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A Writer's House in Wales
Through an exploration of her country home in Wales, acclaimed travel writer Jan Morris discovers the heart of her fascinating country and what it means to be Welsh. Trefan Morys, Morris's home between the sea and mountains of the remote northwest corner of Wales, is the 18th-century stable block of her former family house nearby. Surrounding it are the fields and outbuildings, the mud, sheep, and cattle of a working Welsh farm.
She regards this modest building not only as a reflection of herself and her life, but also as epitomizing the small and complex country of Wales, which has defied the world for centuries to preserve its own identity. Morris brilliantly meditates on the beams and stone walls of the house, its jumbled contents, its sounds and smells, its memories and inhabitants, and finally discovers the profoundest meanings of Welshness.
She regards this modest building not only as a reflection of herself and her life, but also as epitomizing the small and complex country of Wales, which has defied the world for centuries to preserve its own identity. Morris brilliantly meditates on the beams and stone walls of the house, its jumbled contents, its sounds and smells, its memories and inhabitants, and finally discovers the profoundest meanings of Welshness.
143 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2002
29 people are currently reading
881 people want to read
About the author
Jan Morris
165 books481 followersJan Morris was a British historian, author and travel writer. Morris was educated at Lancing College, West Sussex, and Christ Church, Oxford, but is Welsh by heritage and adoption. Before 1970 Morris published under her assigned birth name, "James ", and is known particularly for the Pax Britannica trilogy, a history of the British Empire, and for portraits of cities, notably Oxford, Venice, Trieste, Hong Kong, and New York City, and also wrote about Wales, Spanish history, and culture.
In 1949 Jan Morris married Elizabeth Tuckniss, the daughter of a tea planter. Morris and Tuckniss had five children together, including the poet and musician Twm Morys. One of their children died in infancy. As Morris documented in her memoir Conundrum, she began taking oestrogens to feminise her body in 1964. In 1972, she had sex reassignment surgery in Morocco. Sex reassignment surgeon Georges Burou did the surgery, since doctors in Britain refused to allow the procedure unless Morris and Tuckniss divorced, something Morris was not prepared to do at the time. They divorced later, but remained together and later got a civil union. On May, 14th, 2008, Morris and Tuckniss remarried each other. Morris lived mostly in Wales, where her parents were from.
In 1949 Jan Morris married Elizabeth Tuckniss, the daughter of a tea planter. Morris and Tuckniss had five children together, including the poet and musician Twm Morys. One of their children died in infancy. As Morris documented in her memoir Conundrum, she began taking oestrogens to feminise her body in 1964. In 1972, she had sex reassignment surgery in Morocco. Sex reassignment surgeon Georges Burou did the surgery, since doctors in Britain refused to allow the procedure unless Morris and Tuckniss divorced, something Morris was not prepared to do at the time. They divorced later, but remained together and later got a civil union. On May, 14th, 2008, Morris and Tuckniss remarried each other. Morris lived mostly in Wales, where her parents were from.
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November 21, 2020This old fashioned-looking book about a very old fashioned house made its way to me via the marvels of modernity. Inspired by a friend's review of another Jan Morris book, I selected this title on a whim, clicked on my nearest online store, and, in scarcely the time it takes to say, whim-wham flim-flam twaddle, knick-knack bric-a-brac whatnot, the book had arrived at my door.
I left it lying around for a while, content just to admire the lovely deckle edging of the luxuriously thick pages and the oddly sensual cover image of two leeks intertwining accross a Mercator projection of the globe. But even as I was reading another book (flim-flam at its most twaddlesome), part of my mind had already engaged with A Writer's House in Wales. I had begun to imagine I was in Jan Morris's writing room, watching her writing this book at a solid oak desk surrounded by row upon row of bookshelves. I'd even imagined following her as she opened the door of the writing room and made her way to the kitchen to offer me, her future reader, a welcoming drink.
The future reader became the present reader a couple of days ago, and I read through the opening chapter where Jan Morris gives a short history of Wales and its influence across the globe, as well as some background information about the ancient estate in which her old house is located.
In the second chapter she gradually took me closer, up the laneway, through the gates, into the stone-walled yard, and finally, we had reached the door of her house. Of course I was immediately invited in to meet her soul mate, Elizabeth—and yes, I was offered that drink I'd imagined receiving!
Jan Morris's conversation is so entertaining, and holds echoes of some of my favourite books such as Tristram Shandy, Gentleman and The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll, that I scarcely noticed that more than half the book had gone by and I'd got no further than the kitchen. Although the kitchen is very interesting, it has to be said, full as it is with knick-knacks which offer Jan opportunities to tell many a story and make many a point about Wales and Welshness.
She eventually became aware that we'd spent a long time in the kitchen so she invited me to follow her into the 'work' wing of the house where she has her very extensive library on two levels, the upper one being where she writes. I'd reached her writing room at last even if the journey had been in the opposite direction to how I'd imagined it.
Again, the space is full of bric-a-brac, all containing their own history related to the various places in the world Jan has visited and written about. I especially loved that she has drawers full of maps. I used to have a drawer full of maps of all the places I'd been and the road trips I'd taken but I let them go in the most recent house move. Jan Morris hasn't had to worry about offloading possessions even though she has travelled a lot and lived elsewhere for long periods. The beautifully named Trefan Morys has been her permanent home for much of that time, and it shows. It is her illustrated autobiography.
And under the stairs, among the surplus of her whatnots, lies her gravestone, already engraved:
Here are two friends,
Jan &Elizabeth Morris,
At the end of one life.
I left it lying around for a while, content just to admire the lovely deckle edging of the luxuriously thick pages and the oddly sensual cover image of two leeks intertwining accross a Mercator projection of the globe. But even as I was reading another book (flim-flam at its most twaddlesome), part of my mind had already engaged with A Writer's House in Wales. I had begun to imagine I was in Jan Morris's writing room, watching her writing this book at a solid oak desk surrounded by row upon row of bookshelves. I'd even imagined following her as she opened the door of the writing room and made her way to the kitchen to offer me, her future reader, a welcoming drink.
The future reader became the present reader a couple of days ago, and I read through the opening chapter where Jan Morris gives a short history of Wales and its influence across the globe, as well as some background information about the ancient estate in which her old house is located.
In the second chapter she gradually took me closer, up the laneway, through the gates, into the stone-walled yard, and finally, we had reached the door of her house. Of course I was immediately invited in to meet her soul mate, Elizabeth—and yes, I was offered that drink I'd imagined receiving!
Jan Morris's conversation is so entertaining, and holds echoes of some of my favourite books such as Tristram Shandy, Gentleman and The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll, that I scarcely noticed that more than half the book had gone by and I'd got no further than the kitchen. Although the kitchen is very interesting, it has to be said, full as it is with knick-knacks which offer Jan opportunities to tell many a story and make many a point about Wales and Welshness.
She eventually became aware that we'd spent a long time in the kitchen so she invited me to follow her into the 'work' wing of the house where she has her very extensive library on two levels, the upper one being where she writes. I'd reached her writing room at last even if the journey had been in the opposite direction to how I'd imagined it.
