I’m not a summer person. I never have been. Growing up (mostly) near the beach, I love the sea and shore, but being a pale English lass, I’m either white or red. Anything above Factor 15 didn’t exist then. Tans were cool. So I stayed in with my books.
Last year was particularly difficult. I nearly passed out several times when in the heat for too long. I also have trouble finding a hat that fits my (apparently larger than average) head.
So I’m staying in with my books again, aside from walking the dogs for brief stints, because a) they’re older now and b) they’re not heat-lovers either, due to fur coats.
I’m remembering how books used to be my refuge for so much of my life. I’d hide in my school library when I could, or my bedroom, or just tucked on the sofa while family life went on around me. In a car while my parents ran errands. Under the blankets when a book was particularly good (‘The Weirdstone of Brisingamen’ leaps to mind).
Perhaps this is what we now call introversion. As a shy girl, it was my escape.
I used to write too, of course, making my own worlds. I don’t want to look back at what stories I managed to print off before 3.5” floppy disks went out of fashion, but they helped set a foundation for word-wrangling. Including this post, right now.
When I found someone to chat to about shared books, it was a miracle. That just didn’t happen in the communities I grew up in. Librarians encouraged me, but ‘niche’ genres like fantasy and horror were Weird and Not for Girls. Sigh.
I’ve always loved stories of magic crossing over to the real world. Of what was mundane becoming more, of potentiality – and again, of escape. A tiny scratch could reveal something more behind the curtain of the everyday.
This held true as I grew older. The train commute to work and back kept me sane. A tiny bit of time before my timeclock started, or a snatched lunch-hour. So many authors kept me company, and the words were like a song in my heart, a melody in my mind.
When my spiritual practice began to blossom, that magical reality did too. I saw behind that curtain of ‘normality’, and still refuse to take for granted the beauty of nature, life, connection and inspiration. It tickles me when I point out to others that yes, weather is understood by science, but a rainbow will never cease to be a wonder.
These days, books are raising their heads again (not that they ever really stopped). I’ve set up a review blog, am using social media to connect with authors and publishers, and more determinedly making space to share the goodness of storytelling.
Because with the world the way it currently it, books are a refuge, yes, but also a powerful act of rebellion.
It’s Pride Month. But rainbow writers of all levels of queerness are raising their voices all year round – as are writers of colour, Latinas, Asian, Oriental… so many stories that the previously white male publishers wouldn’t touch. Because there was apparently no market for them.
I cry b*llsh*t and jump into those semi-forbidden, sidelines pages with both feet (eyes?). Marvellous stories that read like nothing else. I just finished a magical African tale which made me realize all fiction set in that world that I knew was written by old white guys. Not an award-winning Nigerian lady. ‘A Dance with the Dead’ by Nuzo Onoh, if you want to look it up (as the site won’t let me link to it for some reason).
I’ve always wanted to shout about good stories, as anyone who’s visited my house knows (you will leave with a book in your hands!). I’m upping the game a bit now, while also subtly planting seeds of subversion. Satire is crucial right now. Questioning, inspiring curiosity, hope and action.
So this is where my book blog will be: https://catsbooks.substack.com/?utm_source=substack&utm_medium=web&utm_campaign=substack_profile
Come join me, or follow me on any social media to join in. I’m most able to share book news on Twitter, but am dipping my toe into Tiktok and Instagram too. Wherever works.
I’m also hoping my own inspiration rises for fiction again. It’s been too long since I visited my own tales.
Thanks for reading.
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