A cosy reading list

20 books to read during (unofficial title) Brambly Hedge season

Friends, we have embarked upon what I mentally refer to as Brambly Hedge season.

I don’t know why I think of it thus, as Jill Barklem’s books range - to glorious effect - across the seasons, but I always think of her autumn and winter books: hedgerows heavy with rosehips and blackberries; a dresser groaning with jars and provisions; mice warming their paws in front of a blazing fire; beds piled high with patchwork quilts.

And with it, we enter PRS - Peak Reading Season. Yes, statistics show that summer holidays are the time when we (as in people generally, not us bookish types) are most likely to pick up a book. And whilst holidays are certainly a key time for uninterrupted reading - there is something about a falling temperature, lengthening shadows and a blazing fire that makes for the perfect excuse not to go out but stay in and read.

Let’s face it, when you grow up and choose to live on a small, very damp island where the weather is best described as capricious, there is a choice to be made. You can ignore the weather and carrying on regardless (the ‘there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes’ camp); escaping; or soldier on and submit, making the most of the sun when it shines and the rain when it falls. By, err, staying inside.

Old timers (*waves enthusiastically*) to Book(ish) may recall that my children refer to me - affectionately, I think/hope - as Old Lady Weather, thanks largely to my preoccupation with the forecast. ‘What’s the weather today?’ is an oft-repeated refrain in my house and BBC weather one of my most-cherished apps. I have also been known to shush the family when the weather is read aloud on the radio. This is a very English quality. I cannot imagine that the locals in Greece or Spain check the forecast with quite the same assiduousness. “Wall-to-wall sunshine again, eh?”

As a result of these years of weather indoctrination, I like to think I am very good at the art of cosy. I like fires and blankets and jumpers. Proper pubs. Candlelight. Buttered crumpets. Proper socks (I recently discovered these which are like a very stylish hug for your feet). I write this curled up on a squishy sofa in my pyjamas with a hot water bottle - which is doubtless an ergonomic nightmare, but very nice indeed for a change on a blustery Sunday evening.

I’m also good on cheering, cosy books (it is probably the genesis of my preoccupation with Golden Age crime). I don’t want despair or trauma or to lose myself in the darkness. Last week, I wrote about Small Bomb at Dimperley which should immediately enter your canon of autumnal literature. And I am reading a proof of The Eights which will be the perfect book for this time of year once it is out in the world. Until then, here are some of my favourite buttered crumpets in book form..

Happy All The Time - Laurie Colwin

I lent my copy of this to someone who has not returned it and I can’t recall who and it is irking me as I really do want to re-read it. It is one of the wisest, cleverest romantic comedies - think Austen-esque comedy of manners set in 1970s Manhattan. Well-to-do young men Guido and Vincent are childhood best friends. Guido falls for Holly - very precise, very exact, with the need to withdraw from life occasionally (to Paris, for instance. Holly is my kind of woman). Vincent for the acerbically misanthropic Misty who likens herself to Attila the Hun. With cheerful persistence, the women are won. It reminds me of of one of my all-time favourite writers, the peerless Katherine Heiny - who wrote the introduction to my missing copy. (I’m over it. I’m totally over it…)

Darling - India Knight

Aha! You thought I was going to recommend The Pursuit of Love, didn’t you? Well, try India’s charming reimagining of Mitford’s classic. Yes, yes, I baulked at the idea, initially - but it’s a sparkling delight, full of affection, humour, joy, heartbreak - all the feelings.

Beautiful Linda is marooned on a Norfolk estate, with her irascible former rock star father (who reminds me of a Nicky Haslam tea towel with his extensive dislikes - or non-u’s in Mitford parlance), bohemian mother and gaggle of siblings. It all sounds rather gorgeous - sofas are squashy, beloved animals tumble, children roam free - and her father and mother’s love for each other “permeates the house like the smell of a pie baking”. But Linda longs for adventure, love and freedom - for life to begin. She finds a magnificent mentor, Merlin (here an outré fashion designer), and proceeds to falls in love - disastrously - with a nouveau riche city type and then an old Etonian anti-capitalist narcissist, before escaping to France and meeting her one true love. It’s delicious stuff, with rather more warmth than the original.

Brother of the More Famous Jack - Barbara Trapido

I feel Barbara Trapido isn’t sufficiently widely-read these days. She’s so warm and funny and wise, but also writes with such clean precision. Her narratives whip along at pace and there’s more pragmatism than angsty navel gazing. (Maybe therein lies the answer to my pondering about her being insufficiently read and raved about?) This, her debut, is gorgeous stuff.

There’s plenty more where these came from - and not just with this post. Get yourself set up for the autumn (and winter) with a paid subscription - a snip at £5 a month. I was in London last week and I bought a coffee from one of those ultra-hip coffee bars frequented by very cool young folk (beards, perfect skin, hats, short socks pulled up) which cost more. How is this even possible? It was a normal coffee. No fancy milk. Just standard semi-skimmed. I can only hope this proves better value for money. Paid subscribers make it possible for me to dedicate time to writing Book(ish) - so THANK YOU.