Again, the space is full of bric-a-brac, all containing their own history related to the various places in the world Jan has visited and written about. I especially loved that she has drawers full of maps. I used to have a drawer full of maps of all the places I'd been and the road trips I'd taken but I let them go in the most recent house move. Jan Morris hasn't had to worry about offloading possessions even though she has travelled a lot and lived elsewhere for long periods. The beautifully named Trefan Morys has been her permanent home for much of that time, and it shows. It is her illustrated autobiography.
And under the stairs, among the surplus of her whatnots, lies her gravestone, already engraved:
Here are two friends,
Jan &Elizabeth Morris,
At the end of one life.
February 2, 2019
”At first sight, I’m sure you will agree, it is nothing much to look at. There are lots of such buildings in our part of Wales--solid old stone-built farm buildings, apparently timeless, built of big rough boulders and roofed with slate from the mountain quarries. Many of them are crumbled now, but many more will shelter cattle, and some have been converted like mine into dwelling places. Whatever their condition, they are impregnated with Welshness. Their very stoniness, their modest strength, their moss grown stones and wooden doors---their texture, substance and style are all organic to this particular corner of Europe.”
National Geographic Directions commissioned a series of books written by leading authors about places that are near and dear to them. They include authors such as Oliver Sacks, Jamaica Kincaid, Robert Hughes, William Kittredge, David Mamet, Francine Prose, Peter Carey, Barry Unsworth, and Geoffrey Wolff to name a few. I happened to spy a few of these books on sale in one of my favorite catalogs Daedalus Books (If you don’t get their catalogs you should sign up right now.) a few years ago and bought this one by Jan Morris and the one on Nova Scotia by Howard Norman. When they arrived I made room for them on my travel shelves and promptly forgot about them.
By happy coincidence I was rummaging around my shelves just the other day and A Writer’s House in Wales dropped into my lap. I don’t ignore fateful things like that so I leaned my back against the bookshelf and started to read. I zipped through pages until Jan started talking about wine.
”I boast of having drunk a glass of wine every day since the Second World War, but young and simple wines are the ones I most enjoy, fresh from the vineyards, with none of your vaunted bouquets of leather or of pomegranate--wines, as Evelyn Waugh once wrote of Cretan vintages, ‘lowly esteemed by connoisseurs.’”
After reading that line I was compelled to search out a bottle of wine. Luckily I had such a low brow vintage in my wine cellar (that would be the refrigerator in the garage).
We can continue now.
Jan told me about her ancestors and it was as if I were sitting there in Trefan Morys with wine in hand and a kettle on for tea. She inherited a grand estate in Wales, but the house was too big for her and her significant other so they sold the main house and kept the outbuildings. She converted the stable into a home.
She had me looking through my shelves for a copy of Tristram Shandy.
”My English uncle had gone to battle like a Rupert Brooke, and wrote proudly of it to his father--exalted by the honor of the challenge, head high, with a copy of Tristram Shandy in his jacket pocket when the fatal blow struck him.”
I found A Sentimental Journey, but no Tristram Shandy. Bloody hell!
Speaking of books Jan Morris has over 8,000 books in her house. They did swipe all the bookshelves from the main house before they sold it. Most people don’t have enough nicknacks for that many shelves anyway. She tried to convince me she wasn’t a collector because she doesn’t care about first editions, but as she took me through her library she kept showing me all these books with signatures, association copies between writers and key public figures, so I remain unconvinced that she isn’t a book collector. There was one Welsh citizen that had 47,000 volumes in his house when he died. Collectors have to always have a story like that to show that there are people crazier than we are.
She gave me thumb nail sketches of the history of Wales. She talked of long dead kings and slumbering heroes. The last king of Wales was killed in 1282 by Edward I of England. The Welsh refer to him as Llywelyn Ein Llyw Olaf...Llywelyn Our Last Leader.
But we were talking about a house.
16 In the Valley of the Elwy
I remember a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
I wanted to share that poem with everyone so that the next quote from Jan makes more sense.
”Anyway Hopkins’s cordial smell of the woodsmoke certainly permeates our kitchen, if only because the timbers of its roof have been breathing it since before the American Revolution. The substances of this house are profoundly organic. Most of the timbers that sustain it come from the Trefan woodlands, down to the river, and they are numbered still for the benefit of the haulers who dragged them up here with their team of horses. A few, straighter and stouter than the rest, came from ships’ timbers--ships wrecked, I dare say, on the seacoast a mile or two away.”
She brings up her transsexual experience when she slipped out from behind the mask of James and blossomed into Jan as a way to explain the character of her Welsh neighbors.
”When thirty years ago, I did the unimaginable and went through what is vulgarly known as a change of sex, the Wils, The Mr. Owens, the Blodwens, the mailman and the family up the lane took it all easily in their stride, and from that day to this have kindly pretended that nothing ever happened.”
She talks of schooners specially built to haul slate to all parts of the world from the quarries of Wales. Of men who had never left the village that now were asked to see oceans and ports all over the world. A Norwegian SkogKatt makes an appearance from the back gardens with proof of his hunting ability grasped in his teeth. There is Mozart and timbers and wine and boulders and books and snug comfort in a stable in Wales.
So spend a day with Jan Morris...oh and don’t forget to sign her visitor’s book before you leave. One name per page. When you return, if you are lucky enough to return, she will have sketched and written things around your name so she will always remember the day she spent with you.
Link to National Geographic Directions http://www.longitudebooks.com/find/d/...
National Geographic Directions commissioned a series of books written by leading authors about places that are near and dear to them. They include authors such as Oliver Sacks, Jamaica Kincaid, Robert Hughes, William Kittredge, David Mamet, Francine Prose, Peter Carey, Barry Unsworth, and Geoffrey Wolff to name a few. I happened to spy a few of these books on sale in one of my favorite catalogs Daedalus Books (If you don’t get their catalogs you should sign up right now.) a few years ago and bought this one by Jan Morris and the one on Nova Scotia by Howard Norman. When they arrived I made room for them on my travel shelves and promptly forgot about them.
By happy coincidence I was rummaging around my shelves just the other day and A Writer’s House in Wales dropped into my lap. I don’t ignore fateful things like that so I leaned my back against the bookshelf and started to read. I zipped through pages until Jan started talking about wine.
”I boast of having drunk a glass of wine every day since the Second World War, but young and simple wines are the ones I most enjoy, fresh from the vineyards, with none of your vaunted bouquets of leather or of pomegranate--wines, as Evelyn Waugh once wrote of Cretan vintages, ‘lowly esteemed by connoisseurs.’”
After reading that line I was compelled to search out a bottle of wine. Luckily I had such a low brow vintage in my wine cellar (that would be the refrigerator in the garage).
We can continue now.
Jan told me about her ancestors and it was as if I were sitting there in Trefan Morys with wine in hand and a kettle on for tea. She inherited a grand estate in Wales, but the house was too big for her and her significant other so they sold the main house and kept the outbuildings. She converted the stable into a home.
She had me looking through my shelves for a copy of Tristram Shandy.
”My English uncle had gone to battle like a Rupert Brooke, and wrote proudly of it to his father--exalted by the honor of the challenge, head high, with a copy of Tristram Shandy in his jacket pocket when the fatal blow struck him.”
I found A Sentimental Journey, but no Tristram Shandy. Bloody hell!
