When it gets cold and dark in the winter months, it is tempting to dream of escapes to warmer climes. But for me, there is nothing more romantic than a castle in the snow (especially if it has good skiing facilities nearby and huge fireplaces indoors to warm up).
I remain very impressed with Susan Osborne’s (better known as A Life in Books) way of summarising her reading year by seasons. You can read her Part One, Part Two, Part Three and even Part Four of her 2024 summary, and I hope she won’t mind that I’ll be stealing (I mean, of course, borrowing) her idea to summarise my own year, both in terms of reading and with other cultural events more generally. I didn’t have a target total number of books in mind, but as it happens, almost every section has roughly six books, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, most of them have been in translation (or other languages).
Part 1 covers January to March 2024, so of course it will skew heavily towards Japanese and French literature (January in Japan and French February). In fact, all of my favourite reads during this period were in translation, partly because I’ve found books in translation more interesting than the ones published in English and have therefore read far more of them.
My favourite Japanese reads were, unsurprisingly, by two favourite authors: Dazai Osamu’s The Flowers of Buffoonery (one I’d somehow never read before) and Tsushima Yuko’s Territory of Light (just as impactful upon rereading). For French literature, I was amused and exhilarated by the exuberance of Mathias Enard’s The Annual Banquet of the Gravedigger’s Guild and deeply impressed by the translation acrobatics of Frank Wynne. I also returned to one of my favourite recent women writers from France, Maylis de Kerangal, her novella Eastbound was translated this year but I read it in the French original.
I also got involved in the International Booker Shadow Panel, although most of the books on the longlist did not impress me all that much, but all three of our Shadow Panel winners made it to to the top of my reading list in March. These were: Not a River by Selva Almada, Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck and White Nights by Urzula Honek.
It was also an extremely busy, happy and productive winter period, watching lots of films and plays, socialised with my sons and other friends, translated my first full-length novel from German, and even attended a memoir writing course, which I greatly enjoyed. Now that I’ve been blessed with a Kasper of my own, I had to rewatch The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, of course, one of Werner Herzog’s great films. My greatest ‘event’, however, was leaving my day job at the university and choosing to work full-time on Corylus Books and other freelance projects. I miss my wonderful colleagues and the iconic building, which has appeared on film many times. It has not been the easiest of times financially (so if you know anyone looking for a translator or editor, or an executive coach or trainer, please point them to my For Hire page), but it has really been worth it in terms of health and stress levels.
I used to love winter when I lived close to the mountains and could go skiing regularly. And I still very much enjoy the chalet vibe with lots of wood, an open fire or crackling stove. Give me a few soft blankets, plenty of books, a cat to fuss over and a mug of mulled wine or hot cocoa!
It’s the time of the year when all I want to do is drop everything and hide away in a cosy little place, preferably in the mountains, preferably with snow and skiing nearby, with a log fireplace and plenty of good books to keep me happy.
Just in case the chateaux in the previous post felt a little bit too aspirational for you, here are some humble abodes getting ready for the winter holiday season.
I gather there is a film currently on one of the streaming services featuring a popular novelist who can afford to buy a Scottish castle just in time for Christmas, so I couldn’t resist combining two of my favourite topics: castles/palaces/manor houses and snow. Of course, not all of these are ‘chateaux’ strictly speaking, but ‘palaces in the chalices’ or ‘castles for the passels’ just don’t quite have the same rhyming resonance, do they?
One of my favourite bookish Twitter people Alok Ranjan said: ‘Sometimes just the anticipation of books to come is even more pleasing than the actual reading of them’. And in times of uncertainty, with no doubt a tough autumn and winter ahead, you take your small pleasures where you can. So I’ve been spending a few joyful hours luxuriating in planning my reading and joining in with some like-minded online friends.
October
There are two reading challenges in October that I cannot resist. First, Paper Pills is planning a group read of Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Gate of Angels starting on the 1st of October, which got me looking through my shelves for other Fitzgerald books, so I’ll also be attempting her short story collection The Means of Escape and rereading The Bookshop and The Blue Flower.
Secondly, the week of 5-11 October is also the #1956Club organised by Simon Thomas and Karen aka Kaggsy. I have bought books in anticipation of that year and will be reading: Romain Gary’s Les racines du ciel, plus two books I remember fondly from my childhood Little Old Mrs Pepperpot by Alf Pryosen and The Silver Sword by Ian Seraillier. If I have time after all of the above, I may also attempt Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz, but might not make it in time for the 1956 week, lucky if I squeeze it in before the end of October.
