Not all heroes wear capes
Some write books
“Have you ever met one of your literary heroes?”
I was watching an episode of the last series of Between the Covers when this question was put to the panel, prompting a brief chat recalling encounters that resulted in either delight and disillusionment. The segment was all over in a couple of minutes but it left me giving the question some thought. I started thinking about the writing that has moved me, stayed with me, even changed my perceptions and mindset, and about what it would be like to meet the authors. (If you have ever met your literary hero please do share the tale. Who was it? Were they lovely? Was it awful?)
For obvious reasons I never did meet Shakespeare, Dickens or E F Benson (and possibly a good thing too in the case of at least one of those if we’re worried about feet of clay). In terms of overlapping timelines I could theoretically have met Agatha Christie and P G Wodehouse, but I had not yet discovered my love of their work when those opportunities slipped away. I am annoyed with myself that I never got around to expressing my thanks and appreciation to Douglas Adams, Hilary Mantel or Terry Pratchett; the last being a particular cause for self-recrimination as it’s not as if we weren’t given plenty of warning that that door was going to close.
But what of living authors? Is there anyone out there writing now who has made me put down my book (or Kindle), stop, breathe, re-read a passage, then stop again and stare into space for a bit? As I pondered this question I remembered a day in the Before Times, sitting down in the library café with a book from my latest haul and, after just a few pages, thinking ‘This person understands’. Feelings and thoughts that I had never articulated out loud, perhaps even to myself, were identified, clarified and expressed by the novel’s characters and narrator. This must have been about six years ago but I can still remember the feeling of unexpected recognition. I went on to hoover up more of the author’s fiction and later when we were all locked up at home I listened to their podcast while doing online jigsaws from the Ashmolean Museum.* This then was surely an author who could be judged to be my literary hero. That bit wasn’t a surprise, but the shock was realising that so much has happened since that library visit that this astonishing writer, who deserves my utmost respect, is someone I am now rude to on an almost daily basis. It was like that revelation of finding that two places in London that you travel to on different tube lines are in fact just round the corner from each other. Two previously discrete compartments in my brain suddenly clanged together with a jolt.
Because, dear reader, that novel I picked off a library shelf all those years ago was Clay and the author was Melissa Harrison. Now I admit I sometimes lose track of which of my online acquaintances I have met in real life; in fact on one occasion I only found out an online friend and I had been at the same event, both many miles from home, when she posted photos of it the next day. We had not recognised each other from our tiny profile pics. (Or maybe she had recognised me and ducked). I am reasonably confident that I have never been in the same room as Mel, but I still think of her as a friend. I hope she feels the same and is not now hastily blocking me on all social media platforms, even those I’m not on.
It goes without saying that I always recommend Melissa’s Substack, Witness Marks, in which she continues, with disturbing frequency, to perform her unsettling trick of revealing my own thoughts to me, but she has been in my mind particularly this week for two reasons:
Firstly because of the publication of her latest non-fiction book Homecoming. I freely admit I am as susceptible as anyone to confirmation bias, but seriously this book is good. If you enjoy the friendly, open but also lyrical and evocative style of Witness Marks you’re going to love this. It is subtitled on the cover as ‘a guided journal to lead you back to nature’ and is a thoroughly accessible and encouraging invitation to begin, or develop, a connection with the natural world by noticing, recognising and noting the seasonal changes around us.
Ironically I have been unable to get started because just this week I have been assailed by my usual seasonal allergy to leaf mould spores, so have been largely hiding indoors with antihistamines. I will however be starting to notice TODAY as I work with a volunteer bulb-planting party in the woodland bordering our lane (with the landowner’s permission of course, in fact they have supplied the bulbs). This does mean there might be a delay in responding to any comments if my eyes puff up so much I can’t see the screen, but I am placing my faith in the efficacy of cetirizine.
The second reason is because of the print I am currently working on. In my last couple of posts I have talked about trying a new method of registration and I mentioned that my latest piece breaks my firm rule about only working from my own images of places I know myself, because it is based on a photo a friend posted on social media. Well that was Mel too. I should have more of the print’s progress to show you next time - in fact I probably won’t write again until I do have more to show you. For now, here is a glimpse of the prints after 6 layers, caught in a rare spell of afternoon sunshine falling on the drying rack.
If you haven’t yet discovered Mel’s writing do check it out, and also some other lovely writers who are listed at the foot of this post and who can be found on Substack.
See you soon and thanks for reading.
Jane
*Thinking about it this is probably why I now associate Hiroshige prints with Gilbert White. Welcome to my brain.
The bookshelf image at the top of this post includes unsubtle pictorial shoutouts for some more writers who are here on Substack and whom I commend to you. As well as Melissa Harrison you might also spot Josie George, Lev Parikian, Debora Robertson and Tom Cox.
What a lovely post this was to read. Clay was the first novel of hers I read and was astonished by it.
I finally bought Light Rains Sometimes Fall and I’m so enjoying ready each little chapter on the right date through the year