Speaking of books Jan Morris has over 8,000 books in her house. They did swipe all the bookshelves from the main house before they sold it. Most people don’t have enough nicknacks for that many shelves anyway. She tried to convince me she wasn’t a collector because she doesn’t care about first editions, but as she took me through her library she kept showing me all these books with signatures, association copies between writers and key public figures, so I remain unconvinced that she isn’t a book collector. There was one Welsh citizen that had 47,000 volumes in his house when he died. Collectors have to always have a story like that to show that there are people crazier than we are.
She gave me thumb nail sketches of the history of Wales. She talked of long dead kings and slumbering heroes. The last king of Wales was killed in 1282 by Edward I of England. The Welsh refer to him as Llywelyn Ein Llyw Olaf...Llywelyn Our Last Leader.
But we were talking about a house.
16 In the Valley of the Elwy
I remember a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
I wanted to share that poem with everyone so that the next quote from Jan makes more sense.
”Anyway Hopkins’s cordial smell of the woodsmoke certainly permeates our kitchen, if only because the timbers of its roof have been breathing it since before the American Revolution. The substances of this house are profoundly organic. Most of the timbers that sustain it come from the Trefan woodlands, down to the river, and they are numbered still for the benefit of the haulers who dragged them up here with their team of horses. A few, straighter and stouter than the rest, came from ships’ timbers--ships wrecked, I dare say, on the seacoast a mile or two away.”
She brings up her transsexual experience when she slipped out from behind the mask of James and blossomed into Jan as a way to explain the character of her Welsh neighbors.
”When thirty years ago, I did the unimaginable and went through what is vulgarly known as a change of sex, the Wils, The Mr. Owens, the Blodwens, the mailman and the family up the lane took it all easily in their stride, and from that day to this have kindly pretended that nothing ever happened.”
She talks of schooners specially built to haul slate to all parts of the world from the quarries of Wales. Of men who had never left the village that now were asked to see oceans and ports all over the world. A Norwegian SkogKatt makes an appearance from the back gardens with proof of his hunting ability grasped in his teeth. There is Mozart and timbers and wine and boulders and books and snug comfort in a stable in Wales.
So spend a day with Jan Morris...oh and don’t forget to sign her visitor’s book before you leave. One name per page. When you return, if you are lucky enough to return, she will have sketched and written things around your name so she will always remember the day she spent with you.
Link to National Geographic Directions http://www.longitudebooks.com/find/d/...
October 31, 2021
This was OK… It was short, 143 pages. It consisted of four chapters concerning Wales — a brief history of the country, and a history of the house the author lived in, and some of the things in the house —including her 7000-8000 book collection. I enjoyed the part of the book the most where she described some of the books she had collected/accumulated over the years. She had a bookcase devoted to all of the books she had written too.
For some reason, she used a lot of words I have seen over and over again and for some reason I can never remember exactly what they mean. I think in part because I infrequently see the words after I look up their meaning, so they stay in my short-term memory after I look them up, and then, poof!..they are gone and lost in the stratosphere. I think if I made it a point to every day for one week to continue to read the words’ definitions that I would remember the words.
Anyway, at the risk of showing off my naivete or stupidity or vacuousness here are the words I cannot put into my long-term memory. See how many you can instantly define and you have my compliments…🤨 🧐
• prolix
• apotheosis
• palimpsest
• limn
• ersatz
• sacerdotal
• memento mori
• gallimaufry
• majordomo
• steward
Reviews:
• A review by Penelope Lively… https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-en...
• https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-...
• https://www.bookreporter.com/reviews/...
For some reason, she used a lot of words I have seen over and over again and for some reason I can never remember exactly what they mean. I think in part because I infrequently see the words after I look up their meaning, so they stay in my short-term memory after I look them up, and then, poof!..they are gone and lost in the stratosphere. I think if I made it a point to every day for one week to continue to read the words’ definitions that I would remember the words.
Anyway, at the risk of showing off my naivete or stupidity or vacuousness here are the words I cannot put into my long-term memory. See how many you can instantly define and you have my compliments…🤨 🧐
• prolix
• apotheosis
• palimpsest
• limn
• ersatz
• sacerdotal
• memento mori
• gallimaufry
• majordomo
• steward
Reviews:
• A review by Penelope Lively… https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-en...
• https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-...
• https://www.bookreporter.com/reviews/...
January 17, 2019
There are no pictures in this book by Jan Morris about her house in Wales. And none are needed. She is a writer after all, and one I am quite taken with. I see very clearly the trees and the vegetable garden, the potholed lane. The books! I know which ones are upstairs and which ones are downstairs. I see all the curios collected and displayed from her long life of travel and inspection and wonder: the idle fancies of a writer between paragraphs. I can smell the woodsmoke and see also what the cat brought in. I hear, almost, the language that will not yield to dominance or time. The Welshness. And I see also what is not there yet, because the Welsh take their time. It will be there yet, a commissioned plaque, with words in two languages . . . about a house:
Between Earth the Subject and Heaven the Object
Stands the House of the Writer, Smiling,
as a Conjunction.
Between Earth the Subject and Heaven the Object
Stands the House of the Writer, Smiling,
as a Conjunction.
January 23, 2019
A light relaxing quick read about the author's home in a converted stable in Wales. It made me very curious about Jan Morris, as it's the first time I've read her work. I also learned about 50 new words, so thank goodness I was reading on my Kindle for easy look-up.
November 12, 2024
Jan Morris writes evocatively of her writer's house in Wales. I loved the descriptive writing. After mentioning the likes of Frank Lloyd Wright, well-known for his amazing architectural design, I have been fortunate enough to visit some examples, Jan writes:
"My house has certainly been architect-free, which is why a buttress of hefty boulders we added to one end of it, intended to stop the whole thing falling down, turned out to have misinterpreted the nature of stress, and to stand at the wrong side of the house."
I came away with the idea of a hodge podge of a building, at once endearing and full of character.
Regarding hospitality, Jan writes of her love of "welcoming people to Trefan Morys" stating, "Sometimes, if I hear strangers walking down the lane outside, I leap out upon them and drag them in for a glass of wine or a cup of tea."
Can you imagine being one of those unsuspecting travelers?! However, once nestled all comfy inside, I bet they enjoyed their experience, which I imagine included a tale or two. Then, when it's time to go, they can leave behind a little of themselves as they sign Jan's visitor's book.
A single signature adorns each page so Jan "could draw pictures all around it, or stick in relevant photographs, or generally grangerize it."
A gentle, comforting read, which I enjoyed very much.
"My house has certainly been architect-free, which is why a buttress of hefty boulders we added to one end of it, intended to stop the whole thing falling down, turned out to have misinterpreted the nature of stress, and to stand at the wrong side of the house."
I came away with the idea of a hodge podge of a building, at once endearing and full of character.
Regarding hospitality, Jan writes of her love of "welcoming people to Trefan Morys" stating, "Sometimes, if I hear strangers walking down the lane outside, I leap out upon them and drag them in for a glass of wine or a cup of tea."
Can you imagine being one of those unsuspecting travelers?! However, once nestled all comfy inside, I bet they enjoyed their experience, which I imagine included a tale or two. Then, when it's time to go, they can leave behind a little of themselves as they sign Jan's visitor's book.
