Month: December 2011



I recently found an unexpectedly wonderful book in the library (Marilynne Robinson’s “Gilead”) and it made me consider what an extraordinary thing libraries are: piles and piles of books that anyone can borrow. It is a shame, in a way, that we do not have the same capacity to share clothes, or tools, or a myriad of other things, but perhaps that makes the fact of libraries even more extraordinary: they are not necessary. At least, the body will survive without books, if not the soul. I still remember finding Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitutde” in much the same way many years ago – a small miracle of happening upon the unknown. “Gilead” manages to capture the mystical beauty of our life experience – an experience, I hope, that is felt by everyone, believer or otherwise, faithful or faithless. Beatuful writing.
I have determined to take part in the Australian Women Writers 2012 Challenge and am slowly compiling a list of books. More on that soon.

Book Art and a Mystery

I have come across something probably long known to literary people in the UK: the mystery of the art creator/giver in Edinburgh. An anonymous artist has created a series of book sculptures, often linked in some way to Ian Rankin, and left them in various spots around Edinburgh. They are extraordinarily beautiful and it is a joy to think that someone would take so much care, produce something so wonderful, and then give it away. They are so intricate and, I imagine, delicate, I can’t imagine how the artist managed to smuggle them in to their various hidden spots. I love them all, perhaps the dragon is my favourite? Look at them at the fabulous io9 post.