Dear readers who may or may not be too hot,
I hope this finds you well and not a melted puddle of exhaustion waiting to re-form into something human-shaped1. Weirdly, for someone who dislikes summer so intensely, I haven’t found the heat too awful on a personal level2 and have been plagued more by the scratchiness of a John Lewis bedspread than anything else (pictured looking innocuous in the background of this photo). Forgoing the duvet that normally sits beneath this top layer of blanketing, brought it into direct contact with skin3, delivering an entire night of torture. I can now say that I would rather be boiled in a bag than endure it again4.
Anyway thanks to the scratchiness, I was at least able to finish my most recent read, Tanya Shadrick’s The Cure for Sleep. I really think it’s a book of two halves, so I’ll share my thoughts around it in that way too :) The first half: Some book recommendations feel quite specific to a certain kind of person or reader, where I’ll think, Mmm, maybe you’ll like this, if you liked that. But this was one where, initially at least, I kept thinking everyone will LOVE it, because the writing is glorious and because each time I turned on my Kindle to read, it felt like settling down into some kind of…well, I don’t quite know what, but something good (maybe the chair of supreme comfort I’m still looking for). Hinging on a near-death experience shortly after her son is born, the book revisits Tanya’s own difficult childhood, and this section carries the reader along more like a story than overt memoir. This, and that the writing is rich and delicious, made me think of Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings at times. One of the things I really like about Tanya’s writing is the obvious nostalgia and affection she has for places that weren’t especially happy ones - an oddness that really resonates with me. The second half: Where the first half of the book is about Tanya’s childhood, the early years of her relationship with her husband, and the years before her own children go to school, the second half focuses on Tanya’s increasing wish to be seen, to establish herself as an artist, and her pull towards men who might give her the unconditional love her absent father failed to provide. And I think I started to struggle here with the impact these aspirations had on her children’s and husband’s lives - there was still a lot that was enlightening and thought-provoking, but also some aspects I found challenging to fully get on board with and I had to make a concerted effort to shoo my own judgements out of the room at times (and this is where I became less certain it’s a universal everyone will love it sort of read). I think Tanya’s husband is really the quiet star of the book and she paints him as a wonderfully understated creature - endlessly generous, kind and selfless - I think it would be impossible to read this and not fall a little in love with him. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Tanya turns to fiction next, as I’d love to read that too.
Other recent reads: Last week I finished Joanna Cannon’s The Trouble with Goats and Sheep, which I started a while ago. I’m glad I ended up stringing it out as there was an odd symmetry to reading a book set around the 1976 heatwave while on the verge of entering something similarly hellish. The story revolves around the inhabitants of a single street5 after one of them goes missing, and the relentless heat seems to intensify how claustrophobic that narrow focus feels. I absolutely love Joanna’s writing (she’s one of my favourite people to follow on Twitter and the voices in her stories have much of the humour and warmth I recognise from her posts6 - although her fictional characters are well-crafted and distinct from her as a person). Much of the book is told from the point of view of ten-year-old Grace, and her observations about life and people are deliciously quirky and beautifully expressed. At times, my interest in the plot faltered, but I kept returning for the characters and writing.
I’ve also recently finished Still Water by Rebecca Pert, which I chose on the basis of it being set on Shetland (if you’d like a character-based crime series, Shetland is brilliant. And for anyone who already watches, I’ve just seen new episodes will be landing next month (good news), but also, that it will be Douglas Henshall’s final season playing Jimmy Perez (bad news). Anyway, Still Water has nothing to do with the television series, but does capture the damp bleakness of the place brilliantly. Somehow, I didn’t feel totally invested in the characters, although whenever I listen to an audiobook and feel this way, I’m always left unsure how much of that is influenced by the additional layer the narration brings, which can totally change the tone of a book. That isn’t a slight on the narration though, which was excellent.
I’ve recently started reading The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak. I’ve listened to several interviews with Elif and like her so much as a person that I’ve always been disappointed not to love her books to quite the same degree (when I say that, I just mean they’ve been four-stars, rather than the maximo five I’d hoped them to be), but this latest one feels more of an alignment between author and novel for me. It starts by describing the border between Cyprus and Turkey, which drew me in straight away having seen firsthand how brutally the city of Nicosia is carved up7. It then moves between the story of Ada, a teenage girl born to turkish-cypriot parents living in the UK (these bits are really compelling), and a fig tree, grown from the cutting brought over by the couple when they eloped years earlier (also brilliant with lots of interesting details about trees scattered throughout). It may open up to include more points of view, but from where I am right now (around a quarter of the way through), I’m really enjoying it and feel confident in recommending it to others, as friends have already told me they’ve loved it from beginning to end. I’m wondering if it’s a universal response to suddenly feel quite attached to the idea of growing a fig tree, just because Elif has given this one such a wonderful personality.
In other news, my daughter has been overhauling her room since she returned home and, after nine million trips to the charity shop, textiles recycling bin, and the tip, told me that every item left in her room is now there because she’s chosen to keep it. An idea that left me craving that wonderful feeling of renewal through clearing out. I will be attacking every drawer, cupboard and shelf as soon as a nice chunk of time appears.