A single signature adorns each page so Jan "could draw pictures all around it, or stick in relevant photographs, or generally grangerize it."
A gentle, comforting read, which I enjoyed very much.
November 23, 2021
This is the book I was looking for (and didn't find) when I read In My Mind's Eye: A Thought Diary.
I'm more interested in people and specific places than I am in history, countries, and nationalism. The first section of A Writer's House in Wales deals with the latter subjects and I couldn't get it over with quickly enough. The other three sections of the book - the meat of it for me, at least - deal with the outside of the house, the inside - the reader is treated as a guest who is invited for a cup of tea in the kitchen and hears stories about local folks - and. best of all, we're shown (there are no photographs, but Jan Morris' writing is descriptive and vivid enough that we see clearly what's there) Ms. Morris' workplace, with descriptions of artworks, model ships, souvenirs from years of travel and writing and, best of all, shelves and shelves of books. I wish that she had written an entire book on just her workplace.
When Jan Morris writes about her workplace, "knowing that here down the years, watched by that Chinese wicker goat on the table by the stairs, I have given my best to the writing of books", I was reminded of Ebenezer Le Page's fictional recounting of his china dogs:
"They are on my own mantelpiece at this moment. I like my two china dogs. When I write down anything wicked, one of them look very serious; but the other one, he wink."
I wonder if Ms. Morris' wicker goat sometimes winked.
At the end, we're taken outside once again and given a short tour of the grounds and hear about Ms. Morris' thoughts about possible the future of the house and property.
The best parts of this book comprised some of my favorite reading over the past year. I read a library copy, but I may order a copy to place on my own bookshelves.
I'm more interested in people and specific places than I am in history, countries, and nationalism. The first section of A Writer's House in Wales deals with the latter subjects and I couldn't get it over with quickly enough. The other three sections of the book - the meat of it for me, at least - deal with the outside of the house, the inside - the reader is treated as a guest who is invited for a cup of tea in the kitchen and hears stories about local folks - and. best of all, we're shown (there are no photographs, but Jan Morris' writing is descriptive and vivid enough that we see clearly what's there) Ms. Morris' workplace, with descriptions of artworks, model ships, souvenirs from years of travel and writing and, best of all, shelves and shelves of books. I wish that she had written an entire book on just her workplace.
When Jan Morris writes about her workplace, "knowing that here down the years, watched by that Chinese wicker goat on the table by the stairs, I have given my best to the writing of books", I was reminded of Ebenezer Le Page's fictional recounting of his china dogs:
"They are on my own mantelpiece at this moment. I like my two china dogs. When I write down anything wicked, one of them look very serious; but the other one, he wink."
I wonder if Ms. Morris' wicker goat sometimes winked.
At the end, we're taken outside once again and given a short tour of the grounds and hear about Ms. Morris' thoughts about possible the future of the house and property.
The best parts of this book comprised some of my favorite reading over the past year. I read a library copy, but I may order a copy to place on my own bookshelves.
Read
July 8, 2022When working with data, I find it way too easy to dehumanize people. I mean, it’s all numbers. So reading this book helped me visualize Wales better. It’s not just that Aberavon had 49,524 eligible voters in the 2001 elections. It’s that Aberavon is a real place with real people. Each one of those people woke up that morning in 2001 and decided whether to go vote. 30,190 chose to vote. Maybe some of them got into an argument with their relatives over their vote. Some of them might be unhappy with their vote, maybe some of them celebrated the results. Thinking about this makes working with data much more fun.
In this sense, reading this book was exactly what I needed. With lovely writing, Jan Morris starts off with a brief history of Wales. She then moves to a description of her own area, and finally, her own house. Morris comes across like a lovely aunt, hosting us in Wales. She manages to bring this warmth with her in writing.
Morris seems to be very pro-Welsh independence. This is obviously not something I can or intend to comment about, other than saying that I found it interesting. Her descriptions make it very clear that nationalism truly isn’t about race as much as it is about culture and peoplehood. Her celebration of Welsh culture, history and heritage was beautiful to read. I have a tendency to focus on the ugly sides of nationalism. I see how it poisons and increases conflicts. So seeing Morris’ love for Wales in soft and happy light was interesting. It’s hard not to fall in love with Wales, as she sees it. I found myself sharing her frustration about the erasure of Welsh culture.
I am, however, going to take a moment to criticize the way she speaks of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It was quite a few pages of this book and it frustrated me. I don’t know what is it with people living on that island and their constant desire to compare themselves to us but can they stop?
First of, Morris mentions “Palestinian Jews”. There are no Palestinian Jews (yes, none- Samaritans aren’t Jews). By Palestinian Jews, the intention is Jews living in Mandatory or Ottoman Palestine prior to the establishment of Israel in 1948. None of those people identify as Palestinian Jews anymore so presenting it as though this is a fight between various Palestinians is misleading. This is no civil war. It hasn’t been a civil war since 1948.
Secondly, portraying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as though the Jews are foreigners who get pity points for the Holocaust is a common and false misconception. Jews came to Palestine prior to the Holocaust. The Jewish connection to the Land of Israel goes far far beyond the Holocaust. Stop removing Jewish agency. Certainly, Israel gained UN support due to pity from the Holocaust but there would be no Israel without the decades of support for it before the Holocaust. Israel didn’t pop into existence between 1945-1948. When we do economics research about Israel, we start with 1920 as Israel had a functional economy then, prior to independence.
And please, don’t compare the Welsh to the Jews. With all due respect to the Welsh, the Jewish experience as a people in the Diaspora is simply different. Jews were expelled from over 100 countries and experienced several genocides as a minority, how does that compare to the Welsh experience as a people fighting for their rights on their land?
To conclude, this book was very charming. I wish Morris could invite me over for tea. If you're looking for a neat intro to Wales, I think this book definitely provides that.
What I’m Taking With Me:
- I love reading a book and then discovering that the author is a successful trans person
- Almost three quarters of Welsh people say they have no Welsh skills. Meanwhile, 90% of Israeli Jews and over 60% of Israeli Palestinians/ Arabs have a good understanding of Hebrew. So please, sit down and take notes, Welsh wishes it could be Hebrew.
- I feel like Jan votes for Plaid Cymru, based on her fond tone when she speaks of Welsh nationalists
-----------------------
I did 3 quizzes to see who I should vote for in the UK (yes, this is totally an important part of my bachelor thesis, this is how research goes).
My results were SNP, Plaid Cymru and the Green party. I didn't realize I intuitively lean towards supporting Scottish and Welsh independence??? I don't even have any real or educated opinions about this, I'm just here like "languages are good! independence is good! preserving cultures is good! international cooperation is good!"
Review to come!
In this sense, reading this book was exactly what I needed. With lovely writing, Jan Morris starts off with a brief history of Wales. She then moves to a description of her own area, and finally, her own house. Morris comes across like a lovely aunt, hosting us in Wales. She manages to bring this warmth with her in writing.
