More lists

In the Times this week, a list of books not to read before you die. Which inevitably overlap with those you should.

Briefly summarised:

1. Pride and Prejudice
2. The Iliad
3. War and Peace
4. The Beauty Myth
5. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
6. The Dice Man
7. A la Recherche du Temps Perdu
8. For Whom the Bell Tolls
9. Lord of the Rings
10. Ulysses

I have started, or made reasonable progress with, six of them, and have ruled none of them out (though I don't like the sound of The Dice Man).

Enough of lists, I think, and the endless judgement of what should be.

The best thing about the Olympics ...

Or at least one of the best things, is that it's one of the few times that football isn't deemed far more important than anything else.

The Rowing Lesson

Not instruction in the noble art, but a novel I discovered via the dovegreyreader blog and also amazon's recommendations based on my order history.

Anne Landsman, The Rowing Lesson (Granta)

Steve Fairbairn, the father of modern rowing, described the rowing stroke as an ‘endless chain’. While The Rowing Lesson alludes to a pleasure boat rather than a racing shell, Fairbairn’s image is an apposite one.

It is the chain of her roots that draws Betsy, the narrator, back to her native South Africa from her adopted, married New York home. She returns to the hospital bedside of her dying father, to sit out his last days with her brother and mother in the very hospital – Groote Schuur – where Harold, the father, undertook his medical training.

The endless chain thus links past and present, memory and experience. The narrative structure is unusual: the action is seen through Betsy’s eyes, yet she slips into the second person, imagining and inhabiting her father’s past as if it was her own. Her eye takes in his childhood, the son of a Jewish shopkeeper generous to a fault as he has known what it is to suffer; his times as a medical student in Cape Town, while the Second World War – the adventure of a lifetime that Harold is not allowed to join, for he must qualify and secure his future – goes on half a world away; as a general practitioner, ‘Doctor God’ to his devoted and diverse patients; an often irascible father and husband, married above his station to Stella; and now, lying in a coma in the very place where it all began, the great doctor reduced to a frail body.

Each episode is framed by a rowing expedition to Ebb 'n Flow, the source of the Touw River, back in Wilderness near to where Harold grew up in the Western Cape. Like these trips, the narrative ebbs and flows between past and present, taken in by Landsman’s harmonic, lyrical vision which is, at times, dreamlike, echoing Harold’s present-day state. She exploits the potential of language, its consonance and resonance, and is generally playful without being tricksy.

The narrative structure, coupled with the ebb and flow of time and imagery, blur boundaries in space and time as well as in relationships: the psychosexual father-daughter relationship is played out in this context. Betsy is both of, and separate to, her father’s body and his blood. He is her doctor, too, and so that relationship is transposed upon the family one: an unsettling state. Both body and mind are inhabited by father and daughter and, ultimately, connected in the final scene, combining father and daughter, doctor and patient, blood and blood.

All this is played out against the starkly beautiful South African landscape, an unforgiving land that here, is a cipher of both beginnings - via the motif of the Coelacanth - and of otherness. The initial homecoming is now a standard of modern South African writing, but The Rowing Lesson is not an ‘apartheid’ novel: the historical and political is there only for context. We are assured of the family’s liberal credentials – Harold treats anyone, regardless of creed – but there is nonetheless a sense of separation, as evinced by the hospital staff speaking Afrikaans, a forbidding edifice of linguistic granite that cows Betsy, her mother and her brother.

The Rowing Lesson is Anne Landsman’s second novel, and it is an ambitious work. The strict narrative structure largely prevents the lyricism running unchecked, but it is occasionally overwhelming. Landsman could also have benefited from a better proof-reader, but these are small complaints. This is a substantial and important novel.

End of the week

So, the first week is done and time for a short rest from Olympic madness, from rowing and swimming and the Michael Phelps will-he, won’t-he (he did!). Time to graze on the sporting banquet rather than gorge myself silly. That said, I thought it was just ‘fletics this week, but had forgotten about the other treats in store: triathlon, synchronised swimming, the end of the showjumping today, flatwater canoeing (surprisingly exciting) and everything else. I’ll still be staying up too late watching Beijing Express.

