by Malcolm Redfellow
Guilt is a marvellous thing.
Despite what is said, in Malcolm’s case it owes more to Wells Sea Scouts than to any Catholic tendency.
He began this reading log mainly as an memo to self. Then the act of reading took over, and the recording of it fell off.
So here is what’s been going on, in part:
Some of those have been previously acknowledged. Others are repeat-visits.
Not that in there are several “heavies”, stuff which can extend over days, even weeks. The Norman Davies takes some considerable (and enjoyable) time to digest. Ditto the Bew and the Preston. The Paxman, the Eye book and the Bedside Guardian are far lighter. A couple are no more than a scamper: that Edward Marston anthology (looking for more of the same), and Andrew Miller’s Pure (no point in debating it here: James Urquhart’s review for the Indy did it all).
But the greatest, the most time-consuming, the most delightful of all these is Shandy and thereby hangs a tale…