Morris seems to be very pro-Welsh independence. This is obviously not something I can or intend to comment about, other than saying that I found it interesting. Her descriptions make it very clear that nationalism truly isn’t about race as much as it is about culture and peoplehood. Her celebration of Welsh culture, history and heritage was beautiful to read. I have a tendency to focus on the ugly sides of nationalism. I see how it poisons and increases conflicts. So seeing Morris’ love for Wales in soft and happy light was interesting. It’s hard not to fall in love with Wales, as she sees it. I found myself sharing her frustration about the erasure of Welsh culture.
I am, however, going to take a moment to criticize the way she speaks of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It was quite a few pages of this book and it frustrated me. I don’t know what is it with people living on that island and their constant desire to compare themselves to us but can they stop?
First of, Morris mentions “Palestinian Jews”. There are no Palestinian Jews (yes, none- Samaritans aren’t Jews). By Palestinian Jews, the intention is Jews living in Mandatory or Ottoman Palestine prior to the establishment of Israel in 1948. None of those people identify as Palestinian Jews anymore so presenting it as though this is a fight between various Palestinians is misleading. This is no civil war. It hasn’t been a civil war since 1948.
Secondly, portraying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as though the Jews are foreigners who get pity points for the Holocaust is a common and false misconception. Jews came to Palestine prior to the Holocaust. The Jewish connection to the Land of Israel goes far far beyond the Holocaust. Stop removing Jewish agency. Certainly, Israel gained UN support due to pity from the Holocaust but there would be no Israel without the decades of support for it before the Holocaust. Israel didn’t pop into existence between 1945-1948. When we do economics research about Israel, we start with 1920 as Israel had a functional economy then, prior to independence.
And please, don’t compare the Welsh to the Jews. With all due respect to the Welsh, the Jewish experience as a people in the Diaspora is simply different. Jews were expelled from over 100 countries and experienced several genocides as a minority, how does that compare to the Welsh experience as a people fighting for their rights on their land?
To conclude, this book was very charming. I wish Morris could invite me over for tea. If you're looking for a neat intro to Wales, I think this book definitely provides that.
What I’m Taking With Me:
- I love reading a book and then discovering that the author is a successful trans person
- Almost three quarters of Welsh people say they have no Welsh skills. Meanwhile, 90% of Israeli Jews and over 60% of Israeli Palestinians/ Arabs have a good understanding of Hebrew. So please, sit down and take notes, Welsh wishes it could be Hebrew.
- I feel like Jan votes for Plaid Cymru, based on her fond tone when she speaks of Welsh nationalists
-----------------------
I did 3 quizzes to see who I should vote for in the UK (yes, this is totally an important part of my bachelor thesis, this is how research goes).
My results were SNP, Plaid Cymru and the Green party. I didn't realize I intuitively lean towards supporting Scottish and Welsh independence??? I don't even have any real or educated opinions about this, I'm just here like "languages are good! independence is good! preserving cultures is good! international cooperation is good!"
Review to come!
February 13, 2020
I love Jan Morris to pieces, so it’s hard to be impartial. This is a short, breezy little nugget of her home in Wales.
July 31, 2011
Loved this book. I was completely charmed by the author - her voice, her lifestyle, her adventures. She just has this mesmerizing yet cozy attitude that convinced me that I'd love to be invited to her cottage in Wales for some tea and to hear her stories. She has lived quite a lot, and it shows in both the adventures she relates and her abiding contentedness in returning again and again to Wales, her true love.
Morris incorporates an interesting strategy by dividing the book into four parts, first introducing Wales as a country and then narrowing down her focus to her own place of residence, a converted horse stables in Wales. I admit I was a bit lost in the Welsh history - the confusing names and history were a little hard for me to hold on to - but I blame that on myself rather than the author. I was fascinated with the history of her home and her random tales of Welsh history sprinkled throughout, all with the purpose of placing you smack in the middle of a cottage in Wales.
Morris incorporates an interesting strategy by dividing the book into four parts, first introducing Wales as a country and then narrowing down her focus to her own place of residence, a converted horse stables in Wales. I admit I was a bit lost in the Welsh history - the confusing names and history were a little hard for me to hold on to - but I blame that on myself rather than the author. I was fascinated with the history of her home and her random tales of Welsh history sprinkled throughout, all with the purpose of placing you smack in the middle of a cottage in Wales.
February 19, 2024
4.5/5
What compels one to travel? I just came back from a three day conference, and while I do miss having a June that actually pretends to be somewhat adjacent to a season some called 'summer', I mostly glory in having my own kitchen and computer office again. However, I've also been traveling quite a bit within my own person, something I was able to gloriously affirm during said conference by finally journeying to the Lavender Library, one of the most significant 100% community supported queer library and archival exchange to currently exist in the 21st century United States. Indeed, it was at this institution where, out front, a cart advertising free books displayed to me yet another work by Jan Morris, one that I may have grabbed if I hadn't already been immersed in this one. And what is this one, you may ask? Well, it certainly involves a writer, and Wales, and if you knew absolutely nothing about Morris herself, you might be tempted to leave it at that. However, I myself came to this work after going through Morris' Conundrum, so my assumptions about what sort of 'travel' I would find were incontrovertibly, albeit in a good sense, shaped by that material. And I have to say, however implicit or explicit the actual text in regards to one thing or another, there's no one like a queer traveler to make a fellow queer feel at home.
What else is there to this text that I ended up being so uncharacteristically fond of? Well, the titular 'writer' and 'Wales' lend themselves well to the enticingly titled 'National Geographic Directions' series, which lists a varying number of its titles on both the back cover and closing endpage. Upon closer inspection (wonderfully facilitated by a GR list devoted to the series), the collection is rather a sorry lot when taking both the number and the average of ratings into account. I can't speak for most of the bunch, but I can speak for Erdrich's Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country, which is my favorite of hers among the three works I've read. Morris speaks more of architecture than she does of the environment, more often of ownership than she does of pilgrimage, more often of past gains than future promises. However, each of the works have in their own way a true sense of place, a true love for the nurture of the nature, and a true reckoning with the pitfalls of the praxis and the persistence of the people in the face of centuries of a colonizing force. And, as much as I may outright criticize the Morris work at times, the rating attests to the fact that I was all the more enamored with the humor, the gumption, the thoughtful eccentricity and the deeply held respect for those who have come before, those hard at work now, and those who have yet to see the sun and bring to life their own definition of what it is to be Welsh, to walk the land and speak the language and survive continuing waves of colonization (and transphobia) in order to bring something beautiful in its localization for future generations to embrace. So, this is a work about a writer, and her house, and the fact that it is in Wales, but every facet is so carefully considered in such a creative yet venerating sense that you can't help not only understanding, but appreciating why the house couldn't be talked about without the politics, why the writing couldn't be displayed without delving into the environment, why Wales couldn't be talked about without refusing to gloss over the more diabolical of the Anglo skeletons in the closet. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, especially the apolitical types who think it's not only possible to discuss a place without discussing all of the place, but paramount for polite society, but for me, it was well worth the number of years I looked for a copy and the two dollars I ended up spending on it.
