Novel the war of the worlds7/5/2023 ![]() ![]() Appointments were on Zoom, concerts I hoped to review mostly cancelled. It was the start of the second year of lockdown. Where does it all start? I had to retrieve my old diary to remember how (on earth), in January 2021, I agreed to deliver, 15 months later, 90,000 words on Rachmaninov for publication this year. ![]() ![]() Words scuttle round your head at night and you wonder what possessed you. Decisions are made, anecdotes abandoned because of a plumbing disaster, a knock at the door or a burnt cake. A study of steam trains or tax systems or, in my case, the Russian composer Sergei Rachmaninov (I’ll come back to the spelling) will seep into the crevices of a writer’s daily existence even if the resulting text appears harnessed in cool objectivity. Unless it’s a kiss’n’tell, this truth may bypass the reader. ![]()
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