Robert Penn Warren, All The King's Men, David Kynaston & Francis Green, Engines of Privilege: Britain's Private School Problem, Mick Herron, London Rules, Christopher hill, God's Englishman: Oliver Cromwell & The English Revolution

Fred said to me last night 'How are you getting on with Mortal Engines'?', the book I was reading last week at his swimming practice. 'That was last week Fred!', I said, 'I've read 4 books since then!' He's still not reading for pleasure, which is also true of Libby. I really don't know what to do. Don't want to push as it could drive them away from reading. Fred is really struggling to enthuse about anything that requires effort at the moment. He used to love cycling, swimming, football, but now in all cases along with cello and other sports he is really down on them as he doesn't like the competitive element or pressure. Breaking his wrist really seems to have knocked him for six and we just can't find a regular physical exercise that he enjoys and which stretches him

Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex, Madeline Miller, Circe, Marcus Tanner, The Last Of The Celts, Robert Merle, League of Spies, Stefan Zweig, The World of Yesterday, Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises, Eugen Vodolazkin, Laurus, Peter Hennessy, Never Again: Britain 1945-51, Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Robert Harris, The Second Sleep, Stephen Ambrose, Pegasus Bridge: D-day: The Daring British Airborne Raid, Fiction, Richard Wright, Native Son, James Hogg, James Robertson Justice "What's The Bleeding Time?" A Biography, Philip Reeve, Mortal Engines

My late summer 2019  reading. I wasn't expecting much from Middlesex, but I loved it. I was vaguely aware it was something to do with an androgynous person, but didn't realise  it was an epic encompassing the American immigrant experience, the clash of cultures and lifestyles. 'Last of the Celts' was a tour round those last remaining outposts of celticness on the north-western fringes of Europe, and a lament for a dying but romanticised world. 'League of Spies' was the 4th in the series, and was read on holiday in Brittany and Normandy, as were the next few books. It was a lovely holiday, William in particular was charming and is coming into his own as a person. He loved playing with the dog at the farm, and I even had to run off after them in my slippers when they disappeared into the bocage up to some mischief of others. We also wrote sawyer lyrics to his favourites song, 'My favourite things' from The Sound of Music:

Daddy likes crosswords and Harry Kane hat tricks

Reading ‘bout castles, and Tintin and Asterix

Sleeping in tents and correcting spelling

These are a few of his favourite things

National Trust Tea Rooms and Tap Dancing classes

Cake decorating and free entrance passes

Skiving off boot camp and hoarding savings

These are a few of mum’s favourite things

Swimming and cycling and brick-wall defending

Puzzles and board games that are never-ending

Clash of Clans, parsnips and lots of pudding

These are a few of Fred’s favourite things

Libby likes milkshakes and singing out loudly

Doing gymnastics and dancing quite proudly

Swimming and make-up and a class for teaching

These are a few of her favourite things

Doing gymnastics and cuddling my mummy

Going to softplay with cake in my tummy

Dinosaurs, robots and going on swings

These are a few of my favourite things

When I’m told off

When I fall down

When I’m feeling sad

I simply remember by favourite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.

Zweig’s ‘The World of Yesterday’ was another lament for a lost world, but poignant as it was, I’m not sure the author fully realises that the wonderful world of tolerance and openness he remembers was nothing of the sort for most people in Europe who were downtrodden, denied a say in government and living in squalid conditions. Hemingway was meh, a failed romance from all I could tell, Laurus was a Russian novel I picked up from Daunt’s, and set in medieval times. Explored the themes of faith and human compassion. I remember Never Again as being an epic social history, full of chapters on the floods of 1947, or Compton’s exploits at the crease. Rereading it, it’s actually far more of the story of high politics and foreign policy at the time, so I’ve misremembered it completely. Maybe my perspective has changed, and the social history stayed with me as it was so novel for me when I read it. I can’t remember anything about Their Eyes Were Watching God, I’ve just had to google it to trigger the memory of Janie Crawford and her life in Eatonville. I should be ashamed of myself. Second Sleep was set in a future England after some great calamity when the world has returned to a pre-industrial civilisation where discussion of anything technological is forbidden and the church are running things. The fragility of civilisation can be terrifying. Pegasus Bridge was a straightforward Boy’s Own tale of derring-do and British stiff upper-lip behaviour on the battlefield, and Native Son was a cracking read, a rare ‘essential novel’ that I could read for pleasure (again, I should be ashamed of myself). The story of a black man, Bigger Thomas, a cruel, vindictive, violent man and the society that made him that way. The biography of JRJ was very light stuff, mostly read on a flight back from Dusseldorf, and ‘Mortal Engines’ a kids book that I’m trying to encourage Fred to read. Fred has just started secondary school, and while he is enjoying it, it’s been a big transition. He’s given up football and wants to give up swimming too as he is finding it so hard after coming back from a broken wrist and the summer break. Hopefully he’ll stick with it as it’s so good for him to be getting regular exercise.

