Delderfield and other authors devoured by our parents have sunk into obscurity. But why, and who will disappear from our current favourites?
The enduring magic of Eric Newby
Returning to the great travel writer for the first time since he died, I am reminded of what we've lost, but consoled by how much life his books retain.
Catullus: The Supreme Poet of Spring
The end of winter has produced mountains of poetry, but two thousand years' worth has not bettered Catullus's lyrical evocation of this most poetic of seasons.
I can't bear Henry James...
... but at least he's not as preposterous as Thomas Hardy. Who are your pet hates?
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