This is a book I have the utmost difficulty in returning to my local library. It’s tempting for it to mysteriously disappear, MIA, on my own bookshelves. *sigh* I guess I’m just going to have to find a copy somewhere to buy…
It’s a collection of Michael Morpurgo’s short stories, many of which I had read before. However the prose interspersions which reflect on the writer’s craft, inspiration and life are, for me, even better. The ‘stories about the stories’ are enriching, enhancing and thoroughly enchanting.
I remember hearing Morpurgo speak at a conference several years ago where he said that, although it sounds pathetic, until he got the right name for his character, he could hardly write a thing. Although I’d liked his work before that, the fellow feeling of needing to find a character’s ‘right’ name was such that I started to seek his books out.
Again, as I read this collection and he wrote about his inspiration, I was delighted by the serendipitous discovery of similar authorial fellow feelings. A significant number of them were all wrapped up in a single bundle: …muddled through, still burdened by that same deep sense of inadequacy whenever I opened a book or tried to write an essay. But then in my third year at King's College London, I happened to read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and LOVED it. I was riveted by the pace of the story, the richness of the language, and for the first time in a very long while found myself inside a work of poetry or fiction. Suddenly I wasn't an outsider. I was Gawain, just as I had been Jim Hawkins. I heard the music in the words again, was a child again, was a reader again..
Ahhh, that he loves Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a firm, firm favourite of mine.
Ahhhhhh, that he’s not afraid of naïve identification with a character.
Ahhhhhhhhhh, that he likes to read from inside a story, not be an observer of it.
That single paragraph was such a joy. Yes, indeed, ‘we are what we read.’