Whimsical Musings of a Loon

When it comes to literature, I am not usually particularly keen on spin-off books or novels based on classic characters. When I first read Jane Austen as an 11 year old, I was so captivated by the sparkling characters in Pride & Prejudice , so desperate to be part of their lives and learn more, I read a 'sequel' written by a modern writer. It was based on Elizabeth Bennett's married life with Darcy. It was one of the worst pieces of writing I had ever read, even worse than the deliciously awful Point Horror books I use to devour as a sort of pot noodle literature alongside the gourmet Austen. It was like a bad Hollywood sequel where the actors couldn't act, the director couldn't direct and script was was written with invisible ink on thin air. So it was with trepidation that I began reading ' Wide Sargasso Sea' . Recommended by a good friend of similar tastes and with whom I trusted with my cultural life, I took it up with the sort of enthusiasm of ...

On what would have been Roald Dahl's 90th birthday, it seems fitting to pause and marvel at one of the finest writers Britain has ever produced. Easily my favourite author as a child, Dahl's books are as captivating as they are surreal; beautifully eccentric characters amongst a world of random extremes and magical wonder. At the heart of Dahl's work is often a dark macabre humour; there's the comedy of a bearded man who manages to contain half his lunch in his beard, or a drink that makes you fly by control of bottom burps, mixed amongst witches, cruel aunts, orphans, and brutal teachers. The world is hilarious, but not always fair, and yet there is a hope that the miraculous can happen to those who are good people. Essentially, Dahl's books may embrace the fantastical - giants, witches, yet there's an underlying reality to the harshness of real life. His children protagonists often find themselves in horrid situations, through no fault of their own. But it is ...

It's that most, wonderful time...of the year! No, not Christmas (thankfully). It's summer festival time, a period of a few months when the media go music-latest-band-mad. Newspapers are packed with photographs of music revelers basking in sun...or wallowing bravely in mud and torrents of rain. And the obligatory retro-comeback star (a la Shirley Bassey) in wellies. But as much as I love my music (don't get me started on how much I adore Rufus Wainwright and how he re-seals my wounded soul), my favourite festival is actually one of the book variety. The 2009 Hay-On-Wye literary festival comes to a close, and once again I am left counting down the days to the 2010 festival. Hay-On-Wye has always been a favourite jaunt of mine. My parents took us there frequently as kids on rainy Sunday afternoons when we had exhausted all the local castles and museums. Admittedly, I probably wanted to go to Disney Land if I had had the choice, but I am glad for it now. It was at Hay I realise...