This is an ‘excursion’ from a world of isolation, where the wanderer craves connection.
...there are worse literary sins than using seven words when four will do.
After six decades of a love affair with words in both my languages, it’s time to confess that I have never actually had a mother tongue.
Urbane, metropolitan, cosmopolitan, at their best beguiling, unpredictable, open to difference, welcoming others, not pinned down to what they are but awaiting what they might become.
But, here's a confession. I wasn't one bit outraged. In fact I would go as far as to say John Banville is as 'Woke' as the 'Wokest' man or woman among us.
Like Truman Capote, I am always drawn back to places I have lived; although in my case it is more in the sense of memory, of imaginary travel to places real (or at least, once real)...
He was terrifying and glorious, loving and moody, a personality I took turns at loving and loathing
Simple pleasures are the last refuge of the complex
It only takes a second to get a bright idea. One of these came to me in January 2020, in the midst of the devastating bushfires that were raging around Australia.
Relief and sunshine came pouring through on the morning of November 7, 2020
Before the virus came amongst us, writing was a vocation, maybe to be railed against on occasion. Now it’s therapy.
With the end of furlough I stand on a cliff’s edge, along with a whole sector of the British economy. Will anybody help us?
Sophia Kouidou-Giles recalls a visit to see her aunt at La Bête asylum, a powerful memory that has shaped her life in many ways