Review upon review upon review I've mentioned my "new" full time job, and now here I am, a little more than a year after I started upon this new chapter of my life. It's involved lessons in coding, self-respect, and apology, as well trials in physical intimacy, enforced boundaries, and a commitment to equity that has apparently landed me in a local newspaper for having spoken out in support of renters at a town hall. When I consider what Morris must have gone through for her myriad journeys, I of course think I have it easier in some ways, especially when thinking on how, during a recent physical, a doctor not only readily accepted my answers of 'other' for both gender and sexuality, but was able to indicate such in the automated system. And yet, I will never inherit something in the way of a 'familial estate', and the chances of my receiving national approval/international venerability are slight indeed, so in that regard, Morris was well set up indeed. Does that make us even? Hardly. Does that make me grateful? Most assuredly. For I have a deep and abiding appreciation for those who live with their land and its enculturated heritage and are capable of passing it on to sundry others; in other words, those who truly travel in the human sense of open community and confident identity, rather than consume out of individual entitlement and social cowardice. It's a devil to track down, but if you want a picture of what comes after the fall and the work that will need doifng in the aftermath, here's one that'll last you a lot longer than whatever the newspapers are selling.
What compels one to travel? I just came back from a three day conference, and while I do miss having a June that actually pretends to be somewhat adjacent to a season some called 'summer', I mostly glory in having my own kitchen and computer office again. However, I've also been traveling quite a bit within my own person, something I was able to gloriously affirm during said conference by finally journeying to the Lavender Library, one of the most significant 100% community supported queer library and archival exchange to currently exist in the 21st century United States. Indeed, it was at this institution where, out front, a cart advertising free books displayed to me yet another work by Jan Morris, one that I may have grabbed if I hadn't already been immersed in this one. And what is this one, you may ask? Well, it certainly involves a writer, and Wales, and if you knew absolutely nothing about Morris herself, you might be tempted to leave it at that. However, I myself came to this work after going through Morris' Conundrum, so my assumptions about what sort of 'travel' I would find were incontrovertibly, albeit in a good sense, shaped by that material. And I have to say, however implicit or explicit the actual text in regards to one thing or another, there's no one like a queer traveler to make a fellow queer feel at home.
What else is there to this text that I ended up being so uncharacteristically fond of? Well, the titular 'writer' and 'Wales' lend themselves well to the enticingly titled 'National Geographic Directions' series, which lists a varying number of its titles on both the back cover and closing endpage. Upon closer inspection (wonderfully facilitated by a GR list devoted to the series), the collection is rather a sorry lot when taking both the number and the average of ratings into account. I can't speak for most of the bunch, but I can speak for Erdrich's Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country, which is my favorite of hers among the three works I've read. Morris speaks more of architecture than she does of the environment, more often of ownership than she does of pilgrimage, more often of past gains than future promises. However, each of the works have in their own way a true sense of place, a true love for the nurture of the nature, and a true reckoning with the pitfalls of the praxis and the persistence of the people in the face of centuries of a colonizing force. And, as much as I may outright criticize the Morris work at times, the rating attests to the fact that I was all the more enamored with the humor, the gumption, the thoughtful eccentricity and the deeply held respect for those who have come before, those hard at work now, and those who have yet to see the sun and bring to life their own definition of what it is to be Welsh, to walk the land and speak the language and survive continuing waves of colonization (and transphobia) in order to bring something beautiful in its localization for future generations to embrace. So, this is a work about a writer, and her house, and the fact that it is in Wales, but every facet is so carefully considered in such a creative yet venerating sense that you can't help not only understanding, but appreciating why the house couldn't be talked about without the politics, why the writing couldn't be displayed without delving into the environment, why Wales couldn't be talked about without refusing to gloss over the more diabolical of the Anglo skeletons in the closet. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, especially the apolitical types who think it's not only possible to discuss a place without discussing all of the place, but paramount for polite society, but for me, it was well worth the number of years I looked for a copy and the two dollars I ended up spending on it.
Review upon review upon review I've mentioned my "new" full time job, and now here I am, a little more than a year after I started upon this new chapter of my life. It's involved lessons in coding, self-respect, and apology, as well trials in physical intimacy, enforced boundaries, and a commitment to equity that has apparently landed me in a local newspaper for having spoken out in support of renters at a town hall. When I consider what Morris must have gone through for her myriad journeys, I of course think I have it easier in some ways, especially when thinking on how, during a recent physical, a doctor not only readily accepted my answers of 'other' for both gender and sexuality, but was able to indicate such in the automated system. And yet, I will never inherit something in the way of a 'familial estate', and the chances of my receiving national approval/international venerability are slight indeed, so in that regard, Morris was well set up indeed. Does that make us even? Hardly. Does that make me grateful? Most assuredly. For I have a deep and abiding appreciation for those who live with their land and its enculturated heritage and are capable of passing it on to sundry others; in other words, those who truly travel in the human sense of open community and confident identity, rather than consume out of individual entitlement and social cowardice. It's a devil to track down, but if you want a picture of what comes after the fall and the work that will need doifng in the aftermath, here's one that'll last you a lot longer than whatever the newspapers are selling.
A poet in the Welsh language can still, on average, expect to reach a bigger audience than a poet in English.P.S. I am a firm believer in the idea that one must question one's gender/sexuality/etc at least once in one's life to truly reach a stable and lasting contentment in one's lot in life and an apex in one's creative output. This work of Morris' only encourages that theory.
February 10, 2012
I've admired Morris as a travel writer for a long time, so downloaded this short series of essays on the place her house in Wales has in her life when I noticed it among my library's holdings. I have very little interest in Wales, and things Welsh, yet had a hard time putting down the book - highly recommended!
February 18, 2014
I love this series from National Geographic. And I love that I only paid $1 for this book!
Each book in the series is a whole world - or rather, it is seeing the entire world from one locale. For each volume the National Geographic editors enlisted a well-accomplished author to observe and celebrate the birds, trees, language, habits, customs, weather of their native region. This volume allows you to settle into the rural hills of Wales.
Though very different from the volume by David Mamet on Vermont(which is in the same series), the books bear a deep resemblance that has instructed me. They celebrate the particularities of a state, a region, a neighborhood, a house. In reading these joyful and often touching accounts of one's home, I've learned that place impacts our soul and our vision of the world. None of us escape this - it is part of being human - we are finite, and the place we reside in a profound way defines us and leaves a mark on our spirit. This is not something to be despised, for to despise our finiteness in this way would amount to despising our very home, the locale itself.
Though this author is not a Christian, I read this book as an extended meditation on several Scripture passages. I'll share one of them: Psalm 131:1-2, "O LORD, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me." The book expresses joy in the ordinary - these pages breathe a contentment that nomads like myself often lack. I found myself desiring to emulate the joy in the ordinary that Morris performs in her writing.
Okay one more verse - Proverbs 24:3-4, "By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches." Let us not despise that which wisdom builds.
Morris describes herself as one who is always in a hurry to get home. Looking around my rather spartan and functional apartment I'm not quite at that point. But, this book encouraged me to consider how caring for my place of residence is wise - for it will care for me...and others. She says at one point that it is the duty of a house to show hospitality. I love that.
Each book in the series is a whole world - or rather, it is seeing the entire world from one locale. For each volume the National Geographic editors enlisted a well-accomplished author to observe and celebrate the birds, trees, language, habits, customs, weather of their native region. This volume allows you to settle into the rural hills of Wales.