Mark Cocker, Crow Country, Elizabeth Bowen, The Death Of The Heart, EP Thompson, Whigs And Hunters, Samantha Harvey, The West Wind, Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart, John Rees, The Leveller Revolution: Radical Political Organisation in England, 16405-1650

Crow Country was a reread, and a book that sparked my somewhat sporadic interest in corvids. I must have read half a dozen books on crows, but as Helen points out I still struggle to tell a jackdaw from a rook. William is rather in to collecting fings at the moment, 'fings' mostly consisting of rocks and 'fevvas'. There's a flock of canada geese that have taken up residence in the car park at work, so I can nip out every now and then and get feathers for William's collection. Currently his rather unhygienic collection is on display in a jam jar on the kitchen table alongside the 'unicorn twigs' Libby cajoled me into buying from Morrison's. 'The Death of the Heart' was form the 100 essential novels and fitted into the mid-century upper-class woman with no real problems trying to keep up appearances rather than the late 20th century east coast academic with no real problems dealing with is own neuroses category. Far better was Things Fall Apart, the last paragraph of which cause me to swear with shock. Following a tale of a powerful man brought low in tribal Nigeria, it finishes with a new colonial governor arriving and treating all the events of the book as a minor footnote in his own vanity publication on the subject of subduing natives in the Upper Niger valley.

Gore Vidal, Burr, Norman Stone, Hungary: A Short History, Kate Fox, Watching the English, Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire, John Lanchester, The Wall

I didn't appreciate that 'Burr' was a novel rather than a biography, and the first in a grand series of novels by Gore Vidal charting American History. It's been on my shelves for years, and I wish I'd read it before seeing Hamilton to give a bit more context to another fascinating character. Norman Stone's history of Hungary only surprised me when Stone indulged himself by inserting his own political opinions into the text - How Thatcher saved Britain and the first positive assessment of Viktor Orban I've seen. Not sure what it is about some English historians that make them think it is ok to broadbrush and make sweeping unsupported statements. Much like that one. 'Watching the English' was the 3rd time I've read what has become a comfort read. It's no longer revelatory, but a reassuring reminder of our idiosyncrasies and foibles. 'The Wall' I devoured in a day, a dystopian novel set in a walled Britain following a collapse of global civilisation following an unspecific 'Change'.  IRL, Libby and I were off at a week long cub jamboree last week, she coped better than I expected, and I'm secretly sad that she has now slipped back into calling me 'Dad' rather than 'Baloo'

John Cheever, Falconer, John Masefield, The Box of Delights

Falconer was another book where I simply don’t understand why it is on the list of essential novels. Another book where the protagonist is a prosperous middle-aged east coast academic, albeit one serving a life sentence in prison. The greatest praise on the back of the book came from Joan Didion, another writer on the list whose presence I don't understand (based solely on the book 'Play It As It Lays'). What am I missing? I wonder if perhaps these are writers who are thought worthy because of the total sum of their writings, essays, short stories etc, but for whom neither had an iconic book. 'Box of Delights' was a comfort read, bought as yet another attmpet to get Freddie to read more, but he wasn't interested unfortunately. Have found out since though that the Davies family (Freddie is in the same class as Abel) named their eldest Kay as they loved the book so much. William is a big fan of Abel, who he does insists on calling 'Mabel'.

Harry Pearson, The Beast, The Emperor & The Milkman

A History of cycling in Flanders, and a study of the Flemish character. Further light relief much needed at the moment. I'll concentrate on the positives though, and THFC's inexplicable progress to the Champions League Final. Still can’t believe how much we have ridden our luck and wheedled out of elimination against Inter, Barcelona, Man City and now Ajax. It's a shame to be playing Liverpool rather than Barcelona in the final, but we're there, God knows if we'll do it again in my life time. Apparently if we win it will be the biggest gap between a winner picking up the trohpy and winning their own domestic league - 69 years. . .

George Orwell, The Lion & The Unicorn, Tom Bower, Jeremy Corbyn: A Dangerous Hero, Natasha Pulley, Bedlam Stacks, Carson McCullar, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter, Philip Mansel, Aleppo: The Rise and Fall of Syria's Great Merchant City, Imogen Hermes Gowar, The Mermaid & Mrs Hancock, Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse 5, James McPherson, Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era, Bernard Cornwell, Excalibur, Francis Beckett (Ed), The Prime ministers Who Never Were, Geoff Dyer, Broadsword Calling Danny Boy, David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest, map book, Chris Mullin, The Friends of Harry Perkins

Infinite Jest was a slog, it has taken weeks and I don't think I understood a word of it. I only got through by referring to the plot on the Wikipedia page.  I had to have a few easy reads in between for light relief.  Had a really bad week as Colin Fox passed away on Wednesday, a great guy with three young sons, and Freddie broke his wrist in the school playground. He's been in so much pain and unable to sleep, so I've been sleeping on his floor for the past few nights and am exhausted. On the plus side, the cubs won the Tug-of-War contest for the first time since 2012 and inexplicably Tottenham are in the semi-final of the Champions League