This was not the blog post I intended to write this week (and it’s a little later than planned) but a visit to my parents had an unexpected outcome. My mum told me she had some books for me, this happens quite often; books she has read and thinks I will enjoy and lends me. Or more often these days, books she has decided she won’t read again. She has been doing this for over ten years, mostly because she still buys books and is picky about which get to stay. Last time I saw her, only two or three weeks ago she gave me Tom Bombadil and also Diana Wynne Jones’ Hexwood which I pointed out was actually my copy that she had refused to return as she enjoyed it so much. However I was not expecting her to give me these books:
They have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I can picture them on a shelf in the living room, although mostly I recall them on a shelf by her bed, where all her most treasured books or comfort reads were. Her excitement when she unwrapped Dunnett’s King Hereafter for a Christmas present in 1982 is also clear in my memory, even though she knew exactly what was in the parcel.
I must have taken these books down and looked at them many times; I remember that terrifying leopard so well and being annoyed that Checkmate’s glossy plastic cover did not match the beautiful matt paper of the others, and that its art work was far less imaginative and evocative (great, I was an aesthetic book snob before the age of ten) I also remember being bothered that there were only six books with their chess related titles – where was a bishop or rook one? They were among the only books in the house that I wasn’t encouraged to read, mum treasured them so much and said they were very densely written, and complex – those are compliments – and that they weren’t something to be read too soon. (I made that mistake with the Lord of the Rings, rushing onto it after the Hobbit and finding it very slow going and hiding my copy of Five go to Smuggler’s Top inside it so that mum wouldn’t know I wasn’t enjoying one of her favourite books – I’m not sure if this means I was reading Tolkien too soon, or Enid Blyton too late.)
It was a very odd moment when I was offered these books. Mum said that at nearly eighty she isn’t going to read them again. I haven’t felt such a pang when she’s said similar things about other books and she has been frank and wonderfully sensible about aging, knowing her limitations, not fighting it but adapting with grace and practicality. I just can’t imagine ever giving away my most treasured books like this (and she is of course still holding onto a lot and ordering books every week through the local library so she’s hardly giving up) I just associate these with her so strongly. They take me straight back to my early teens when my dad worked away from home mid-week and my sister and I took it in turns to be allowed to sleep in their double bed with mum; lying there in the morning looking at these magical books with their matt covers, gothic lettering and tantalising illustrations was like peeking into a treasure chest of jewels.
And now they are mine.
I just need a quiet few years to read them in….
I hadn’t realised how much fun I would have with a dictionary when I started this blog, nor just how atrocious my taste for puns and word play would be. This blog title is borrowed from BBC Radio Four’s Inheritance Tracks where a known public figure talks about one piece of music that they “inherited” or grew up with, and then nominates another piece to pass on. I frequently find the stories they tell about why the music means so much to them far more emotive than the music.
I was sure that tract referred to a written piece of work, as well as to an area of land – anyone who loves Monty Python will never be able to forget the allure of a Princess with “huge tracts of land” in the Holy Grail. I had also forgotten until I checked my dictionary that a tract can be a passage in the body – I love my mum but have no wish to inherit her digestive tract. The writerly tract is “a short treatise or discourse, especially on a religious subject” and I feel that at times my reverential approach to books is bordering on worship. I must also remember to look up the definition of short as well one of these days…
Among other hand-me-down books are my mum’s copies of Winnie the Pooh. Published just after the war they are flimsy and battered but so loved, I have a hardback complete collection that I have been reading to my daughters and while the illustrations are fabulous in this large format, it’s a bugger of a book to read in bed. I have our original copies of the Narnia books – although we had to replace the Horse and His Boy before I was ten years old as I wore it out. Again, I am reading hardback copies to my girls, easier on my eyes and with quite frighteningly atmospheric covers, but I am more attached to the very loved and battered covers on the 1970s versions.
And then there is mum’s Mrs Beeton. Anyone who visited my flat and was at all interested in the books on my shelves always commented on this one. Partly as it was at eye level but also because there aren’t many books almost as wide they are tall, they also loved the fact that it was called a new edition whilst being the oldest book in the house. I have never cooked anything from it, but again, it was a part of my mum’s bookshelves and something that defined “home” for me for years.
These then are just some of the books I have physically inherited, there are others I have bought myself and would never have tried if mum, and occasionally dad (he’s only become more of a fiction reader after he retired) hadn’t recommended them and thus I think of them as inherited books. I hope at least one of my daughters loves reading as much as I do and I wonder if I will be able to pass on my mothers’ books to them; which I will allow out of the house in dribs and drabs, and which, to use a slightly morbid phrase, they will have to prise from my cold dead hand? I have a feeling these Dunnetts may be here a long time, alongside Diana Norman, John le Carré, Mary Renault and Raymond Chandler…but it will probably be quicker to list the books I don’t treasure. I’ve only been pondering this topic a few days so maybe I shall write another post if I am able to narrow my selection to one book I have inherited, and another to pass on to future generations. Do let me know any of your inheritance tracts.