Witterings about lots of things.
I hated Glasgow for the first four years that I lived here. Before I moved, I’d been warned that it would rain interminably, but ‘the humour’ would make up for it. The city seemed to me (eighteen years old and fresh from the Highlands, as green as you get) just a big brawling mass without... Continue Reading →
“Secrets, silent, stony, sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.” James Joyce, Ulysses Maybe it's a symptom of living in almost certain safety, to find the idea of banned books romantic. Imagine: the soft crackling of a paper bag containing a hard-back first... Continue Reading →
Important Daily Activities: An Incomplete List Make coffee. Dress. Neglect to check mirror for errors made while dressing. Check Facebook, Instagram, What’s App, news websites and Twitter. Stare out of window at high rises. Feel tired. Download a Taylor Swift song. Arrive at work Attend meetings that go on for 56 hours Answer several million... Continue Reading →
If ever a Friday needed a Happy List, it's Friday the 30th of January. One day I plan to gather all my feelings about this time of the year (acht, wretched January) into the introduction to the astonishingly brilliant, culturally significant, grammatically experimental book that I will write. This will not be a post-modern classic about... Continue Reading →
In the winter of 2009, I spent four days in the dark windswept wilds of Shetland. Without any phone signal or internet, I was reduced to digging my book out of my bag. Luckily, that book was Lanark by Alistair Gray. It was just what was needed. It reminded me of the days when I... Continue Reading →
It’s hard to know when something momentous is about to happen. Unlike everyone in Alice’s Wonderland, we can’t remember the future, so we just have to wait until it’s all sped in to the past. It’s only then that the bright bits are easy to spot. Ah yes, this day was the most wonderful day; that moment was our... Continue Reading →
Novels are foxy and full of tricks: they wear guises, they steal tales and retell them, and they shape-shift shamelessly. You can have your narrator storytelling before he’s been born (Tristram Shandy); or have your main character stumble upon the author, only to accuse him of being inept (Lanark). Novels are unpredictable, capricious, and exquisite.... Continue Reading →
In the afterword to Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov wrote: "Every writer [...] is aware of this or that published book of his as a constant comforting presence. This presence, this glow of the book in an ever accessible remoteness is a most companionable feeling". Nabokov goes on to describe Lolita and his view of his completed... Continue Reading →
Here it is again, the arse-end of winter. What's a girl to do but stay in and eat condensed milk straight from the tin with a spoon. I've also been buying lovely things, as is my wont. (And reading The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, so I can brush up on my Morningside accent and use words... Continue Reading →
Whenever I talk about Doris Lessing, I tend to become a little incoherent with infatuated love, and talk about her I do, a lot, to anyone who is reluctantly cornered and can't get away. I first encountered Doris Lessing when I read The Golden Notebook at twenty-one. I was an immature twenty-one. I flailed around... Continue Reading →
Amy Jardine 