required reading

It is barely autumn, but I am already excited about the trees starting to turn, the crisper mornings, and the dampness of the air. We went fruit picking at the weekend, and returned home with an embarrassment of raspberries and strawberries (from polytunnels), but it is the blackberries and the apples that I am most pleased about, envisaging pies and crumbles for weeks to come!

Perhaps there's something in the air apart from all that rain; the kind of books I want to read changes at this time of year as well. This weekend I put my Booker reading on temporary hiatus, and picked up Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell again; it has exactly the blend of the fantastic, the nostalgic, and the ability to absorb utterly that I was craving. It deserves to be read for hours in an armchair by a fire with a glass of whisky or a big glass of red wine by your side. Fortunately only the armchair, the fire, and the time are missing from the experience. Last year at this time I read The Ladies of Grace Adieu, Stardust, and The Earthsea Quartet to satisfy the urge for escapism, though sometimes crime novels and big absorbing classics do the trick. What do I have ahead of me this year? The three remaining Booker novels that I have yet to read, in time for the October announcement of the winner, Michael Ondaatje's Divisadero, Richard Yates' The Easter Parade, and perhaps Saul Bellow's Herzog. But I long to embark on a big Dickens novel, or to re-read Dostoevsky.

I was pleased to discover that I'm not the only one whose reading habits change with the seasons; there is a Guardian blog on the subject today, and though the notion leaves some people thoroughly puzzled, other responders are suggesting Hardy, Bulgakov, Solzhenitsyn, as well as the more recent offering of The Short Day Dying, which is already on my shelf, waiting to be read. I guess that this will fill all of my reading from now until the New Year, unless I find anything even more tempting!

I recently finished Darkmans (another novel ideal for Autumn, I think). There is a review on its way, but those who have read the novel will know why I'm struggling to get my thoughts together! Suffice to say, I loved it, loved the confusing and wild journey experience of reading it, loved all of the unlovely characters in it. It might even persuade me to revisit Clear, which I abandoned after 30 pages. It's certainly my current Booker favourite.

To end with, here's a suitably seasonal picture of Yorkshire in damp, misty Autumn, which is where my reading would be taking place if I were really fortunate!