Middlefocus

I very much appreciate Sebastian Barry's writing, a feeling that has only grown stronger after hearing him speak at an author event some years ago. Whenever one of his titles appears, it goes straight onto my "to be read" pile. For some reason, although I purchased them, I have never got around to reading his American Civil War series. As a result, when NetGalley offered me an ARC of The Newer World, his latest book, I wondered whether I was approaching things back to front. Would my enjoyment of this novel be diminished by not having read the previous ones? I needn't have worried. I enjoyed it immensely as a standalone novel. The opening chapter drew me immediately into what I thought was going to be a particular story. Then, quite matter-of-factly, that apparent beginning was set aside and a different path emerged. Brilliant. I loved that. The publisher’s description of the novel promised a multi-layered character who in the person of Tennyson Bouguereau – “ a ...

Attention went first to the flowers and bunting at the entrance to the Lock Keeper's Café at the Lagan Towpath and then catching my eye there it was a carving of a horse being lead by its handler.  Not in sight but inferred is the canal boat, called a "lighter" that was used to transport goods along the water in former days. It's a nice reminder of days gone by: days of horses, draysmen, locks and lockkeepers. Thanks to all those volunteers who act as guides to the Lock Keeper's Cottage right at the opening and to those who welcome visitors on board the old barge just opposite. In those locations you can hear stories of the people who lived and worked there. And plenty of information too for those who welcome every day as a new learning opportunity. The carved horse is a reminder to pause and pay attention. Harder times, no doubt, and slower.

Curious, I stopped in front of this object embedded in a wall. A box, of course but for what purpose?   My initial reaction was that it was for letters but there is no opening through which to post them. My attention moved to the central keyhole - without a handle this appears to be the sole means of opening and closing the box. It is visibly old with its aged yellow surround like an aura smudged at its centre with traces of red and blue. Distressed and much weathered, the name of the manufacturer is worn or overpainted and so not quite visible. Although recessed, the box stands out from its surrounding gaining prominence from the black background. It sits on a band of blue, separated from another at the base. Curlicues painted black and orange on a red background reprise the ornate scroll work at the top of the box. I am curious about this. Does the key still exist? Does it work? How many copies of it are there? And I am curiouser still about its purpose. If not letters then wh...

  I nearly walked past this shrub earlier on.  I'm glad I didn't because a little while later this natural occurence had disappeared. A mist of web and raindrops had cloaked the plant. Entrapment by spiders surely to lure in unwary insects. The strategy reminded me a little of the Sirenes singing in the Ulysses epic. So as not to yield to the tempting invitation the hero in that story had himself bound to the ship's mast while the sailors had their ears blocked with wax so they couldn't hear the fateful song. It succeeded in the story but I am not sure how it worked out for the insects or the spiders in the shrub. I cannot really criticise the insects for falling prey. It's part of the natural cycle of things. And anyway, I stopped to investigate so I guess I too fell for the strategy. Glad I stopped and paid attention though. Would have "mist" it otherwise. Have you had a similar experience? Spotted any other of nature's fatal attractions?

One of my favourite "curious openings" snapped on a trip to Granada, Andalucia, Spain back in 2023.  I remember that I spotted it and returned to take the picture. I wondered then and have wondered since why such a lovely door received so much graffiti attention.  You will see the starred handle easily enough but the keyhole is tiny. It seems out of proportion with the stature of the door. I wonder who passes through the opening and what stories lie behind.  Were the inhabitants present when the "artists" went to work? Did they hear the spray can hiss and splatter?  Or did they return home to find the damage done?  Was it one night's work or spread over time?  A recurrent problem? Was the apparent sturdiness of the door the very thing that drew the antisocial behaviour?   Curious indeed.

I have physical copies of all of Donal Ryan's books, so when NetGalley offered me an advance reader copy of Where Are the Kings for review, I jumped at the chance.  The title immediately intrigued me.  Was a question mark missing? A glance at the dedication page deepened the mystery.  There was an extract from WB Yeats's On Baile's Strand, depicting someone fighting "crowns" on the waves amid cries of "Where are the kings?" The passage hints at struggle, grief and perhaps even madness—elements that resonate throughout the novel. Just a few minutes into the first chapter, I read: “There doesn't have to be a reason for crying. 
Sometimes crying just starts itself up in a person, and the person has no control of it.” This is our young protagonist, 12-year-old Jack, watching his mother. What a premise. 
Why is she crying?  I'm hooked.  This, surely, would be a novel exploring emotions, most likely of grief. 
 And it is - Jack, the good boy of chapter...

