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A Darker Domain by Val McDermid 

Harper Collins, 2008, 377 p.

This is the second of McDermid’s Karen Pirie books. I read the first in 2017/8. In this one she is now a DI in charge of the Cold Case Review Team at Glenrothes Police headquarters. A woman, Misha Gibson, has walked into the station and reported her father missing. He was Mick Prentice, a former miner who painted in his spare time, who left during the coal strike of the 1980s and wasn’t heard from again, assumed to have joined the scabs who decamped for jobs in the Nottinghamshire coalfields. Misha’s son has leukaemia, needs a close relative tissue match for him and this is her only hope.

Meantime, freelance investigative reporter Bel Richmond, on holiday in Italy, has stumbled on what looks like a crime scene in an apparently hastily abandoned villa and recognises a poster there as resembling a ransom note from a kidnapping gone wrong years ago. In a proposed money handover, Catriona, only daughter of successful Scottish businessman Brodie Maclennan Grant, was shot and Grant’s grandson, Adam, spirited away by the kidnappers.

How the two cases interlap is what is revealed as the book progresses, with a couple of twists thrown in along the way.

The scenario allows McDermid to illustrate how the legacy of the bitter mining strike of the 1980s endures and poisoned relations between mining communities and the Police. Various locations such as the Wemyss caves are very familiar to anyone who lives in the area, as I do, though some are invented (Grant’s home of Rotheswell Castle) or slightly renamed conflations of real places (the village of Newtown of Wemyss.)

The way the book was structured, with each section preceded by an italicised heading giving its location and date, was slightly intrusive though it did give McDermid the opportunity to present the relevant scene novelistically rather than as being related to Pirie or Richmond as in an interview.

As a character Pirie is engaging but we perhaps don’t see enough of her here.

Pedant’s corner:- “The women who entered” (The woman,) “In his Wham period” (the band was named Wham!) “in Simon Lees’ gut” (Lees’s; there was another Lees’ later,) fit (fitted,) “the big Tesco down by the bus station” (when spoken, yes, but when spoken of, that big Tesco was still a William Low’s supermarket,) sprung (sprang,) “‘not a Raith Rovers shirt’” (I know this was for the benefit of readers furth of Scotland but a Raith fan would have said simply ‘a Rovers shirt’,) “a smile that reminded him of Julia Roberts’.” (Julia Roberts’s,) “her Harvey Nicks’ sundress” (her Harvey Nicks sundress. You don’t say ‘an Armani’s suit’,) Certifcato de Morte (Certificato de Morte,) “scribbling the details down on.” (down on what?) “Toby Inglis’ name” (Inglis’s,) staunch (stanch.)

 

Babel Tower by A S Byatt

Chatto and Windus, 1996, 622 p.

I noted when Byatt died that I had only read one book by her and perhaps ought to remedy that so when I saw this in a second-hand bookshop (in Ulverston as it happens) I snapped it up. However only after I started reading it did I check her back catalogue and found this is the third novel in a sequence featuring Frederica Potter as the main character. Not that it matters because the book stands alone.

In this one, set in the nineteen sixties, Frederica is regretting marrying Nigel Reiver as she finds life in his grand home – dominated by his two sisters and his housekeeper – even with her son Leo, less than fulfilling. She had thought she might be allowed to work (she had met Nigel when she was at Cambridge – though he wasn’t – and still hankers after the intellectual life.) But Nigel is a traditional husband and though his work often takes him away for extended periods (with corresponding sexual encounters which Frederica only finds about later) thinks she should stay at home and resents any contact with her former University friends, all of them male of course. Her unhappiness turns into despair when he becomes violent towards her. He is a former soldier trained in violence and throws an axe at her when she tries to run away.

Some of the passages deal with members of Frederica’s extended family one of whom fields phone calls in a Samaritan-like service. They chat amongst themselves as they wait for calls and when questioned why the Church seems obsessed by sex a bishop says, “‘The Church has always been about sex, dear, that’s what the problem is. Religion has always been about sex. Mostly about denying sex and rooting it out.’” Apart from the odd visit later in the book to Frederica’s parental home this is a very minor strand.

Interleaved with Frederica’s story in the early stages here are extracts from a book called Babbletower, where an aristocrat leads a group of people away from their home land to a place named La Tour Bruyarde, to found a culture in which its inhabitants will be free to do as they wish without hindrance. This connects with Frederica after she finally escapes Nigel (her son Leo insisting on coming with her though he loves his father) when she gets a job – nepotistically through her old friends – as a publisher’s reader then teacher of English in the Samuel Palmer School of Art and Craft. Babbletower is one of the books she recommends for publication and its author, Jude Mason, an ill-dressed, ill-kempt and smelly individual, turns out to be a model for the life class at the School.

