On reflection

It was driving past a large and partially frozen puddle this morning that caused me to reflect on the books I always planned to introduce to my children when they reached the right age, but never have. My own teenage years were filled, and to a large extent, informed, by a steady stream of science fiction novels by an eclectic range of authors, either borrowed from friends or my local library. I was fortunate in that, once I had exhausted the library's collection of childrens' fiction, I had the opportunity to access the adult fiction too. This resulted in me occasionally reading subject matter considered inappropriate to my age, but on subsequent reflection I believe that this does no harm, because the topics that I did not understand left no lasting impression, in contrast to the stories and themes I was ready for.

My own children (mostly) are willing to read, but they have had their own contemporary diet of Potter, Rider and Snicket. Reading the same books as one's peers is always more interesting than something that an adult is pushing, so many of my recommendations were ignored, or only grudgingly accepted.

So I managed to palm off some Milligan and Adrian Mole, I was fortunate that the Tolkein bandwagon rolled through town. I managed to find time to read and share some of their contemporary fiction, but these failed to engage me, in the same way that re-reading my own childhood favourites fails, because they have to be read at the right age.

The single book that I read at exactly the right age (that sticks in my memory) is "Hello Summer, Goodbye" by Michael G. Coney, which is a science fiction and coming of age story with sociological and political undertones. If you've read it, then you probably understand how its memory was revived by my morning drive; if you have not, then I can't recommend it, unless you are a slightly nerdy 13 or 14 year old. I haven't seen a copy for the best part of 40 years, and perhaps that is for the best, but it is still on my list of books I should have given to my children to read, when they were ready.

Opening soon

Creeping measures of another year; snow drops, daffodils, crocuses, icy panes, bees on camellias, wintery showers, spring light. A red kite.

Birds sing the sun into the sky and collect mosses and dried grasses to call home. Clematis buds and thinks to twine. Evenings gather, rather than fall.

I awake to pale curtains, retaining warmth, restraining the day.