Writers are solitary creatures – or so our collective imagination has it – their work taking shape within the dim, dusty confines of some tucked-away workspace. Cloaked in the guise of this popular mythology, the writing itself becomes the creation of a distant, inscrutable figure, and we approach it with trepidation, as if stepping onto hallowed ground where all readers are trespassers. Thus, reading is seen as an adventure, but one which inspires thrills of a deeply personal nature. How do we tread on the work? Do we project ourselves onto its pages, we wonder. How do we dare? How, when it so clearly represents the worldview of an author we wish we understood, at which we can only guess?
Publication announcements, bookish items of note and the occasional literary musing.