better image coming soon

I love this volume.

It’s a book I clung onto in New York, a place which for me, like her, was a playground of self-discovery [along with that other mammoth synthesis of modernity: Paris]. Her cafe observations, musings, stream-of-consciousness and long-winded epiphanies, all allude to a state of perpetual self-enquiry within a space that feels large, yet also like a deeply carved niche. Read the rest of this entry »

The simple act of picking up a book and reading again feels as rudimentary and simultaneously dramatic as learning one’s letters for the first time.

For me, reading is an exercise that has always been a ceremony. It’s an activity around which time dances and bends itself, rather than a walking-stick for one to lean one’s free time upon. It’s not a side-dish, but a demanding, chewy, robust main, to be relished and contemplated upon with every new flavour and nuance. Read the rest of this entry »