i write about spring again and what springs forth from fiction

I was off last week busy pressing up against deadlines elsewhere,,, but I’m happy to say that during my little Substack sabbatical the feeling floating round town has been transformed, not to jinx it, into one of true spring. The sun has been somewhat consistent and the temperatures are rising alongside the heads of crocuses, poking out like colourful goose barnacles everywhere I look. I found, after a rather long search, a method to retrieve my favourite perfume, Night Flyer by Olympic Orchids, from over the pond in America. I’d run out early last summer, and being bathed in this scent makes these past few days feel like a continuation of the last times it was worn, making them feel far more like yesterday than yesteryear. I love spring.

I recently asked my Instagram followers for book recommendations after reading the fantastic The Ice Palace by Tarjei Vesaas. One of said recs was Septology by Jon Fosse, another Norwegian author, and sensing a kinship with the spirit of Norway I thought I’d give it a go. I’m about halfway through now and I can safely say it’s fantastic and a must read, if the Nobel Prize for Literature that Fosse was awarded isn’t enough to convince you… I have many friends who do not read fiction, and when asked what I really get out of it in a succinct manner I always say in jest that reading a great novel can be “like going to the empathy gym.” I gain so much joy and perspective from inhabiting others’ skin, others’ stories, and that previous statement feels more apt than ever reading this.

Fosse has us inhabiting the mind and thoughts of an elderly painter as he goes through his daily tasks and brief conversations, but plot isn’t of much importance here. I’ve never seen the way thoughts flow so elegantly put into text. Through repetition and circular language, he translates the musicality and looseness of our inner dialogue to incredible effect.
One of the things that sticks out to me is how he lays bare the act of empathy itself – his character is constantly putting himself in other people's shoes, attempting to make their thoughts his own – and how that constant doubling is key to forming the self too.
It’s beautiful, and feels so true to life. There’s one passage in particular, in which our protagonist really meditates upon the inner life of Joseph during the birth of Christ, that made everything inside me swell and move. As you can imagine, the story of the manger is rather familiar to me, but this brought it all into a new, vivid, human light. Thinking of Joseph’s youth, the stress of potential parenthood at such a young age, and the overwhelming love and trust to decide to be the father to a child not your own. I could imagine myself within him in a way that feels so personal, in the way that many of those Biblical tales can feel distant. I could imagine myself as Asle, the painter at the center of the novel, imagining himself as Joseph. It feels like I could be anyone, in the best way.

So you should really read this.

I’ve also been delving into the world of Bill Fay, who passed away last week. I was completely unaware of his music until then, and it always feels bittersweet to discover someone’s work in that context, but I imagine myself passing and think, ultimately, that is what I’d want to happen, to keep being found in that way. It’s wonderful and scratches a lot of my particular itches. I often find myself drawn to music that fits under the wide umbrella of “late style” which is hard to describe but easy to feel imo. It comes with a sort of bird’s eye view of things, that from a younger artist may come across as trite or precocious, but sung with the weight of experience is the best thing ever. I’m gonna sign off here today with this song, which fits that bill perfectly.

xx