One bibliophile has given us the courage to come clean by compiling a range of Bookfessions - a list of confessions and candid thoughts that plague lovers of literature. And it seems as a collective, we have a lot on our minds (perhaps rather unsurprising) – there are now 900 ‘bookfessions’ listed, amongst which include judging a book by its cover, investing far too much emotion in fictional characters (I confess to being guilty of that also) and - particularly apt for this love-themed week and very sweet indeed – one book lover who confesses to ‘having’ a book rather than a song with their significant other (altogether: awwww).

We’re sure there’s plenty more bookfessions to be shared – why not let us know about yours?

It’s official: bookshelves are sexy (perhaps our own Reader library needs some photographic attention…).

Fulfil your desires…: Bookshelf Porn

You can read his insightful piece on watching Dickens in the act of writing David Copperfield here.

“In Alice Springs – a grid of scorching streets where men in long white socks were forever getting in and out of Land Cruisers – I met a Russian who was mapping the sacred sites of the Aboriginals.”

So begins the subtle magic of Songlines. Chatwin’s kaleidoscopic style merges history, geography, sorrow, humour, the colloquial, the epic,  into one mesmerizing vision which traces the world’s oldest living civilization from its Dreaming past to its devastated present. This opening sentence, with some aptly placed line breaks, could begin a poem on Australia’s complex past – and Chatwin’s prose is truly poetic in its beauty, scope and precision. The rhythm of “In Alice Springs  — a grid of scorching streets ..” lulls the reader into the mirage of Chatwin’s prose; a dreaminess that is punctuated by his telling contrasts and subtle humour: the ubiquitous men in long white socks haven’t been there “forever”, unlike their aboriginal countrymen – and who is the Russian tracing this ancient history? Songlines is one of the most beautiful and engrossing books I’ve ever read, made all the more precious by Chatwin’s premature death two years after its publication.

If you’re reading anything at the moment that you’d like to share with us then let us know, and maybe we can unearth some hidden literary gems along the way!

Opening a book to discover it comes with a surprise scribbling might be an unexpected novelty for most of us but it became a regular occurrence for Wayne Gooderham, freelance writer and frequenter of second hand stores, so much so that he set up a blog dedicated to, well, dedications within books that have been cast-off. While reading through the collated written notes is certainly very entertaining, each of them is also enlightening in their own way. Wayne’s own fascination with finding annotations and asides has much to do with the extra layer of emotion that a personal dedication adds to a singular book. Each note, no matter how laconic or lengthy, humorous or heartfelt, is a visible thumbprint, a mark showing that the book has belonged not just physically, but emotionally to another person. More often than not, they also indicate that a book has been purchased and passed along for a specific purpose – and whether the reasons were well received or lessons learnt, we can but speculate (perhaps it’s not a good sign given that they have been given away by their dedicees).

There does seem to be something inherently sentimental about dedications, in any form but especially when it comes to books, the purchase of which is a decision loaded with many different factors (maybe that’s why the search for a book containing a special message is a plot device in at least two rom-com films I have seen in the past…). Amongst those on the Book Dedications blog there are certainly some which tug at the heart-strings, perhaps the best example not drenched in overt sentimentality but one containing clear emotion from a father to a son, who credits the book in question with being responsible for the son’s existence – a gift in more ways than one. Of course, there are plenty of far more frivolous instances too – including one which involves ‘naughty young ladies’ and ‘woolly bloomers’ (best to leave that one there) – and a straightforward but simply great ‘present, from me to me’ – which is often the best kind. Whatever they denote,  all demonstrate an indelible record of something vital that for us, all books contain – a connection between people. Whether the connection has been broken due to the relinquishing of the book, or whether the book has strengthened the bond between two people and it has been passed on in hope of doing the same for someone else, the various dedications are testament to the importance of literature in our lives. And reveal the multiple lives literature possesses…

Wayne has another literary blog, Three Score and Ten, which we have previously featured.