I don’t think I was alone in thinking that the results of the rowing finals were nowhere near as expected, but I wasn’t the worst of Row2k’s pundits, many of whom may well have made the error of going on past form … I finished well below halfway in the points standings, but not last.

The final reckoning: three correct. I wonder if I redeemed myself a little by getting the country but not the right colour medal (as in the men’s eights) – nineteen of those were right.

In the kit medals, gold goes to the USA by a country mile. Loving the pale blue straps with silver detail, the very flattering shallow v-neck for women, and the sublimated Olympic flame design in grey on the back. Silver to the Netherlands, and bronze to Australia. Also in the final: Italy, Estonia and China (the latter two both with the Nike suits of the US in their respective colourways), with New Zealand winning the B final.

I’ve lost track of the medals totaliser, but the Brits are doing rather well. We even won a medal in gymnastics. Gymnastics!

LW2x 1. Australia 2. China 3. United States
1: Netherlands, 2: Finland, 3: Canada
LM2x 1. Great Britain 2. Denmark 3. France
1: Great Britain, 2: Greece, 3: Denmark
LM4- 1. Great Britain 2. France 3. Australia
1: Denmark, 2: Poland, 3: Canada
W4x 1. Great Britain 2. Russia 3. United States
1: China, 2: Great Britain, 3: Germany
M4x 1. Russia 2. France 3. United States
1: Poland, 2: Italy, 3: France
W8+ 1. United States 2. Romania 3. Canada
1: United States, 2: Netherlands, 3: Romania
M8+ 1. United States 2. Canada 3. Great Britain
1: Canada, 2: Great Britain, 3: United States

Day 8

A bonanza indeed. 'Super Saturday' was full of excitement, if not full of rowing gold medals. Another swimming gold for Rebecca Adlington, more cycling medals and Michael Phelps's seventh gold, then on to the rowing.

I found the W1x on Eurosport while the BBC were busy chattering, coming in at halfway when Knapkova was out in front. Once I'd recovered from the shock of a female commentator, it was clear that things weren't going Karsten's way for, really, the first time this Olympiad. Then Neykova through, and Guerette flying behind her. Predictions smashed again.

On to the BBC for the men's singles, and a real battle with the same men - including Belgian dark horse Maeyens - in the hunt all the way. It looked like Drysdale had it in the red buoys, but then suddenly both Tufte and Synek were through. For the first time in the last few years, Drysdale looked spent at the finish, and was stretchered off.

Through the pairs, with it really being a private match race between Australia and Canada in the M2-, won by Australia and the bowman was up and dancing in the boat, then a fantastically close race in the W2x, the medals all within a few hundreths of a second. Then another smooth performance from Australia in the men's pairs, and a surprisingly quiet performance from the vaunted NZ duo.

Coverage of the W2x medal ceremony was cut off for much guff about the 'iconic' coxless four then, at last, on to the real thing. The Brits won in a well-judged race, though for most of it Australia were out front, living the dream. Bronze to France, who were celebrating like they'd won gold.

Cue further ramblings about the 'iconic' coxless four (TM) and the 'legacy' of Redgrave and Pinsent, and the coxless four as the 'blue riband event'. Since when? What seems to have conveniently been overlooked is that the Sydney golden boys - Pinsent and Cracknell - were in the pair until their poor performances in 2003 saw them unceremoniously, and not uncontroversially, shoehorned into the coxless four as it was the event in which they were more likely to medal.

A day of the sport at its very best, though, and high hopes for tomorrow.

Only one of my predictions was correct, however: Synek's silver medal in the singles.