Byatt uses this and Frederica’s peripheral involvement with the Steerforth Committee on the teaching of English (and specifically whether grammar ought to be taught in schools) to have discussions about literature, especially E M Forster and D H Lawrence, as well as the usefulness of cut-ups in condensing meaning.

George Murphy, one of Frederica’s students, says novels are obsessed with sex and love and God and food (which he agrees most people are) but they are also obsessed by work, commodities, machines and property on which they do not lavish the contempt and loathing which novelists tend to. At one point a character realises that it is possible for human beings to spend the whole of their lives on nonsense.

From time to time the ferment of the sixties is noted parenthetically. The Lady Chatterley trial, the 1964 General Election, the abolition of the death penalty, the decriminalization of homosexuality, the Moors murders, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the beginning of colour TV transmission all get a nod.

There are two main set pieces in the novel, both describing court cases, Frederica’s divorce and Babbletower’s trial for indecency. Byatt uses these to demonstrate how the legal system distorts the truth.

In entering various liaisons after leaving Nigel, Frederica seems to be very naive in her conduct as it never once occurs to her that her husband will be having her watched.

A nice touch comes when Jude Mason opines in court – “‘The English vice is not what is said to be but, precisely, indignation. We get furiously upset about everything ….. It is indignation that has put my book on trial.’”

At 622 pages Babel Tower is something of a marathon read but it has its moments.

Pedant’s corner:- a missing end quote mark after a piece of dialogue, staunch(es) (x 2, stanch(es),) genii (the plural of genie is genies,) aureoles (areolae,) (behalves?) “Moor Murders” (Moors Murders which is used elsewhere,) “which neither of them quite understand” (neither of them understands,) “he has not read Babbletower, as a teacher, she is now” (he has not read Babbletower. As a teacher,) “marmelade skies” (marmalade.)

Beloved by Toni Morrison 

Vintage, 2010, 330 p, plus 5p Foreword.

124, the house where Sethe lives with her daughter Denver, is haunted, by her unnamed baby and by the slavery which caused the child’s death. That other daughter, who was unnamed but whose gravestone bears the description ‘Beloved’ – Sethe could not afford the extra money to have ‘Dearly’ inscribed as well – was killed by Sethe herself to prevent her being taken back to Sweet Home, the plantation from where she had escaped enslavement. Perhaps an extreme reaction but also an expression of the horrors of slavery. Sethe has the image of a tree on her back from the whippings she received in that part of her life.

The ghost is banished after Paul D, another former slave from Sweet Home, arrives at the house and takes up with Sethe. Denver resents this as she had considered the ghost as a kind of companion.

Later, a child who calls herself Beloved arrives at 124 and draws close to Sethe who comes to see her as a reincarnation of the child she killed.

There is a surreal quality to the writing here, verging on but not quite corresponding to magical realism. It is as if the fact of slavery, though not evaded, is too consuming to be confronted head on and must be approached obliquely, its legacy equally as terrible as its existence. Sethe’s act of violence is an extremity in response to an enormity, with its own repercussions on the lives of herself and her children.

Sensitivity note: a book like this, and a subject like this, cannot avoid use of the word ‘nigger’ as when the posse seeking to recapture Sethe discusses their slaves or Paul D asks Stamp Paid, “‘How much is a nigger supposed to take? Tell me. How much?’”

‘All he can,’ said Stamp Paid. ‘All he can.’

To which Paul D says, ‘Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?’”

“Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” is as good a question to ask of slavery as there can be. Indeed, it’s the only one.

Beloved is not an easy novel to read: but it is perhaps a necessary one.

 

Pedant’s corner:- “the repellant landscape” (repellent,) “Baby Suggs’ place” (Baby Suggs’s,) “had shook the house” (‘had shaken’; but ‘had shook’ may have been slave usage,) “Lady Jones’ house-school” (Jones’s.)

Cal by Bernard Mac Laverty

Heinemann, 1988, 158 p.

The setting is Northern Ireland during the troubles. Cal spends his days lazing about as he is unemployed, having not been able to stand the job he had in the slaughterhouse where his father works. They are the only remaining Catholics in an otherwise Protestant street and subject to threats as a result. He is plagued by Crilly and Skeffington, Provisional IRA members wanting him to go on more jobs but is haunted by the memory of his part in the killing of a police officer where he drove the car they used. A new woman assistant at the local library begins to consume his attention. She is Marcella, and happens to be the wife of the man that was killed.

