Eight books to read or not to read.

What I've had my nose in of late.

Sorry I’ve been so quiet recently.

I had to read my the audiobook of The Accidental Tour-ist, which took a few days. It was quite interesting though, because Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens) was in the booth next to me reading his memoir. So I had a cup of tea with him, which was nice. He asked me politely about the Tour de France, but didn’t seem overly interested, if I am honest.

Anyway, a bit more Substacking will follow now, including som ACTUAL CYCLING CONTENT (maybe) tomorrow when I sit down to watch both the Liège-Bastogne-Lièges.

In the meantime, though, I wanted to share a book recommendation or two with you. In the past, people have quite enjoyed these, so maybe you will? Who knows…

So, these are a few of the books I’ve been reading so far this year. Maybe one or two might interest you, and if they do PLEASE don’t buy them on Amazon. I have included better, more ethical links.

All Our Yesterdays. Natalia Ginzburg. (1952).

Daunt Books have recently released a series of translated works by Natalia Ginzburg, in beautiful editions which capture the spirit of the age in which they were created. Having previously read The Little Virtues and the spectacularly beautiful The Dry Heart, I thought I’d pick up her longest work in translation. All Our Yesterdays follows the fortunes of a family from Lombardy who are scattered to the wind by the advent of the Second World War. The principle character, a sixteen year old girl, is married off to a much older man, and the couple move South to live in Puglia.

It’s worth persevering with this novel, though I found the opening third a little too languid. The narrative gathers a slow, irresistible head of steam. It begins amid uncertainty as to whether or not Italy will join the war, and on which side, which is a consideration I had not before seen discussed. But once underway, the war drags the characters through its net.

The real quality of this work lies in Ginzburg’s humanity, very subtle wit, and the excellence of her characterisations, which live in four dimension on the pages of her writing, brilliantly translated by Angus Davidson. There is a deceptive simplicity in Ginzburg that allows for very straightforward imagery to ring with implication and meaning. Take the very first sentence of the book…

Their mother’s portrait hung in the dining room: a woman seated on a chair, wearing a hat with feathers in it, and with a long, tired, frightened face.

In short, it is so easy to trust her prose. She is a craftsman.