Worcester books, but I also love

the Empress of Blanding’s about the pig and also his P. Smith books and he’s just so funny and you can pick up any one of his books and just be absolutely enchanted with it. So I’ll read you an excerpt from Rite O’ Jeeves

So Bertie Worcester tries to fix things, there are all sorts of scrapes going on and of course Jeeves smooths them all out.

I bathed bewilderedly. The toy duck was still in the soap dish, but I was too preoccupied to give it a thought. Still at a loss, I returned to my room and there was Jeeves, and it is proof of my fogged condition that my first words to him were words not of reproach and stern recombination, but of enquiry. I say, Jeeves, good evening, sir. I was informed that you’d returned. I trust you had an enjoyable ride.

At any other moment, a crack like that would have woken the Fiend in Bertram Worcester. I barely noticed it. I was intent on getting to the bottom of this mystery. But I say, Jeeves, what? Sir? What does all this mean? You refer, sir? Of course I refer. You know what I’m talking about. What has been happening here since I left? The place is positively stiff with happy endings. Yes, sir. I’m glad to say that my efforts have been rewarded.

What do mean, your efforts? You aren’t going to try and make out that that rotten firebell scheme of yours had anything to do with it? Yes, sir. Don’t be an ass, Jeeves. It flopped. Not altogether, sir. I fear, sir, that I was not entirely frank with regard to my suggestion of ringing the firebell. I had not really anticipated that it would in itself produce the desired results.

I had intended it merely as a preliminary to what I might describe as the real business of the evening. You gibber-jeeves! No, sir. It was essential that the ladies and gentlemen should be brought from the house in order that, once out of doors, I could ensure that they remained there for the necessary period of time. How do you mean? My plan was based on psychology, sir. How?

It’s a recognised factor that there is nothing that so satisfactorily unites individuals who have been so unfortunate as to quarrel amongst themselves as a strong mutual dislike for some definite person. In my own family, if I may give a homely illustration, it was a generally accepted axiom that in times of domestic disagreement it was necessary only to invite Aunt Annie for a visit to heal all breaches between the other members of the household.

In the mutual animosity excited by Aunt Annie, those who had become estranged were reconciled almost immediately. Remembering this, it occurred to me that were you, to be established as the person responsible for the ladies and gentlemen being forced to spend the night in the garden, everybody would take so strong a dislike to you that in this common sympathy, they would sooner or later come together.

I would have spoken, but he continued.

leaning against the sundial, held Miss Bassett enthralled with stories of your school days. Mrs. Travers, meanwhile, was telling Monsieur Anatoly, I found speech. ⁓ I said, I see, and now I suppose, as a result of this dash psychology of yours, Aunt Dahlia is so sore with me. There will be years before I can dare show my face here again. Years, Jeeves.

during which, night after night, Anatoly will be cooking those dinners of his… No, sir. It was to prevent any such contingency… that I suggested that you should bicycle to King and Manor when I informed the ladies and gentlemen that I’d found the key and it was borne in upon them that you were having the long ride for nothing,

Their animosity vanished immediately to be replaced by cordial amusement. There was much laughter. There was, Yes, sir. I fear you may possibly have to submit to a certain amount of good-natured chaff, but nothing more. All I may say so is forgiven, ⁓ yes, sir. I’m used to while.

You certainly seem to have fixed things. Yes, sir. Tuppy and Angela are once more betrothed, also gussy in the basset. Uncle Tom appears to have coughed out that money for my lady’s boudoir, and Anatoly is staying on. Yes, sir. I suppose you might say that all’s well that ends well. Very apt, I amused again. All the same, your methods are a bit rough, Jeeves. One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs, sir. I started.

Omelette, do you think you could get me one? Certainly, sir. Together with half a bot of something? Undoubtedly, Do so, Jeeves, and with all speed.

 (1:14:41)

So

think I’ve given a pretty good range of the books that I never get tired of reading. And I have to add to their number a lot of the Anthony Trollett books and especially the Palaces series that and most of those books have at their center ⁓ lovers who ⁓

want to marry and yet are prevented for some reason or other from marrying and yet it all seems to work out well in the end and he’s so ingenious in his dialogue and his characters and he’s just, Anthony Trollope is just a huge pleasure to read.

Also, all the Jane Austen books, except for possibly Northanger Abbey, my two favourites have got to be Mansfield Park and even though Fanny and Edmund are possibly the most irritating characters ever, ⁓ I do love that book and I especially love the scene where Fanny tells…

Sir Thomas that she is not going to marry Henry Crawford. And it is such a well written scene and it is very affecting even though Fanny is really irritating. And I love Emma and the scene where Emma is really rude to… I can’t remember her name, that really annoying woman

And of course I adore Pride and Prejudice, so Mansfield Park and Pride and Prejudice are my two utter favourites of Jane Austen’s books, but actually all the others are really worth reading again and again and again and, you know, I could wrap it on forever, but I’m gonna stop now and I really hope you enjoyed.

I really hope that it persuades some of you to pick up these books because they really are incredible and there’s a really good reason why I keep going back to them time and time again. So thanks so much for listening and I hope I’ll see you all again in September where I might actually have a few guests on the show.

That is when no one is out away on holiday.