  Night Flight , Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, with an introduction by André Gide Translated by Stuart Gilbert, Penguin Books, 1940 edition. This English translation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's Vol de Nuit came from a late friend's bookshelves. The Penguin edition with its distinctive orange-and-white cover, denoting works of fiction, is now 86 years old and the content very much of its time.  Aviation was in its pioneering age and although the events described are tragic, the French writer, André Gide in his introduction writes "great though these risks still are, they are growing daily less, for each successive trip facilitates and improves the prospects of the next one."  Sadly those diminishing risks were not realised as is apparent by  another book from the same shelves—a book that survived an air crash. Back in 2001 my friend had ordered a title on the Geology of Ireland from a bookseller in Selkirk, Scotland. The book was on board an aircraft that crashed into ...

Really enjoyed this memoir from the reserved shelves of Libraries NI.  An account of three artists, George Campbell, Gerard Dillon and James MacIntyre spending the summer of 1951 on the Island of Inishlacken on the western coast of Ireland across from Roundstone, County Galway. James was the youngest of the three and the author of the memoir. Gerard died in 1971, George in 1979 and James in 2015. What I liked about this memoir was the sense of comradeship and adventure back in the early 1950s. The stories of the artistic community in Belfast of the time and the familiar (to me) places mentioned all combined to keep me turning the pages. There are delightful pen portraits of the characters and islanders. The observations on the work of artists developing their style were fascinating. I went in search of this book having heard about it through the publicity for an event in the FE McWilliam Gallery in Banbridge. Back in November 2025 the Friends of the Gallery hosted an artist talk b...

Visited this exhibition at TheMacBelfast  today. Okay the sound was off but that didn't detract from a wonderful deepdive into the sea bed.  I'll be back to experience it again.  It's on to January. Why? The dark is inviting.  The colours stand out.  I didn't touch but Oh... how I wished to roll in that seaweed texture. Wonderful! The textures, the colours, the shapes, the fabrics. The creative process.   Do yourself a favour. If you are near this immerse yourself and Let flow!

Four reads for November.  Not weighty tomes this time but already sure that there will be plenty of stimulating content. Fiction: Breaking Point by Edel COFFEY Non-fiction: Women and Power, a manifesto by Mary BEARD French literature: L'Heure Exquise by Dominique BARBÉRIS Poetry and Drama: Red Velvet by Lolita CHAKRABARTI I've set myself a new goal of reading a lot more non-fiction - a genre that will include essays, biographies and commentaries.  Add to that a work of fiction each month as well as a French text and some poetry/drama. We'll see how that develops.

Managed to squeeze-in-a-read on our trip in Turkey.  How appropriate that it should be Orhan PAMUK's The Red-Haired Woman .  I thoroughly enjoyed this story which reprised aspects of the Oedipus myth - the interplay of tensions between fathers and sons. The context of the novel is well-digging in a small town on the outskirts of Istanbul. The red-haired woman is a member of a travelling troup of actors who visit the town. She becomes the object of our narrator's attention. There is a connection with the father. A terrible accident occurs and there follows decades of repressed guilt... and an unexpected denouement.  The story definitely kept my interest and the final pages definitely caught me off guard. Reading those I simply had to go back and restart the novel. Really?  Check it out - you'll get my drift. It was fascinating to read a novel in situ - travelling through parts of Istanbul mentioned in the story. I finished it while there but I didn't take th...

  Wasn't able to make this event - abroad on travels - but have read the book which I much enjoyed. Anyone out there attend? Reaction? What a great idea.

  The guide asked us to stop in front of this stone fragment on our visit to Ephesus in Turkey.  "What does it remind you of?" she asked.  Not being that sporty I didn't see the connection immediately. But now, I cannot not see it. According to the guide it was the inspiration for a widely recognised logo. Do you see it? It is an image of the Greek winged goddess Nike. She symbolises victory not just in wars but in more peaceful pursuits such as games and athletics.  She is renowned for her speed and strength. I guess the resulting stylised logo ticked all the right boxes.

  I am planning to read these four books this month.  My Name Is Red. Orhan PAMUK The heftiest by far is Orhan PAMUK's My Name Is Red published in 2001 by Faber&Faber.  We are holidaying in Turkey soon and as I like to read literature from the country I am visiting I thought this would hit the spot. Mind you, I'll have to be mindful of baggage allowances and so perhaps an e-version or audiobook might be more practical for carrying around. Here's some info on the book from Faber&Faber This train is for.  Bernie McGill It's Book Week NI later this month and local writer Bernie McGill will be sharing some readings and reflections at Suffolk Library where I attend a monthly reading group.  I've already started this one having picked it up at the library last week. The book, a collection of short stories, was published by No Alibis Press in 2022. Here's some details from the publisher  and information from the author herself here. There are plenty of eve...