W1x 1: Czech Republic, 2: Belarus, 3: United States
1: Bulgaria, 2: United States, 3: Belarus
M1x 1: New Zealand, 2: Czech Republic, 3: Great Britain
1: Norway, 2: Czech Republic, 3: New Zealand
W2- 1: Canada, 2: United States, 3: New Zealand
1: Romania, 2: China, 3: Belarus
M2- 1: South Africa, 2: New Zealand, 3: Croatia
1: Australia, 2: Canada, 3: New Zealand
W2x 1: China, 2: Great Britain, 3: New Zealand
1: New Zealand, 2: Germany, 3: Great Britain
M2x 1: Great Britain, 2: Slovenia, 3: Australia
1: Australia, 2: Estonia, 3: Great Britain
M4- 1: Netherlands, 2: Great Britain, 3: New Zealand
1: Great Britain, 2: Australia, 3: France

Day 7

Flagging a little, perhaps because it’s been a little quiet on the medal front, and I can’t wait for the weekend’s bonanza.

A stunning performance in the velodrome, though, with a gold medal for the men. The totaliser has been updated, and has found a temporary home to the right.

In terms of rowing, I fear I may be limbering up to get the wooden spoon for sports punditry, based on my Row2k predictions. I had the Australian LW2x down for the gold, and their LM4- for a bronze, but neither has made the A final.

My predictions, when not dead wrong, are looking pretty shaky. Strange things have happened thus far, and anything goes over the weekend.

Day 6

The rowing was rained off, there was still not enough wind for sailing and no swimming finals for Michael Phelps, so quite a quiet day all in all.

Good points were the pleasing, if unexpected, news that two Brits – Emma Hindle and Laura Bechtolsheimer – are through to the individual dressage final, and Rebecca Adlington setting a new Olympic record (and second-fastest time ever) in the 800m freestyle.

Elsewhere: Robertson and Emms out in the mixed doubles badminton … the Swedish bronze medallist in the Greco-Roman wrestling discarding his medal in protest at the ‘politics’ in the event … Federer run ragged, and eventually knocked out by James Blake (USA), and Serena Williams also out … various plucky but ultimately unsuccessful young Brits, most of whom are now being tipped for 2012 by the ever-optimistic BBC … Oh, and A levels are getting easier, apparently.

So, on to the totaliser:

GB medals by event
Men 0 gold, 1 silver, 0 bronze
Women 2 gold, 1 silver, 2 bronze
+ 1 bronze in team eventing (mixed team: four women, one man)

On points (gold = 3, silver = 2, bronze = 1)
Men 2
Women 10
Mixed 1

Or on total number of metal discs
Men 0 gold, 1 silver, 1 bronze
Women 2 gold, 1 silver, 6 bronze

Sports in which medals have been won
Men canoeing, eventing
Women cycling, swimming, eventing

Now to look at the trend across all nations …

Day 5

Sculling hero #1 Michelle Guerette secured her place in the final, three seconds ahead of Knapkova (the predictions are slipping even more). Zhang, of China, may well be unstoppable, posting a faster time than Karsten on the other side of the draw.

Hacker is out of the men's singles, with the Belgian Maeyens in, but all else as expected in terms of personnel if not in speed order, though I suspect collective powders are being kept dry.

Some predictions are definite duds: Croatia will be contesting the B final of the M2-, not getting a bronze, and there will be no New Zealand presence to pick up their bronze in the coxless four.

Two more golds for Phelps. What is the Baltimore Bullet having for breakfast? Still a lack of success for Katie Hoff, though, but Kirsy Coventry, the sounds-like-an-all-American-girl ('I'm super-excited') from Zimbabwe won her third silver. Simon Barnes, in The Times, reckons the double hats are for 'hydrodynamic efficiency'. Must be difficult to get the second one on, though; the Australians have a dedicated suit-zipper to get them into their speed suits.

In other news, the sailing was postponed owing to lack of wind, and the Murray brothers are out in the tennis. I blame Jamie Murray's haircut: he had been sporting a luxuriant McEnroe-esque 'do, complete with red headband, but had a pre-Olympic buzz cut and there's clearly some kind of Highlander/Samson thing going on.

Another medal, silver in the women's time trial. Will the Brit women outstrip the men? The totaliser is in development.

Quote of the day - Simon Barnes (again) on sychro diving:

Theirs is a sport not without beauty, but it always seems to have a
homoerotic whiff about it as well. It all looks like a wonderfully elegant gay
suicide pact.

