Getting over the Drina

 The Bridge over the Drina is an excellent book but what to call it is another matter. It's hardly a novel, being too episodic and the problem with historical fiction is differentiating between the history and the fiction. It is, of course, writing and that's all that matters.

The bridge itself might be many things. It endures, more than anything, a constant thing amid the coming and going of empires, rulers, conflict and the stories of individuals that gamble themselves away or jump off it. As such, maybe it is a stone symbol of something more stable and reliable than transient humanity but I'm sure the interpretation of the meaning of the bridge is a Ph. D. that's been done a few times.

First impressions of Ronald Firbank didn't do much to sell him to me so, with Banana Yoshimoto due any time I'll wait for her.

Looking forward to the Autumn season, mine is likely to be dominated by concerts in Chichester, Portsmouth and maybe Havant, Petersfield and Gosport which will be a most welcome return to that enjoyable routine.

Poetry might not be what it was but there is still Sean O'Brien whose Embark is due in November. Before that, though, Ian McEwan has Lessons,

Lessons is an intimate yet universal story of love, regret and a restless search for answers.
Roland's wife mysteriously vanishes, it says, which is a shame because a wife that mysteriously vanishes is what the novel I've tentatively made a new start on is all about. It shouldn't be a problem, though, because McEwan is likely to be excellent and mine will do well to get written beyond chapter 1, never mind get read, and so there should be no conflict of interest.

Meanwhile, as ever, poetry isn't over til it's over, as above.