Being burned out of his house gives him the chance both to evade Crilly and Skeffington and to take a job at the farm where Marcella lives. He is a man living, if not a life of lies, at least one of omissions. A situation like his cannot end well.

Quite how psychologically perceptive all of this is is perhaps questionable. Not Cal’s reluctance to be drawn deeper into acts of violence but his attraction to a woman he feels he has wronged. The atmosphere of constraint though, of circumscription, is entirely credible.

Note: Mac Laverty is how the author’s surname is spelled on the book’s cover and title page but it is more usually rendered MacLaverty

Pedant’s corner:- “and how he would kiss her and touched her” (and touch her.) “‘You’re a boy without?ELSomebody might’” (I have no idea what that ‘?EL’ is about.)

A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine

Tor, 2021, 492, including 12 p Glossary of persons, places and objects, 2 p On the pronunciation and writing system of the Teixcalaanli language and 2p Acknowledgements.

After her part in the transition of the Teixcalaan Empire from the indiction of Emperor Six Direction to that of Nineteen Adze, ambassador Mahit Dzmare has returned to Lsel Station. There she finds herself under threat from Councillor Aknel Amnardbat who suspects her of treason – or at least being too sympathetic to the Empire. There is also the illegal nature of her imago (a copy of the memories and personality of her predecessor as ambassador, Yskandr Aghavn, and previous personalities of his line – none of which seem to impinge on Mahit’s consciousness, though) of which she has two versions, the deliberately damaged one implanted by Amnardbat’s operatives, plus the one illicitly salvaged from Aghavn’s body on Teixcalaan.

In the meantime a group of apparently ruthlessly implacable aliens has been invading the boundaries of Teixcalaanli space just beyond the Lsel Station area and the local Teixcalaan commander, Imperial yaotlek Nine Hibiscus, has sent back to Teixcaalan a request for a translator, to which Ministry of Information officer, Three Seagrass, Mahit’s former liaison on Teixcalaan, has responded in person, with the intention of enlisting Mahit’s help.

Also, on Teixcalaan, in the imperial capital, The Jewel of the World, the former Emperor’s clone sibling Eight Antidote, eleven years old, is being trained in statecraft and the military arts while also being enlisted by Nineteen Adze to spy for her. (Imperial politics is never an easy situation.)

The aliens have devastated the planet of Peloa-2, leaving little but eviscerated bodies behind them. The only form of communication the Teixcalaan forces can decipher is a hideous sound that causes humans to retch.

Martine’s book’s title here invokes the words which the Roman writer Tacitus placed in the mouth of the Caledonian chief Calgacus, and indeed the full quote (of which “They make a desert and they call it peace” is a part) is given as one of the book’s epigraphs. Its relevance is that Peloa-2 is now a desert and is the place where Three Seagrass and Mahit meet with the aliens’ representatives to attempt to broker a peace.

The aliens are vaguely humanoid in form, bipedal, heads on top of their bodies etc but seem to be able to communicate with each other without speaking; as if they were telepathic. Despite their nausea-inducing noises, Three Seagrass and Mahit manage to achieve a sort of communication back by singing to them.

[Aside. The aliens (one of whose bodies is taken from a destroyed space ship for examination) are said by several of the characters to be mammals. Creatures which are true mammals could only originate from Earth. There is no suggestion in the book that the aliens are derived from terrestrial creatures. Evolution elsewhere may produce a similar kind of animal which feeds its young from secretions from a parent’s body but they could not properly be described as mammals.]

The nearest description of the nature of the aliens is that they have a kind of hive mind and are seemingly incapable of understanding that humans have not. But the Teixcalaanli military employs single seat spacecraft known as Shards who are connected in an instantaneous network which means they experience everything the other Shard pilots do. This so-called Shard Trick provides a key to conflict resolution.

Teixcalaanli politics is as full of intrigue and personal manœuvring as any reader could wish. Add in the external conflict and the interpersonal relationships and the whole is a diverting read.

Pedant’s corner:- “open-mawed hangar” (a hangar does not have a stomach,) “who would rather bleed into a bowl for propriety rather than give up” (has one ‘rather’ too many.) “None of them were trying” (None of them was trying. There was another instance of ‘None … were.’) “She was going to have to live with it, wasn’t she.” (Is a question, so needs a question mark at its end,) “sharp-toothed maws” (and stomachs don’t have teeth,) “an insolvable political problem” (either ‘unsolvable’ or ‘insoluble’ but not ‘insolvable’.) “‘Did he now,’ said Nineteen Adze.” (‘Did he now?’ said Nineteen Adze.) “There was no hesitance in it” (no hesitancy.)

