“As soon as she’s organised, she walks onto the glass bridge and through the warm blue sky, her arms stretched out from her sides. People stare, and some throw her cranky looks because of all the space she’s taking up, but she doesn’t care. She twirls above the rush of
What was hot? Hay Festival. George Saunders. My inner fan girl. James Salter. Robert MacFarlane. A walk in Mousecastle Wood. A visit to Hergest Croft Gardens. An RHS cream tea. A walk on the Begwns. Coconut ice cream. Not necessarily in that order.
So, Lydia Davis has won the 2013 International Man Booker Prize, fuck fuck fuckity fuck – now everyone will be reading her, and talking about her, and she won’t be my secret favourite short story author EVER anymore. I ordered The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (Abe Books) after reading this review