Though very different from the volume by David Mamet on Vermont(which is in the same series), the books bear a deep resemblance that has instructed me. They celebrate the particularities of a state, a region, a neighborhood, a house. In reading these joyful and often touching accounts of one's home, I've learned that place impacts our soul and our vision of the world. None of us escape this - it is part of being human - we are finite, and the place we reside in a profound way defines us and leaves a mark on our spirit. This is not something to be despised, for to despise our finiteness in this way would amount to despising our very home, the locale itself.
Though this author is not a Christian, I read this book as an extended meditation on several Scripture passages. I'll share one of them: Psalm 131:1-2, "O LORD, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me." The book expresses joy in the ordinary - these pages breathe a contentment that nomads like myself often lack. I found myself desiring to emulate the joy in the ordinary that Morris performs in her writing.
Okay one more verse - Proverbs 24:3-4, "By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches." Let us not despise that which wisdom builds.
Morris describes herself as one who is always in a hurry to get home. Looking around my rather spartan and functional apartment I'm not quite at that point. But, this book encouraged me to consider how caring for my place of residence is wise - for it will care for me...and others. She says at one point that it is the duty of a house to show hospitality. I love that.
October 19, 2020
A lovely little book, about the importance of writing, houses and Wales - and where and how the three can overlap in one special place. Jan Morris writes so beautifully and evocatively - I read several passages over and over, tears pricking my eyes.
October 1, 2018
A marvelous and kind book. I never have any interest in meeting celebrity writers but Jan Morris is the exception.
March 31, 2019
Contemplative. Morris invites the reader to tea, tenderly describing her house as a microcosm of Welsh culture and history.
December 2, 2024
Un canto de amor a Gales, con su cultura, su lengua, su particular paisaje..., y al espacio que ha convertido la autora en su hogar: Trefan Morys.
Bucólicas descripciones de los alrededores y la transformación del modesto edificio que albergaba en tiempos al ganado en su hogar, un lugar lleno de vida y de particulares características arquitectónicas y decorativas que lo convierten casi en un personaje más.
He disfrutado mucho de esta impecable mezcla de ensayo histórico/autobiográfico.
Bucólicas descripciones de los alrededores y la transformación del modesto edificio que albergaba en tiempos al ganado en su hogar, un lugar lleno de vida y de particulares características arquitectónicas y decorativas que lo convierten casi en un personaje más.
He disfrutado mucho de esta impecable mezcla de ensayo histórico/autobiográfico.
July 21, 2024
Una delicatessen. Literatura como gozo de los sentidos. La autora nos habla de su casa, de su entorno y del país que habitan ambas. Una conjunción entre la Tierra y el Cielo. Un hogar como expresión y extensión de una vida, de una personalidad. Una manera de ser y estar en el mundo. Una unidad histórica, cultural y mística. Y Gales abrigando con amor y orgullo todo. He descubierto una escritora que lo es con derroche de sensibilidad.
September 5, 2024
El espíritu de Gales flanqueado por las paredes de piedra y techo de pizarra de Trefan Morys, el hogar donde habitaron Jan y Elizabeth Morris. Estratos de historia, tradición, modernidad y futuro bajo las vigas de madera. Olor a humo, hojas húmedas y sal. Legajos preñados de mundo a través de los mapas y objetos en donde se resumen las trayectorias de vida de Jan Morris. La cocina como el corazón del hogar en donde se fraguan las historias de los descendientes celtas, mientras el estómago se alegra con el sabor del té y los sgotyn. Libros, flores, cantos de aves, villancicos en extinción, rumores del río, una flota fantasma surcando el horizonte.
November 25, 2018
4.25
Second go at reading this. Last time the anti-English shtick got on my nerves, this time I may be more minded to sympathy...... I would be interested in the writer's views post Brexit referendum and an updated commentary on Welshness in that context.
So glad I had another go. This book has been a great companion on my sick bed - torn hamstrings left thigh painful thanks for asking. What a great glimpse of this part of North Wales and the life of a house - Trefan Morris. In reference to nationality however Morris identifies vociferously as Welsh but was born in England to a Welsh father and English mother - therefore surely a matter of choice. How useful to have something to kick against as well as align with. But what greater damage is done?
I keep thinking about the quarrymen and slate schooners, boat builders, fishing communities - the global connections - the universal transience.
Pg 16 - talks of 4 principle Celtic regions in Europe - Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Brittany. The Cornish would be very disappointed to be overlooked.
Pg 17 - she's right about mountains being at the heart of Welsh self-identity (never hills). My mum, who is Welsh, always talks of going up the mountain as a kid.
Pg 46 - 'O Lord, why has thou made Cam Pennant so beautiful,
And the life of the shepherd so short'
Eifion Wyn
Pg 53 - 'Gerallt Gymro, Geraldus the Welshman, a famous Welsh-Norman chronicler of the twelfth century, wrote that there was no better men than the best of the Welsh, and no worse men than the worst.'
Pg 56 - 'Life may be getting more impersonal in most parts of the world, but still Bob the postman walks freely into our kitchen to leave my letters on the table, stopping for a chat if there is anyone around, and not turning a hair when, a year or two ago, I happened to be walking down the stairs stark naked just as he opened the stable door. Welsh society all are friends, or alternatively enemies - there is still little of that frigid restraint which so often marks the social relationship of the English'.
Pg 58 - 'When, thirty years ago, I did the unimaginable and went through what is vulgarity known as a change of sex, The Wils, The Mr Owens, The Blodwens, The mailman and the family up the lane took it all easily in their stride, and from that day to this have kindly pretended that nothing ever happened.
Pg 85 Prince Madog ap Owain Gwynedd first European to reach America 1170! Madman Indians of the Missouri Valley undoubtedly the offspring of the ship's crew - spoke a form of Welsh!
Pg86 Porthmadog slate schooners- took Welsh slate across the globe and brought back fruits, wines, oil Etc. E.g. David Jenkins 1897 deck boy and cook maiden voyage to Buenos Aires Argentina, Galveston Texas, around the horn for guano from Peru, to Liverpool, to Newcastle, back to the gulf of Mexico, sunk in a storm off Tobago. He survived and was shipped back to Wales. After a fortnight home found himself a new ship and was off again!
Second go at reading this. Last time the anti-English shtick got on my nerves, this time I may be more minded to sympathy...... I would be interested in the writer's views post Brexit referendum and an updated commentary on Welshness in that context.
So glad I had another go. This book has been a great companion on my sick bed - torn hamstrings left thigh painful thanks for asking. What a great glimpse of this part of North Wales and the life of a house - Trefan Morris. In reference to nationality however Morris identifies vociferously as Welsh but was born in England to a Welsh father and English mother - therefore surely a matter of choice. How useful to have something to kick against as well as align with. But what greater damage is done?
I keep thinking about the quarrymen and slate schooners, boat builders, fishing communities - the global connections - the universal transience.
Pg 16 - talks of 4 principle Celtic regions in Europe - Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Brittany. The Cornish would be very disappointed to be overlooked.
Pg 17 - she's right about mountains being at the heart of Welsh self-identity (never hills). My mum, who is Welsh, always talks of going up the mountain as a kid.