  The plan has been a while in the making.  It is to address my ToBeRead (TBR) stack which gets bigger by the week.  Have you a similar pile? You know, the one that sits on a shelf or at the side of your bed. Yes that one! You pass a bookshop and something new catches your eye. Okay then, let's get that.  Or you've been to a book launch, met the author and because it was a free event (maybe with a glass of wine) you felt it was just downright rude not to buy a copy of their latest. Don't even think of the book programmes on TV and Radio when listening in inevitably leads to another purchase. So yes, I welcome all those opportunities for the new but feel the need to balance the flow and make room for them.  The way I'm doing that is through a reading planner. I'll share this on another post but essentially I have created a specific calendar on my phone to schedule a month's reading in advance. What's the saying? Those who fail to plan are planning to fail.  ...

Title: Montaigne Author: Stefan Zweig.  Translation and Introduction by Will Stone Published: Pushkin Press / Kindle 2015 First published 1941 I regret to say that I had not previously read anything by Stefan ZWEIG (1881-1942).  However, I was intrigued to follow up on a recommendation to read this small volume on Montaigne, whose lifestyle and essay writing I have long found fascinating.  What struck me most in this short biography is the overlap with Zweig's own situation in fleeing the Nazi onslaught of the 20th century to Montaigne's position as a renaissance philosopher and essayist amid societal upheaval at the end of the 16th century.  There are clear resonances with our modern world and I found myself on several occasions marking material that could apply just as much to today as it did in those earlier periods.  There is a substantial introduction to the book by Will Stone who translated the original and in his observations there was also much to highli...

  In Kraków for a short break we had been making our way to the Oskar Schindler factory which sits alongside the Museum of Contemporary Art.  We chanced upon this painted doorway which certainly catches attention. I knew as soon as I saw it that it would pass the test for inclusion in my photo collection of Closed Openings.  No descriptive words for this one.  Just look at it.  Observe.  Anything come to mind?

Walking a beach today, we came across a group of stones balanced on top of each other. Not a natural formation and clearly someone had found the time to engage in creative effort. How much time? How much effort? No doubt it was a meditation of sorts. Picking the right stones and shells to lend structure and support. The stack looked as if it would topple over at the slightest touch but no…it resisted the incoming waves that washed and frothed around. I stepped into the foam to get a close-up picture. I thought of other times; childhood, when armed with buckets and spades we sculpted with sand. This seemed the product of maturer effort - a rock castle and moat. Later we watched as a small flock of turnstones flew down, plumage the colour of the foreshore, and got busy living up to their appellation, flicking over pebbles in search of food. Did the stack look out of place to the birds? Upset their larder? Not a bit of it, they took it in their glide. A small stone stack, kinder to the en...

  It may have been the light from a sunny day at the beach because a glint of something caught my eye and made me pay attention. Glass. I stooped to look closer and picked up a bottle. Had it been just discarded or washed up? It looked as if it had been buried, brown caked-on sand around its neck, still stoppered. I could feel the embossment on the body and dusting it down could read the details: REGISTERED. WJ. BRIGGS. BELFAST and signed WJ.Briggs. But what did it contain? Holding it up to the light I peered inside hoping to find a roll of paper - a message in a bottle maybe. No such luck, it was quite empty. No hint of or even a trace of whatever liquid it once contained. One thing was sure, it was a glass bottle, dulled by abrasion but clearly vintage. This would-be beachcomber wanted to learn as much as possible about it. Questions surfaced. Why was the bottle here? How come? What was nearby? Who left it, an adult or a child? Does the Briggs company still exist? Where was it? S...

A railway line runs close to the rear of our home. Local and express trains including the hourly ones serving the Belfast/Dublin route hurtle past every fifteen minutes and apart from the occasional sustained warning blast of an air horn we don’t pay them much attention. Visitors to our home are taken aback: “Does that noise not bother you?” It doesn’t. It is simply part of the soundscape of where we live; something we are used to. Our paternal family has close connection with the railway. Granda Christy was a driver on a steam locomotive for the London, Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS) which also operated in Northern Ireland. A story is told of him stopping his engine on the Antrim Coast as he felt that the sound coming back to him from up ahead was not quite right. His intuitive experience was correct, boulders had fallen unto the track. Catastrophe avoided. A close call. Christy TRACEY with his steam locomotive. Photo source unknown. Exterior sounds are one type of resonance and t...