The transformation has involved a lot of moving furniture round, and when she said she no longer wanted an old stationmasters’ bookcase (photo above)8 in her room, I had a memory of what a hideous time we’d had getting it up the final narrow and bendy flight of stairs to the attic several years earlier. Anyway, bringing it back down was even worse. If you were to ask how many Knapps it takes to get a bookshelf down two flights of stairs, I would now say four. With quite a lot of bickering, shelves (and people) getting wedged in the stairwell, a few near-death experiences thrown in for my husband, and several moments where I just couldn’t look. But I’m at least super-happy to have an extra bookcase downstairs now. I’ve managed to fill it alarmingly quickly just by gathering up piles of books that have accumulated around the house in fireplaces, by the bed, on windowsills. But, there’s one magnificent lone empty shelf left over and there’s a liberation that comes with that and I find myself in no hurry to fill it up, preferring to sit opposite it at the dining table, enjoying the space and sense of possibility it brings.
Finally, in a housekeeping update (just to my newsletter, not my actual house this time), I have a few projects I’m working on that I’d like to give more time to over the summer, so will return to your inbox at extreme length9 in September, along with crispy leaves and jumper season10. I’ve temporarily paused payments for anyone who supports my newsletter with a paid subscription and will switch them back on once I’m back to writing regularly again :)
Wishing you a glorious summer of reading, warm sunshine, and just-right bedding,
Florence x
Ps. A poem for anyone who has lost a friend | An octopus masquerading as Ophelia - once you’ve seen it you can’t unsee it (original painting here, if it doesn’t instantly jump out at you) | For anyone unable to eat onion or garlic, this is life-changing…currently devouring falafel and shop-bought humous for the first time in over a decade and really I could just weep with happiness. Isn’t science amazing | A final ps, if you’re relatively new to this newsletter and want something to fill the intermission, you can read through my archive here.
I feel temperature can be judged most soundly through a jar of coconut oil - it never ceases to amaze me quite how sensitive it is to slight changes. One moment a solid block that needs to be chipped at with a teaspoon, suddenly transitioning through to a transparent liquid…and all from inside a dark cupboard.
In physical terms at least (I think mainly because it’s been a very dry sort of heat. Humidity is so much more unbearable). The environmental side of it is a whole different matter 😢.
Apart from in extreme temperatures, I am a minimum of duvet and bedspread. Autumn and Winter can require additional reinforcements. For clarity, pyjamas were present and correct* in order to remain prepped and primed* to fend off potential burglars, but sadly they were without sleeves (and by that I mean my pyjamas. I don’t know about any burglars’ attire, although I’d imagine it’s the traditional Breton stripes, as seen in Burglar Bill. Note that Bill has a really beautiful quilt on his bed if you look through the preview images. Although that may or may not be stolen).
* Present and correct/prepped and primed are basically there to delight/horrify my sister. I’m so sorry to have subjected everyone else to them on her account.
One paragraph in, and this newsletter looks set to be half-letter, half-footnote. Some would say that’s getting things off to a brilliant start (basically those who are reading this bit 👀). Others are probably trying their hardest to skim over the numbers littering the main body of text and may be on the verge of giving up… I can’t please everyone though, and quite frankly, if you’re reading the footnotes, you’re my favourites.
This set up of all the action happening around a single street made me think of Jon McGregor’s If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things. Although the similarity ends there, as Jon’s writing is very sparse.
I woke up my husband laughing at that final line one morning. I am a SPLENDID bedfellow.
Lost, we turned into a quiet city street in Nicosia one afternoon and halfway down suddenly found soldiers raising their guns at our car…I can still remember my dad trying to do a hasty three-point-turn as my sister and I whackered in the backseat.
I got it from Castle Gibson over twenty years ago when we lived in London. They have the most amazing pieces, including all sorts of different haberdasher’s units etc, although I think inflation has hit as we didn’t pay anything like these prices for our stationmaster’s bookcase, which I like to imagine belonged to Perks from The Railway Children.
Naturally.
Although that seems to be coming later and later each year, so perhaps I’ll still just be flumping about in a jumpsuit wishing we could hurry up and get to Autumn/Winter already.
Ten footnotes. That is quite the pre-intermission finale, even by my standards.
I *am* a melted puddle of exhaustion - our flat has only just cooled down to about 26C in the past hour or two, late on Wednesday night - but the evening's combination of football and footnotes has pepped me up slightly. I didn't even read the whole of the main text (too many book reviews; you read too fast!) but did read all 10-and-a-bit (bit being the *) glorious footnotes without even knowing what half of them referred to. Was Castle Gibson the shop opposite St Mary's on Upper Street? The octopus Ophelia - hahaha so good! And yes, clearly Boglaboll said, "That's a really beautiful quilt, I'll have that." Have a lovely August! x
Dear Florence,
I love your newsletters and reading the comments. You have a wonderful community.
I hope Nina feels cooler soon. I noticed that the option next the posting was ‘like’ or ‘collapse’. Apt. Rochelle x