Day 4

Another day, another medal for the BBC’s Phelpsometer. A third Beijing gold – and ninth lifetime gold – for the boy dubbed the Baltimore Bullet, a moniker that harks back to the black-and-white Babe Ruth days of American sporting heroism.

Still much debate about the skin suits, from praise to accusations of ‘technological doping’, but no closer to enlightenment on the double hats.

A bronze medal for the event team: well-deserved as they focused in after changes to the line-up close to the Games. Tina Cook was one such late call-up, and made it all worthwhile with her individual bronze on Miners Frolic. A long time coming: I first heard of Kristina Gifford, as was, back in 1987 when she won team gold at junior level on Song and Dance Man, along with one William Fox-Pitt on Steadfast. Not overnight successes, but proof of hard work and perseverance.

Out of the medals but still of note was Mark Todd for New Zealand, coming out of retirement to show quite a few how it’s done. Another comeback kid, swimmer Dara Torres won silver for the US – her career has interested me since I read Gold in the Water by P. H. Mullen.

On the rowing front, finals berths are filling up and my predictions are a little askew. I had tipped Canada for gold and the US for silver in the women’s pairs, but neither made the A final, while in the women’s quad Russia finished last in the rep so won’t be getting the silver I’d allocated them

Day 3

It seems that British women swimmers are back: they won the first gold medal since 1960, and underlined the fact by taking bronze in the same event, while the American Katie Hoff’s six-gold challenge was thwarted for the second time in two days as she had to settle for silver. Michael Phelps – curiously the only man ever to look more attractive when wearing a swimming hat – is well on his way. The 4 x 100 relay was quite extraordinary, not necessarily in outcome but in the way in which it was won - almost the whole field above world-record pace, and the incredible final length by Jason Lezak. You know it's good when even Michael Phelps has someone to look up to.

Phelps, along with a couple of other Americans, wears two swimming hats at once (why?). Aside from double hats, it’s all about the suits in swimming, with the vast majority in the new long-leg speed suit that looks almost like a wetsuit. All are seeking the advantage, so it has inadvertently levels the playing field. Not very stylish, though, given the odd grey patches, though the US have made an effort, and full marks to the guy in the bright orange one. At least he stood out.

In other tales of the unexpected, Andy Murray crashed out in the first round of the men's singles, and the synchro divers trailed in last despite the hype. Made worse by the rather unseemly spat afterwards, a huff that made one wonder which was the teenager and which the grown man.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the day was the GB men's eight winning their heat and going straight through to the final, beating the much-fancied USA while they were about it. No upsets in the men's and women's singles, though. That said, while the medals will be shared by the usual band, the likely finishing order is by no means a done deal.

Much hard work is still to be done, but there is the greatest sense of enjoyment at these Olympics, that the athletes are just thrilled to be there. Witness Mary King and Call Again Cavalier at the end of the cross-country: he had his ears pricked and was full of running, she was beaming and wiping away tears of joy.

Day 2

Away from my sofa, so little to report. I caught a snippet of Nicole Cooke crossing the line in the women's road race, and a bit of the women's gymnastics.

No rowing, though, so I missed out on the dynamic duo's BBC commentary. Yesterday's prize went to their naming the Zimbabwe sculler (Elana) Hill as Susan Hill. I didn't realise the author of The Woman in Black - and independent publisher - had added yet another string to her bow.

Catching up, though, my suspicions that conditions were fast have been confirmed by the Australian M4x setting a new world record. Less good, however, was racing being abandoned owing to the weather, but hopefully the storm will have chased away the haze.

Day 1

All more or less as expected on the first day of racing. The course looks fantastic, despite the obviously poor air quality, and the camera placement for the television coverage is excellent - it's great to get close-ups and aerial views, and also the shots looking down the course towards the finish.

The predictions seem to be holding up, just about. Karsten made short work of her heat, chased and under-rated by Guerette, though I may have underestimated Neykova, and Zhang of China is not to be discounted. I also forgot about Australia in their M2x and M4-, both of which turned in awesome performances. Plus Cohen and Waddell in the M2x.