Here are some snippets of what Jane makes of the book:

This book is compellingly interesting and even when skipping parts I never wanted to stop reading…

So David Brooks has tried to write about what we know about being human from a scientific/brain scanning/psychology/business book point of view. And he has had the brilliant formal idea of  setting that info  within two life stories, the stories of Erica and Harold.

It’s a great idea, this clashing together of two forms and it worked well enough to  keep me reading to the very end and more than that,  to make me cry at the end, as if I were reading a novel.

That’s your lot I’m afraid, I’m the go-to guy at The Reader for copyright information and I don’t want to get sued by Jane! If you want to read more, which you must do of course, click here to go to Jane’s wonderful blog.

While on our own individual expeditions, we can now also join Jane on her reading journey. Inspired by a somewhat straight-forward question by a member of the TRO team, Jane is keeping an online record of all her book and poem related pursuits, charting what she’s reading, her thoughts about what she’s reading and what is next on the reading list – as well as more than the occasional insightful anecdote (how does Jane find the time to really read given her extremely busy schedule? Reading in the bath may have something to do with it…).

So if you’re looking for some inspiration on what to read next, want to know what’s been read by the reader behind The Reader Organisation – or are just a little bit nosey – you can keep up with all the updates of our Director’s Blog (something like a Captain’s Log…we think) at http://readerjanedavis.blogspot.com/ .

Other Stories is a blog about books and feminism, with added cat photos.

There’s even a snap of the snazzy new issue of The Reader! So, whether you’re a seasoned visitor to the blogosphere or just looking for online book discussion, you might be interested to have a mooch on Kirsty’s blog for yourself. You can find it here

It’s a question that Kate McDonnell will surely find the answer to, as she and her Wallasey Reading Group embark upon the story of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Armed with twelve copies kindly provided by Oxford University Press, the novel will take Kate, manager for Get Into Reading, and her group months to complete. Here, Kate talks us through the thinking behind her decision, and we find out what the reaction to Tolstoy has been like so far…

Whenever I present a page of  four ‘books ‘n’ blurbs’ to the members of the Friday afternoon Get Into Reading group at Wallasey Central Library to help us choose what we’ll read next, somebody always says, ‘Can’t we read them all?’

This time they’ve gone for our biggest read yet: Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, which fought off fierce opposition from Dombey and Son.

Oxford University Press, when they heard, kindly donated a lovely set of twelve books, and we’ve had them stacked up on the table at the beginning of the session in a giant and impressive tower!

Yes, it IS long – more than 800 pages, in fact – and it will probably take us about 9 months to read aloud, page by page, from cover to cover. Then there are the polysyllabic Russian names to get your tongue round, and sections on Russian farming to puzzle over, but we’re all hugely looking forward to it.

Two weeks in (we read 13 pages in Week One, 19 in Week Two), initial reactions bode well:

I thought something by Tolstoy would be really dense, but it’s really easy to read.

I’ve never read anything like it – the way he puts the characters over, you can get to know them really well.

Just reading these first few pages – it really draws you in.

Group members have varying degrees of reading experience and no one (apart from me!) has read it before, but already we’re getting comfortable thinking about the characters: Oblonsky – how come we still seem to like him despite the fact that he’s just cheated on his wife? Why is he always ‘expanding his chest’? (‘Because he’s breathing life in?’ as someone suggested).

The first week’s reading ended with a bit of a domestic between him and his betrayed wife, Dolly, territory we could recognise only too well, and we finished the session with a poem called ‘The Quarrel’ by Conrad Aiken, in which a row between a couple unaccountably melts away when they hear music drift in from next door:

….and in the instant

The shadow had gone, our quarrel became absurd;

And we rose, to the angelic voices of the music,

And I touched your hand, and we kissed, without a word.

There were resonances between the texts, comments on how ‘surface’ Dolly and Oblonsky seem in comparison with these lovers who connect in a space beyond words.

