The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold
Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air
A look through the book bestseller lists in the newspaper is always interesting. I’m sure there’s more rigorous and academic research done in these matters, but as an anecdotal view, it seems our reading habits may in part be a reflection of the times in which we live, the circles in which we move. As expected in these current times, non-fiction books featuring geopolitics and finance are both well represented, but there’s also something else which is quite striking when comparing the national bestseller lists (which include the big retailers and supermarkets) with those lists compiled by independent bookshops like ours. It’s the number of titles associated with nature and books for enriching the soul. When it comes to fiction, the field is much wider – for variety and creativity in storytelling, our shelves are bursting: a cornucopia of delights. If books provide empathy and discovery, then there’s plenty of it on display in independent bookshops.
‘The Triumph of Life’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley (Extract)
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task
Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth
Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask
Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth.
The smokeless altars of the mountain snows
Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth
Of light, the Ocean’s orison arose
To which the birds tempered their matin lay,
All flowers in field or forest which unclose
Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day,
Swinging their censers in the element,
With orient incense lit by the new ray
Burned slow & inconsumably, & sent
Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air,
And in succession due, did Continent,
Isle, Ocean, & all things that in them wear
The form & character of mortal mould
Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear
Their portion of the toil which he of old
Took as his own & then imposed on them;
But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold
Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem
The cone of night, now they were laid asleep,
Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem
Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep
Of a green Apennine: before me fled
The night; behind me rose the day; the Deep
Was at my feet, & Heaven above my head
When a strange trance over my fancy grew
Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread
Was so transparent that the scene came through
As clear as when a veil of light is drawn
O’er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew
That I had felt the freshness of that dawn,
Bathed in the same cold dew my brow & hair
And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn
Under the self same bough, & heard as there
The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold
Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air.
And then a Vision on my brain was rolled.
The variety of fiction popping up on the shelves this week means there’s something for everyone: a historical tearjerker set over just a few days, scandalous spy thrillers, and Some Body Like Me is more coming-of-human than coming-of-age. In non-fiction, Jack Ashby lifts the lid on the secrets of the museum; Tim Wigmore details the history of test cricket; and The Postal Paths is a delightful social history of our postal workers. For little ones, Basil Dreams Big is a sweet picture book to help youngsters develop their self-confidence.
As always, if there’s anything you need, just pop by or reply to this email!
From Sophie
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