On the kit front ... plaudits, as expected, to the Netherlands and the US, though the former haven't come close to the Athens lycra, and to Italy for a great improvement. Also to dark horses Estonia, and Australia, who went for the classic yellow tops but snazzed it up with piped shorts with Southern Cross detail. Minor medals to New Zealand and South Africa so far, with France close behind. The wooden spoon still to be decided.

Opening ceremony

The Chinese certainly put on a show. The opening ceremony, replete with illuminated drummers and thousands of fireworks was quite a spectacle.

Further to my comments on the Australians’ World Cup rowing kit, their opening ceremony outfits – featuring dip-dyed sky blue satin bomber jackets – were a brave choice. The French looked dapper, bar the white shoes (Italy saved a similar get-up with silver loafers), but the women’s kimono-style tops were less successful. South Africa, behind the flag carried by Nathalie du Toit, were neat, though did seem to be wearing bright green Crocs. True to form, the US were working it, helped by men and women wearing the same thing, and Mexico did well in cream suits.

Quite a few nations chose white suits. Azerbaijan carried them off well, but others, including Great Britain and Yugoslavia, looked like they’d just come out of a cheap nightclub. The coloured shirts didn’t help, but so thoughtful for the GB women (ladies, surely) to be supplied with dinky handbags. Cyprus got it badly wrong, in shell suits with slightly too tight white bottoms, but the Irish team were perhaps the worst dressed, in estate agent-on-safari beige suits. With matching shoes.

Beijing weather

In today’s papers, hot air and fuzzy thinking to match the Beijing climate.

In the Evening Standard, Matthew Pinsent was headlined as saying that for the GB coxless four to fail to win gold would be a ‘disaster’. Not quite what he said, but the sentiment was there. If they are at the top of their game, it will not be a disaster. It will be very disappointing, but another crew was faster on the day. If they are not at the top of their game, they have no place at the Olympics and nor do jingoism or hyperbole.

Likewise, Paula Radcliffe in Athens: it was not a cause for national despondency, it was the disappointment of an athlete who, in the final reckoning, had been found wanting. An athlete who just happened to be British. Radcliffe may have touted as ‘our golden girl’ on the back of some extraordinary performances, but the medal was still there to be won, it was not a right; she didn’t ‘deserve’ it more than anyone else in the race.

More Olympic predictions

So, on from the medal picks to the far more important business of the outfits.

Chances are that many countries will not stray too far from their usual kit: New Zealand is blessed with classic, slimming black, while Denmark have their apparently never-changing red with white stripes (which is, frankly, a little old). Admittedly, some do have little to work with, such as the red and livid green of Hungary; Lithuania has a similarly unforgiving palette.

A Swedish lycra in black with a blue and yellow sash made a welcome appearance at a round of the World Cup, while elsewhere in Scandinavia Norway has been channelling eighties adidas in its red stripes with a white ground on a black body. The Italians, in the somewhat unforgiving shiny pale blue of the House of Savoy, have also gone retro, with the lightweights really working the seventies roller-disco look, complete with white knee-socks.

Canada and Switzerland have both turned out athletes in characteristically efficient style, their red and white nicely crisp, while Australia have been pushing the boat out a little, debuting their directional military-green half-zip in the World Cup series.

The US have great potential, as shown by the excellent suits at the 2006 World Championships (even if the lettering peeled off before the finals), and despite a poor showing at the non-Olympic Worlds, I think the stars and stripes will be ones to watch. Great Britain, with the same colourway, are not even in the hunt: the team kit was previewed in the press, but they shouldn't have bothered as the designers clearly didn't.

My money, however, is on the Netherlands. Their orange, white and silver kit in Athens - complete with a sketched tulip in orange on the back - was a triumph. Don't be fooled by their uber-simple non-Olympic kit: the future's orange.

Olympic predictions

As part of their excellent Olympics coverage, Row2k have a fun Olympic Games pick ’em feature.

Here are my medal picks – a combination of hope, cautious optimism and random guesswork.