Week Two brought more thoughts of love, as well as a passage which I thought could be tricky. We met Levin for the first time: ‘He’s very brittle, isn’t he?’ suggested one reader.

I wondered what people would make of Chapter 7, in which Levin calls on his brother, Koznyshev, and ends up being drawn into a discussion he’s having with a professor about ‘whether a definite line exists between psychological and physiological phenomena in human activity’. Most readers confessed to feeling a bit lost during their argument and were glad when Levin asked a clear question which cut to the chase. ‘They’re just showing off really, aren’t they?’ someone said and recognized the professor’s, ‘We have not the data…’ as a fob off.

I think I speak for all when I say that we found Chapter 9, in which Levin tracks Kitty down at the skating rink, both funny and touching. He loves her and is terrified to tell her in case it spoils everything, but at the same time he reads meaning into her every word and gesture. Some of us remembered feeling like this ourselves!

‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘this is life – this is joy! She said, “Together: let us skate together”! Shall I tell her now? But that’s just why I’m afraid of speaking. Now I am happy, if only in my hopes – but then? …But I must…I must…I must…! Away with this weakness!’

We discussed deliberately persisting in a state of ignorance in order to prolong hope and were helped in this by reading William Meredith’s poem ‘The Illiterate’, at the end of the session:

Touching your goodness, I am like a man

Who turns a letter over in his hand

And you might think this was because the hand

Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man

Has never had a letter from anyone;

And now he is both afraid of what it means

And ashamed because he has no other means

To find out what it says than to ask someone.

His uncle could have left the farm to him,

Or his parents died before he sent them word,

Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved.

Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him.

What would you call his feeling for the words

That keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?

What, indeed. As well as illuminating Levin’s difficulty in reading the signs – in wanting to know how Kitty feels about him, but not wanting to know at the same time – the poem also triggered talk about literal illiteracy, with one reader, who works as a support worker for people with learning disabilities, telling of how ‘letter-proud’ the folk he cares for can be, preserving football coupons as cherished objects because they have writing on them and someone else spoke of the moment before opening an important letter when so many outcomes are possible.

I’m hoping that other people in the group will join in writing the occasional AK blog which we’ll post as we progress, but, in the meantime, it’s still a great opening sentence…

All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

…and now don’t you just want to read on?

On November 10th, The Institute for the Future of the Book kicks off an experiment in close reading. Seven women will read Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook and carry on a conversation in the margins. The idea for the project arose out of my experience re-reading the novel in the summer of 2007 just before Lessing won the Nobel Prize for literature. The Golden Notebook was one of the two or three most influential books of my youth and I decided I wanted to “try it on” again after so many years. It turned out to be one of the most interesting reading experiences of my life. With an interval of thirty-seven years the lens of perception was so different; things that stood out the first-time around were now of lesser importance, and entire themes I missed the first time came front and center. When I told my younger colleagues what I was reading, I was surprised that not one of them had read it, not even the ones with degrees in English literature.  It occurred to me that it would be very interesting to eavesdrop on a conversation between two readers, one under thirty, one over fifty or sixty, in which they react to the book and to each other’s reactions. And then of course I realized that we now actually have the technology to do just that. Thanks to the efforts of Chris Meade, my colleague and director of if:book London, the Arts Council England enthusiastically and generously agreed to fund the project. Chris was also the link to Doris Lessing who through her publisher HarperCollins signed on with the rights to putting the entire text of the novel online.

Fundamentally this is an experiment in how the web might be used as a space for collaborative close-reading. We don’t yet understand how to model a complex conversation in the web’s two-dimensional environment and we’re hoping this experiment will help us learn what’s necessary to make this sort of collaboration work as well as possible. In addition to making comments in the margin, we expect that the readers will also record their reactions to the process in a group blog. In the public forum, everyone who is reading along and following the conversation can post their comments on the book and the process itself.

Here’s the link again to The Golden Notebook.

Posted by Chris Routledge