Best of 2024

19 this year; 12 by men 7 by women, 4 with an SF/fantasy tinge (5 if you count Beloved,) 1 non-fiction, 1 fictionalised memoir. Not in any order; apart from of reading.

News of the Dead by James Robertson

The Gift of Rain by Tan Twan Eng

Tomorrow by Chris Beckett

Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Landmarks by Robert McFarlane

Toby’s Room by Pat Barker

Independent People by Halldór Laxness

Confessions by Jaume Cabré

Sparks of Bright Matter by Leeanne O’Donnell

Navola by Paolo Bacigalupi

The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak

Star of the Sea by Joseph O’Connor

Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson

Lizard Tails by Juan Marsé

Creatures of Passage by Morowa Yejidé

Xstabeth by David Keenan

Borges and Me by Jay Parini

Beloved by Toni Morrison (review to appear here soon.)

The Silver Bough by Neil Gunn

Richard Drew, 1985, 326 p, including 2 p Foreword by Dairmid Gunn. First published 1949.

Archaeologist Simon Grant has been sent north to excavate a previously unexplored chambered cairn surrounded by a ring of stones on the land of Donald Martin. On the way to the site he comes across a mother and daughter sleeping curled up in the heather. These are Anna and Sheena, respectively daughter and granddaughter of Mrs Cameron with whom he takes lodging. At night Mrs Cameron tells Sheena traditional stories of the Silver Bough, a branch with nine golden apples on which music can be played. The Silver Bough “was the passport in those distant days to the land of the gods.” This is one of a few local tales, another is of an urisk which supposedly haunts the stone circle. The text mentions in passing that attempt to define the key to all religions, James Frazer’s The Golden Bough, to which Gunn’s book’s title surely alludes.

Taken by Sheena (whose mother Grant quickly divines is not married, having come back early from service in London in the Second World War as a result of her pregnancy) Grant later has made for her a silver bough made as an item of jewellery “two feet long with nine golden apples pendent.” Sheena’s father is not unknown, though. He is that same landowner, Donald Martin, but his war experiences in the Far East, where he witnessed various atrocities, have left him taciturn and unengaging, prone to wandering the hills or out on his boat, and Anna, in her pride, is content to leave things as they are. There are, in any case, questions of their differing stations in life intervening.

The main plot, though, revolves around the uncovering of the cairn, for which Grant employs for the heavy work the only local help available, a not-fully-there young man dubbed Foolish Andie, who speaks only in grunts. Their first discovery, beside the cairn’s entrance, of a burial cist containing the bodies of a mother and daughter spooned together, reminds Grant of Anna and Sheena as he first encountered them. Inside the cairn itself they find collections of bones and an urn with a hoard of golden objects.

Throughout, Gunn displays a knowledge of archaeological terms and practices which is convincing to the otherwise unversed. Grant’s mistake, though, in returning to the cairn at night unaccompanied seems one a proper professional would not have made. Without it, however, there would have been no remaining plot to unfurl.

On that night visit, Grant is surprised by the appearance of Foolish Andie and knocked unconscious, while the urn disappears, presumably taken by Andie to some hiding place of his. Grant’s discomfiture at this is not helped by the presence nearby of some journalists who quickly latch on to the story and sensationalise it.

There is a lot more to The Silver Bough than this short account might suggest. Each of the characters is finely drawn, even down to Foolish Andie’s mother Mrs McKenzie, Martin’s sister Mrs Sidbury, both protective of their respective close relatives, Grant’s ultimate boss, Colonel Mackintosh, come up from London to verify the hoard.

This is another fine example of Gunn’s œuvre.

Pedant’s corner:- “for appearance’ sake” (appearance’s sake,) “his heart swole up” (old Scots for ‘swelled up’. )

Reading Scotland 2024

I don’t normally do this year summation thing before Christmas (it offends my sensibilities to do such a thing before the full time span has elapsed) but in this case I don’t think I’ll be adding to the total before New Year.

I seem to have read 26 Scottish books so far this year (the definition of Scottish is loose;) 13 by women and 13 by men. Four were Science Fiction, Fantasy or Fable, two collections of shorter fiction, one was poetry and one was a fictionalised memoir. The links below are to my reviews of those books.

