I was tired, feeling stressed, and hated the world when the school year was almost over. Nothing new so far. What was unusual, however, was that I was also feeling slightly lost. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know what I wanted. I could even hardly decide what I wanted to read, and when I had finally selected a book, I finished it without really knowing what had happened. I didn’t really care, to be honest. I hoped my month-long holiday to England and Wales would help me find myself and my love of reading again. Want to know if it did? Read on!
In my life, everything begins and ends with books. Even though I wasn’t in the mood to read, I was still scared I might not have enough books to read during my holiday. I set out to read only books that were set near the places we’d be staying, especially London and Oxford. That way, I thought, I would get a unique insight into these cities, and there would be no risk of losing my way.
When we arrived at our first destination, a campsite near York, I was feeling so lost that I started my reading holiday halfway through a book. Having put it away long ago, I finally continued reading After Sappho by Selby Wynn Schwartz, a novel about several famous female artists who voice their desire to be free. Its feminist themes helped me feel a little more empowered, if still not completely completely comfortable in my own skin. After that, I decided to read Douglas Stuart’s latest novel John of John, which I bought in York but didn’t have to pay for because there was still some credit on my Waterstones card. Since it was very hot that day, we decided to sit down in the park and read for a bit. I felt more relaxed already.
When we drove to our next location, the number of books I’d brought was seven, the number of books I’d bought was one, and the number of books I’d finished was one, too. Also, we’d already seen our first play in York, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged), which was very, very funny. Excellent numbers, so far, even though Stuart’s novel wasn’t set in England but in Scotland. I felt like I had already broken my England-only novel rule.
We’d stay in the Yorkshire Dales for two nights, at a campsite near a village called Grassington. I’d never heard of it, but when we arrived there, I found out that it was quite famous because the tv series All Creatures Great and Small was filmed there. And that, I was told, was based on the book series by James Herriot. Also, there’s a shop in Grassington called “Beautiful Things”, which reminded me of Stephen King’s novel Needful Things I’d read just before we’d left the Netherlands. This book, which is about a shop that gives people everything they want, ends in flames and disaster. I hope Grassington won’t share that fate.
I didn’t buy any books there. Still, I took our stay there as a sign: even though I was still feeling a bit lost, if felt as though literature kept finding me.
Our next stop was Liverpool. My glorious, wonderful, rough and unintelligible city which I still call home. I could write a lengthy piece about what it was like to be back there and about how much the city has changed since I lived there. I won’t though, because I didn’t read much and only bought two books, one of which, unfortunately, doesn’t have anything to do with England at all. (It’s Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates, which is a reimagination of Marilyn Monroe’s life. I’ve almost finished it.)
I’m always happy when I’m in Liverpool. I couldn’t possibly get lost there because I know it so well, and my mood was improving every single day. It was a pity we only stayed there for two nights. The number of books I’d bought, by the way, was up to three, and the number of books I’d finished was two.
Next up was Wales, where I’d only been once before and then only for a day. I loved it there: we went to the beach, drove around, cooked some great dinners, and enjoyed the beautiful sights.
And of course I read a lot: by then, I’d finished four books. Didn’t buy any, though.
After a couple of days, we went to South Wales. First we visited the capital, Cardiff, and it’s so nice there. Of course they’ve got a bookshop, and I bought a book there, It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis, which is a dystopian novel about how America turns into a dictatorship. It isn’t set in either England or Wales, but it is about the world we live in now. So that counts, I think.
The next day, we went to Hay-on-Wye, which calls itself the first booktown in the world. And oh! it did not disappoint! I didn’t know where to start, that’s how many bookshops there were. Every other building is a bookshop, each one dedicated to a different subject. There’s one filled with maps, another one with children’s books, there’s second-hand books and new books, there’s sci-fi bookshops and those devoted to crime fiction. I never wanted to leave and considered buying a house there. I surprised myself by buying only four books.
As you can see, my writing is becoming a bit more chaotic. I never said what we did in Liverpool, and I spent only two sentences on Northern Wales. I was having a great time, though. I felt more relaxed than I’d been in months, I was enjoying the weather, and we were generally very happy. I was definitely less lost, and I’d finished five books by then. I had bought seven. Two weeks had passed.
Two weeks had passed already. That meant only two weeks were left. I didn’t want to think about this holiday ending anytime soon, so let’s take a break for now and continue my book journey later. What do you think of my selection of books? Do you ever go somewhere and bring books set there? Which books set in any of these places would you recommend? Please let me know in the comments! Also, don’t forget to follow me for more book-related posts!
The Open Book 