Pg 46 - 'O Lord, why has thou made Cam Pennant so beautiful,
And the life of the shepherd so short'
Eifion Wyn
Pg 53 - 'Gerallt Gymro, Geraldus the Welshman, a famous Welsh-Norman chronicler of the twelfth century, wrote that there was no better men than the best of the Welsh, and no worse men than the worst.'
Pg 56 - 'Life may be getting more impersonal in most parts of the world, but still Bob the postman walks freely into our kitchen to leave my letters on the table, stopping for a chat if there is anyone around, and not turning a hair when, a year or two ago, I happened to be walking down the stairs stark naked just as he opened the stable door. Welsh society all are friends, or alternatively enemies - there is still little of that frigid restraint which so often marks the social relationship of the English'.
Pg 58 - 'When, thirty years ago, I did the unimaginable and went through what is vulgarity known as a change of sex, The Wils, The Mr Owens, The Blodwens, The mailman and the family up the lane took it all easily in their stride, and from that day to this have kindly pretended that nothing ever happened.
Pg 85 Prince Madog ap Owain Gwynedd first European to reach America 1170! Madman Indians of the Missouri Valley undoubtedly the offspring of the ship's crew - spoke a form of Welsh!
Pg86 Porthmadog slate schooners- took Welsh slate across the globe and brought back fruits, wines, oil Etc. E.g. David Jenkins 1897 deck boy and cook maiden voyage to Buenos Aires Argentina, Galveston Texas, around the horn for guano from Peru, to Liverpool, to Newcastle, back to the gulf of Mexico, sunk in a storm off Tobago. He survived and was shipped back to Wales. After a fortnight home found himself a new ship and was off again!
November 20, 2015
Loved this book. I picked it up because it was in the 942 section, and I was looking to read a book from that section for my Dewey Decimal Challenge. Seemed pretty interesting, fulfilled my 942 need, so I went with it.
Reading this while actually in Wales made the whole experience - both reading and traveling - much more vibrant than would have otherwise been the case. When the author talked about the Welshness of slate floors, my feet were on slate floors. When I saw signs around town in Welsh, but heard only English spoken, I knew from this book why that would be. So for me the book felt very fresh and alive because I didn't need to imagine the environment described, I was in it.
Aside from all that, I loved the book because it described in wonderful detail the type of home that I love best, one that is crowded with the evidence of a well-enjoyed life.
Reading this while actually in Wales made the whole experience - both reading and traveling - much more vibrant than would have otherwise been the case. When the author talked about the Welshness of slate floors, my feet were on slate floors. When I saw signs around town in Welsh, but heard only English spoken, I knew from this book why that would be. So for me the book felt very fresh and alive because I didn't need to imagine the environment described, I was in it.
Aside from all that, I loved the book because it described in wonderful detail the type of home that I love best, one that is crowded with the evidence of a well-enjoyed life.
June 3, 2012
A short lovely paean to Wales, a house and to books. In a few pages, Morris conjures up a unique magical country (which I now must visit!) . Who knew that there are still a lot of people whose mother tongue is Welsh? And who knew that a house can be just as real a character as the author herself?
There are the usual eccentric but lovable neighbors prevalent in a book of this sort but they are a nice change of pace from the usual Tuscans or neighbors in Provence. This book makes one feel like a cherished guest in Ms. Morris' home and leaves you wanting to curl up in her library (with its several thousand books) with a nice cup of tea and Ibsen, her cat, purring at your feet.
There are the usual eccentric but lovable neighbors prevalent in a book of this sort but they are a nice change of pace from the usual Tuscans or neighbors in Provence. This book makes one feel like a cherished guest in Ms. Morris' home and leaves you wanting to curl up in her library (with its several thousand books) with a nice cup of tea and Ibsen, her cat, purring at your feet.
January 1, 2012
I was enchanted by Jan Morris voice in this book. I felt like a welcome guest in her home and country, which was deeply meaningful to me as my family has roots in Wales many generations ago. If you're interested in Wales, read this book. If you're not (or don't know yet that you are) this book still has much to offer. Here you will be led to think on the character of your own home, what you attribute it to and that ways that it has shaped you.
I absolutely will read more works by this talented, lyrical and delightfully confident author!
I absolutely will read more works by this talented, lyrical and delightfully confident author!
October 22, 2018
[second book for the #autumnreadathon, prompt two: a non-fiction book about nature]
this book is just too short for me to sum it up beyond the fact that it is a description of a writer's house in wales. i'm not making a great job selling it, but trust me, it's worth it. it goes straight to the point in a most welsh-fashion (which is to say, it takes its time) and does what it says on the tin. although it might have been too short for me to say much more about it, i'm going to read and find more books about this author.
this book is just too short for me to sum it up beyond the fact that it is a description of a writer's house in wales. i'm not making a great job selling it, but trust me, it's worth it. it goes straight to the point in a most welsh-fashion (which is to say, it takes its time) and does what it says on the tin. although it might have been too short for me to say much more about it, i'm going to read and find more books about this author.
July 13, 2019
Finished. This is one writer that I thoroughly enjoy reading. Jan Morris is so descriptive and evocative. In this book Morris invites us into her Welsh home, Trefan Morys. The house she resides in is the converted old stable block of the former family home, which is situated between the sea and the mountains. The stories and history surrounding her home which are written here are brilliant. Fantastically written with excellent descriptions, you feel as though you are in the place with her. Thoroughly loved the book. Yes I very much recommend this book to be read!
April 17, 2021
This is a cozy read, a meditation not just on her house in rural Wales -- Trefan Morys -- a cozy house indeed, and well-described, but on its history and setting, its contents and visitors. From there the book is a wider meditation on Wales, its history, language, culture, inhabitants, ecology. The stone walls and slate roof speak to what parts of Wales I myself have visited; the slate is about as basic to that identity in that rainy climate is something to be seen to believe.
The book is an easy read but an immersive one as well. Highly recommend.
The book is an easy read but an immersive one as well. Highly recommend.
August 11, 2016
This book is a semi-memoire, semi-history of the Wales and the author's house. With her characteristic style blending the lyrical and factual, this book offers a rumination of one's place in the world. it is a light fare, not much to impart other than the natural beauty and ragged history of Wales. The description of the house itself is balanced between the author's well-deserved love and pride and the history of the land and people round it.
May 27, 2020
This book gets 7/10.
I liked this little book. When a person can write in a way that I don't need a photograph of the item(s) described, I think that is amazing. I would have loved one nonetheless to see if the picture in my mind is correct (and a bit to satisfy my curiosity).
A nice little book, about a house, its history, about Wales and the Welshmen, and, most interesting to me, also a tiny bit on the languages.
I liked this little book. When a person can write in a way that I don't need a photograph of the item(s) described, I think that is amazing. I would have loved one nonetheless to see if the picture in my mind is correct (and a bit to satisfy my curiosity).
A nice little book, about a house, its history, about Wales and the Welshmen, and, most interesting to me, also a tiny bit on the languages.
June 30, 2021
Gift card | This fit exactly what I was looking for right now, but I still would have enjoyed it quite a lot whenever I read it. Difficult to categorize, it's not really about the house, though the reader does get descriptions and the history of it. Nor is it about the author, though her voice comes through strongly. Mostly it's about Wales, the people and the country, and specifically that corner of Northwestern Wales where Morris lived.
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