Ripeness is all

I’ve been reading Thomas Hardy’s Return of the Native for a walk I’m leading. The strange thing about Hardy is that you seem to feel the need to offer an excuse as to why you’re reading him, or maybe that’s just me. But anyway – Clym Yeobright (the ‘Native’) has recently returned to Egdon Heath, where he […]

The intricate web of love

I’ve been reading the Diaries of Sylvia Townsend Warner, a Virago paperback I picked up in the Oxfam bookshop a while back. On the strength of her writing here, she is much underrated and deserves a wider readership. For example, this wonderful entry for 16 Feb 1950  on the cremation of her mother: … Nora’s small […]