World Out of Mind by J T McIntosh

News of the Dead by James Robertson 

The Little Snake by A L Kennedy 

Love and Zen in the Outer Hebrides by Kevin MacNeil

Shrines of Gaiety by Kate Atkinson

The Second Cut by Louise Welsh

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart

Things We Say in the Dark by Kirsty Logan

Solution Three by Naomi Mitchison

Not to Disturb by Muriel Spark

Dust on the Paw by Robin Jenkins

The Disorderly Knights by Dorothy Dunnett

Queen of Clouds by Neil Williamson

Kitchenly 434 by Alan Warner

An Apple From a Tree by Margaret Elphinstone

Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson

Squeaky Clean by Callum McSorley

The Hothouse by the East River by Muriel Spark

The Other Side of Stone by Linda Cracknell

To the Dogs by Louise Welsh

The Changeling by Robin Jenkins

Aunt Bel by Guy McCrone

Conquest by Nina Allan

Xstabeth by David Keenan

Borges and Me by Jay Parini  

The Silver Bough by Neil Gunn  (review to be posted here soon.)

Frenchman’s Creek by Daphne du Maurier

In Four Great Cornish Novels, Gollancz, 1984, 185 p.  (Frenchman’s Creek first published in 1941.)

Tired of life in London, and perhaps of the reputation she had acquired after accompanying her husband Sir Harry to insalubrious hostelries, Dona, Lady St Columb, has repaired post-haste to Navron, their house in Cornwall, with the couple’s two children. There, the enigmatic servant William tries to make her life comfortable but there is something odd about the contents of her dressing table.

We sense plot afoot when the local bigwig, Lord Godolphin, calls to warn her of a French pirate ship which has been raiding ships in the area, that its crew takes liberties with women of the district and that she might be advised to be wary. Dona’s response to this information, hinting to Godolphin that those women might not take amiss to such attentions, seems a little forward for her times but it is already established that she is of an independent mind.

Naturally she soon stumbles upon that French ship in a creek on her land, is captured and taken aboard. Its captain, when she is brought to him, is more preoccupied with making a drawing of a bird. When their conversation starts he treats her with courtesy and a friendship begins to burgeon between them. He is – or was till he took up piracy – Jean-Benoit Aubéry, and the ship is La Mouette. He had also slept in her bed at Navron (William is in reality his servant) and gazed on the portrait of her that hung on the wall.

Frenchman’s Creek is a peculiar mixture of the period novel and the swashbuckler. Dona pretends to take to her bed in order to undertake a voyage with La Mouette, and on board dresses as a cabin boy. It is a freedom she relishes.

In one of her conversations with the pirate (the name Aubéry is not utilized at all much) he contrasts their abilities, “‘Women make babies. That is a greater achievement than the making of a drawing, or the planning of an action.’”

It is not to last, the idyll is brought to an end when Sir Harry returns from London unexpectedly. There is still plot to be had though, and dangerous stratagems to deploy. This entertaining novel isn’t what you might call great literature but neither is it a potboiler.

After reading three of du Maurier’s “four great Cornish novels” of this volume I discern a pattern. In each, someone, a young(ish) woman comes from elsewhere to a house – or inn – in Cornwall and comes upon a secret. In this one the woman is not quite so young and not so naïve and exerts agency to a greater degree.

Pedant’s corner:- Naxron (elsewhere Navron,) “in expressibly shocked” (inexpressibly,) “because he had bid them to do so” (bade them – bade was used later – or, bidden them,) “closed the grill” (the grille.)

Borges and Me: an encounter by Jay Parini

Canongate, 2021, 309 p.

In his youth, as a post-graduate student at St Andrews escaping being drafted to Vietnam and contemplating a thesis on George MacKay Brown (a prospect his tutor deprecated on the grounds that Brown was still alive,) the author, a nervous individual from Scranton, Pennsylvania, with an overbearing mother also to escape, met Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges, who was on a visit to the town to meet a local academic, Alastair Reid, with whom Parini had formed a friendship. Despite Borges’s fame, Parini had never read a word of his.

The book is constructed, and reads, like a novel, starting with a recounting of the author’s learning of Borges’s death one morning fifteen years, plus a wife and three sons, later, triggering memories of the impact Borges had made on him. Borges and Me goes on to relate the circumstances of that meeting, the car journey through the Highlands with Parini acting as the blind Borges’s eyes it led to, and how it changed him. Thirty-six years on from that, Parini was encouraged to write it all up as a complete narrative. Such a tardy account cannot be in all respects absolutely accurate, some elisions and compressions must occur. Parini’s afterword uses the phrase ‘novelistic memoir’ to characterise it. As a result the book is therefore probably more effective than a pure memoir.