November
It’s been quite a few years now that November has been equivalent with German Literature Month for me, so this year will be no different. I’m in the mood for rereading Kafka’s Das Schloss (especially since my son recently read The Trial and I didn’t have my German language edition to read it in parallel with him). I was so enamoured of Marlen Haushofer that I will read another of her novels, a very short one this time Die Tapetentür (which I’ve seen translated as The Jib Door, an English expression I am unfamiliar with). I can’t stay away from Berlin, so I’ll be reading Gabriele Tergit’s Käsebier erobert den Kurfürstendamm (Käsebier takes Berlin). I’m also planning to read a book of essays about Vienna and its very dualistic nature: Joachim Riedl’s Das Geniale. Das Gemeine (Genius and Filth/Rottenness) and another non-fiction book, a sort of memoir of studying in England by Nele Pollatscheck entitled Dear Oxbridge (it’s in German, despite the title).
Since taking the picture above, I’ve also decided to reread the book I borrowed from my university library just before lockdown in March, namely Remarque’s Nothing New on the Western Front.
December
Alok is once again to blame for his persuasive skills, as he’s managed to convince a group of us, including Chekhov obsessive Yelena Furman to read Sakhalin Island in December. Of course, winter seems to lend itself to lengthy Russians, so I’ll also be attempting The Brothers Karamazov (my fifth attempt, despite the fact that I am a huge Dostoevsky fan, so fingers crossed!). If I have any brain or time left over at all after these two massive adventures, I’d also like to read the memoir of living with Dostoevsky written by his wife and the memoir about Marina Tsvetaeva written by her daughter.
I also have a rather nice bilingual edition of Eugene Onegin by Pushkin from Alma Press, so I might put that into the mix as well, let’s see how it goes.
January
Meredith, another Twitter friend, has been organising January in Japan reading events for years now, and I always try to get at least 1-2 books in. This coming January I might focus exclusively on Japanese authors or books about Japan, as I have a lot of newly bought ones that are crying out loud for a read.I have a new translation of Dazai Osamu’s Ningen Shikkaku (A Shameful Life instead of No Longer Human) by Mark Gibeau, I’d also like to read more by Tsushima Yuko (who, coincidentally was Dazai Osamu’s daughter), the short story collection The Shooting Gallery. Inspired by Kawakami Mieko (who mentioned her name as one of the writers who most influenced her), I will be reading In the Shade of the Spring Leaves, a biography of Highuchi Ichiyo which also contains nine of her best short stories. Last but not least, I’m planning to read about Yosano Akiko (one of my favourite Japanese poets) and her lifelong obsession with The Tale of Genji, an academic study written by G. G. Rowley and published by the Center for Japanese Studies at the University of Michigan. (Once upon a time, I dreamt of studying there for my Ph.D.)
Saving the best for last, I have a beautiful volume of The Passenger: Japan edition, which is something like a hybrid between a magazine and a book, focusing on writing and photography from a different country with each issue. While I’d have liked more essays by Japanese writers themselves (there are only 3 Japanese writers among the 11 long-form pieces represented here), there is nevertheless much to admire here.
Ambitious plans for the next few months, but they feel right after a month or so of aimless meandering in my reading. Let’s just hope the weather, i.e. news, outside isn’t too frightful!
Mantle’s too obvious
and blanket reeks of cheap vodka and sweat stains.
Sheet refers to black ice, the treachery of slipping.
So what word should I use
for wintry timing of our springs?
Each fresh puff of indignation
frays the quilt that dampens ardour.
This cloak and dagger business
has quenched my refrain far too long.
Are there shoots beneath the freezing?
Stones left unsplit from jaw-biting cold?
One thing I do know:
it’s not a comforter.
Join us for some wintry poetry – as literal or as metaphorical as you like – at dVerse Poets Pub tonight!
Now for something completely different at the weekend. Here are a few of my Favourite Things (in the John Coltrane version):
The mountains in winter…
New ways to store books, while having them close to hand…
Quirky furniture…
The eternal promise of summer (with a glimpse of my favourite little car behind it)…
Spooky ice caves…
And a certain very agile cat, whose beauty I haven’t quite learnt how to capture yet…
Silver mother-tongue:
winter nights are still too short
to share you with friends.
If you must pass too:
let the murmur of the snow
be your only guide.
Our Falcon-hut
hugs its icy green mantle
closer to its heart.
Shrill squawks of delight
our boys, your boys: who can tell?
Bundled-up snowmen.
If laughter ceases,
what is left? Bring more mulled wine!
Games room rings with us.
Inside the prison,
outside of the storm,
I am laughing.
findingtimetowrite 