Reviews

Invisible is a great thriller. I can’t say too much more about the plot because the twists and turns are the whole point of reading a book that wrong foots the reader at every turn . . . Christine Poulson kept me reading by giving out just enough information to intrigue and puzzle so that I had to read just one more chapter. That’s why, in the end, I just dropped everything else and read the last half of Invisible in one sitting.’

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The book that made me cry in the library

Posted on Sep 17, 2014 in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

awebbI’m I’m in Birmingham again at the wonderful Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre. It’s the time of year that makes me think of new terms and new beginnings and I remembered arriving in Birmingham as a postgrad all those years ago. I had a couple of hours to spare so this afternoon I decided to hop on a bus and visit the Barber Institute where I had worked on my MA.

It was a beautiful autumn day, the campus is attractively leafy (pictured above) and as I walked along I heard a piano and a fine male voice singing what might have been a song by Schubert through an open window. I found the building that had been the Shakespeare Institute, where I had been based. It’s a nineteenth century redbrick villa in its own grounds and is empty now (the Institute moved to Stratford long ago). I peered through the window at dusty floorboards and remembered gruelling tutorials and parties on the lawn. Looking at the garden with its weed-covered pond and statue, I felt like someone in a poem by Hardy, musing on the vagaries of life.

The Barber Institute cheered me up. It truly is a hidden gem. It has a small but breath-taking collection of paintings, prints and bronzes: Degas, Monet, Rubens, Van Dyck, Poussin, Gainsborough, Reynolds and many more. For most of the time I was the only person there. I guess there are more people around in term-term.

But what about the book that had me crying in the library? On the ground floor is the Art Library where I spent many a day doing research for both my MA and later my Ph.d and where I worked my way through two long volumes of Georgiana Burne-Jones’s Memorials of Edward Burne-Jones. It is the only book she wrote and it’s a masterpiece. I was so deeply immersed in their lives and so deeply moved when I reached her account of her husband’s death that tears began to plop on to the polished mahogany table. The librarian – a friend, luckily – came in and wanted to know what on earth was the matter. ‘It’s so sad,’ I managed to tell him. He couldn’t help but be amused. It was the first – and very likely the last – time that he’d found someone sobbing over a book.

5 Comments

  1. Naomi
    September 18, 2014

    Two books made me cry in public at the end, both times the place being NYC subway (underground). They are William Gibson’s Mass for the Dead and After You’d Gone by Maggie O’Farrell. I still love them both and recommend them all the time. The first a beautiful memoir by the esteemed playwright (not the sci-fi writer) and the second by the well known contemporary UK novelist.

    Reply
  2. Christine Poulson
    September 18, 2014

    Good to hear from you, Naomi. I’ve read After You’d Gone, but not the William Gibson: I must have a look at that. The book that made me cry most recently was Vasily Grossman’s Life and Fate. It’s extraordinary.

    Reply
    • Naomi
      September 18, 2014

      Yes, I should have mentioned that my husband raves about Life and Fate, if that is the right word to use given the content.

      Reply
  3. moira @ Clothes in Books
    September 19, 2014

    That’s a lovely and unexpected story Chrissie. I think my likelihood of crying over a given book might depend on what’s going on in my own head at the time. But Alastair MacLeod’s No Great Mischief: I can remember reading the final chapters on a treadmill in a busy gym on a Saturday morning, and the tears were streaming down my face, I was trying to blot them with my workout t-shirt, not very well.

    Reply
    • Christine Poulson
      September 19, 2014

      I like your story, too. And yes, things have to touch a nerve at just the right moment. I remember going to see the Lawrence Oliver Wuthering Heights a very long time ago and hardly being able to drive home, I was crying so much. One can feel such a fool.

      Reply

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