In many ways the title is apposite. Borges and Me is really more about Parini than Borges. His mother on learning of his proposed transatlantic destination said, “‘Are you crazy? Nobody goes to Scotland!’” but relented, saying, in recognition of his avoiding the Army, “‘At least you’ll be safe in Scotland, though Scotch girls have a bad reputation,’” (really?) “‘and the men apparently wear skirts.’”

We hear of Parini’s preoccupations of the time; the unread letters from the draft board he stuffed in a drawer, his learning to use the word ‘rucksack’ for ‘backpack’ and what he describes as the pretentious ‘garden’ for ‘yard’, his struggles connecting with women.

The descriptions of St Andrews are of course very familiar to me. But Alastair Reid’s warning to Parini, contrasted with his experiences in the Pacific War (World War 2 was still a huge presence in so many lives in the 1960s and 70s,) “‘Remember, this isn’t a university, it’s a film set. Don’t be fooled. The lecturers, even the students, are actors. They’re here to attract tourists,’” is only partly true. St Andrews has the golf as well to do that.

An anecdote Reid told him prompted the thought, “Was this the essence of storytelling? Did one simply have to relate a tale in a believable fashion, with the authority of the imagination?” Which is of course a comment on the present enterprise – and of fiction writing in general.

And there are reflections on the Scotland of that age. Reid says, ‘What I don’t like about Scotland is that virtue is taken for achievement. And narrowly defined. We’re always judged in this fucking country…. They don’t even take off their clothes to fuck here.’ This last prompted Reid to suggest special Scottish pyjamas, with flaps in the appropriate place so that the deed could be done as secretively as possible.

(Aside. Actually I read once that the Inuit peoples of the Arctic have clothes that are indeed equipped in such a way; but that would be for purely practical purposes, to avoid the cold, not as a moral imperative.)

As portrayed here Borges was a formidable personality with an intimidating breadth of knowledge – among other things he corrected Parini’s pronunciation of Scone (Palace.) “‘It rhymes with spoon. It’s a Pictish word’” – and also aware of his own mortality. The failings of the body did at one point lead to a comic episode in a B&B in Killiecrankie. The only toilet was off the bedroom of the widowed lady proprietor and Borges had consumed a few pints.

Parini does not pity Borges his blindness as it in some ways freed him. “No wonder he lived so fully in the great room of his mind.”

At one point Borges apparently stated, “‘Israel as a state inspires me. An intractable situation, very sad, unsolvable with Palestine: competing and equally valid claims.’” Intractable indeed.

He also had an old man’s wistfulness for the loves of his youth (and present) Doña Leonor and Maria Kodama, a contrast with the young Parini’s stated lack of experience

The final stop on the car journey, for a pilgrimage across Drumossie Moor, the battlefield of Culloden, has poignant resonances, though I must say the tourist facilities there have changed a lot since that time. Parini describes them as basic indeed. When I revisited a few years ago the visitor centre was as bright and commercial as you would find anywhere.

But Borges’s influence was profound.  “One felt somehow more intelligent, more learned and witty, in his presence. The universe itself felt more pliable and yielding, and so available.”

Borges and Me is a delightful book. An elegant tribute to the great man, a tribute to the uncertainties of youth and the potentially beneficial upshots of unexpected encounters.

Pedant’s corner:- mostly written in USian. “Orkney, a remote island off the north coast of Scotland” (Orkney is an archipelago, not a single island,)  bandanna (x 2, bandana,) “a tony girls’ school in Kent” (??? Tiny? Tory?) “in pigeon Spanish” (pidgin Spanish that would be,) “following the M 90 through the town of Kinross” (the M 90 bypasses Kinross, you have to make a small detour to go through the town,) crenulations (as a castle feature it’s spelt crenellations,) “a lunch of mulligatawny and cheese rolls” (I hope it was mulligatawny soup and cheese rolls; a filling of mulligatawny and cheese does not sound appetising,) “he invariably shined warmth on his characters” (shone warmth,) “chomping at the bit” (it’s champing.) Robbie Makgill (more likely McGill,) “‘We played hooky’” (supposedly said by a Scot. It’s not a phrase we use for truanting, ‘dogging it’, ‘bunking off’, or ‘plunking’, as it was called in my youth.)

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