I’ve decided that holidays in July are the way to go; to stand any chance of getting reasonable doses of vitamin D and keeping a smile on my face, I should do gardening and dog-walking in the sun. Plus some reading, and a few more books were read on my hols; not perhaps the Moby Dick or War and Peace I originally had in mind, but some smaller works that were more achievable without me becoming a social pariah in the Lakeside Caravan Park.
The Great Invasion by Leonard Cottrell (1958) was good because it focused purely on the fighting and establishment of a Roman presence in Britain from 47AD up until Agricola’s time in 87AD. Some great pictures and analysis of the battles themselves and speculation on the likely leaders of each legion. It was quite a pleasure to poke through with a cup of tea. 4 stars.
I had booked in to see Rupert Thomson at the Melbourne Writer’s Festival and so I figured beforehand that I should read his latest (Secrecy), which was not subject-wise something I’d normally pick up, but it was interesting enough (and it should be – the guy admitted to writing 10 drafts of it) and in particular the scenes where wax-sculptor Zumbo is being stalked in a remote and deserted village in Italy got my heart pounding. 3.5 stars.
I was waiting at the festival bookshop, trying to work out what I would say to Gerald Murnane if I bought his latest book “A Million Windows” and lined up to have him sign it, when I noticed that Bob Carr and Malcolm Fraser were sitting right next to him. I am poor at most things visually, and have never really spotted (on my own) any public figures previously, so I had a small moment of celebrity worship and gushiness and couldn’t help but tell a festival volunteer nearby what a thrill it was to see them in person. She of course was mildly nonplussed. Stupid, blase generation Y.