W1x 1. Czech Republic 2. Belarus 3. United States
M1x 1. New Zealand 2. Czech Republic 3. Great Britain
W2- 1. Canada 2. United States 3. New Zealand
M2- 1. South Africa 2. New Zealand 3. Croatia
W2x 1. China 2. Great Britain 3. New Zealand
M2x 1. Great Britain 2. Slovenia 3. Australia
M4- 1. Netherlands 2. Great Britain 3. New Zealand
LW2x 1. Australia 2. China 3. United States
LM2x 1. Great Britain 2. Denmark 3. France
LM4- 1. Great Britain 2. France 3. Australia
W4x 1. Great Britain 2. Russia 3. United States
M4x 1. Russia 2. France 3. United States
W8+ 1. United States 2. Romania 3. Canada
M8+ 1. United States 2. Canada 3. Great Britain

More books

Following on from yesterday’s post, there is of course a variation on the game: Bookershame. Or, how many of the Booker Prize longlist have you read?

I’ve read none of this year’s and, looking back, have read a mere thirteen of all nominees:

Zadie Smith, On Beauty
Alan Hollinghurst, The Line of Beauty
Barbara Trapido, Frankie & Stankie
Yann Martel, Life of Pi
J. M. Coetzee, Disgrace
André Brink, Rumours of Rain
Molly Keane, Good Behaviour
J. G. Ballard, Empire of the Sun
Keri Hulme, The Bone People
Penelope Lively, Moon Tiger
A. S. Byatt, Possession
David Malouf, Remembering Babylon
Zoe Heller, Notes on a Scandal

Bookershame indeed. As ever, if I count the books I own, it all looks rather more respectable …

While generally sceptical of prizes, it is pleasing to note the Booker’s enduring recognition of South African writing. Not just the usual Nadine Gordimer and J. M. Coetzee, but also Dan Jacobson, André Brink, Christopher Hope, Justin Cartwright, Damon Galgut and Achmat Dangor. More, counting Doris Lessing, and Barbara Trapido’s nomination for the superb Frankie & Stankie.

Bookshame

An article in the Telegraph on a literary game - the books that you haven't read.

Not an entirely new idea, as there was a rash of articles on the topic when Pierre Bayard's somewhat ironical book How To Talk About Books You Haven't Read was published, but the idea was clearly reignited at the Ways With Words festival in Dartington.

The Telegraph calls it Humiliation. I prefer Bookshame, and know the game well.

Despite having an English degree from a reasonably respectable university, I have what Sylvia Plath termed, on her arrival in Cambridge, 'whistling gaps' in my knowledge. No Proust, no more than a few pages of Stendhal; no Vanity Fair, no Pride and Prejudice. I once read somewhere that women didn't read Walden. So, powered by the nuclear fission of Dead Poets Society and sophomoric feminism, I bought a second-hand copy. Which, eleven years later, I'm still to read.

But then, I was encouraged to question the canon, to be suspicious of the fact that the books that lie shamefully unread are largely by dead white guys or spinsters in poke bonnets. So I may or may not read Our Mutual Friend (even if I told my tutor I had, and managed a convincing dissection of its central theme. English degrees are good for learning how to do this), but it doesn't matter either way. Sometimes, they're only books.

Summer sculling

Out on a gorgeous summer evening: the warm golden light that makes trailing to the river after work worth the effort.

The trailer was back from Nat Champs and a few people were unloading, looking more relaxed than they have in a long while. Rest earned for the work is done.

I headed out on my own, a general plan for the outing but nothing too adventurous. A quiet purpose but also sculling to remember that I love it.

The river was almost empty, just a few other scullers with the same idea in mind. No crews steaming along, urged by coach and cox. Instead, a quietness, a solitary enjoyment.

I paddled in, put my boat away, left for home. Dark pinkish grey clouds and the sun like the burst yolk of a free-range egg. Slipping below the horizon, reminding me that these days are few and precious. The panting dog-days of August are to come, then the sharpening promise of autumn. Home after dark.

Irony

I am aware of the irony that this blog is, so far, mostly not about rowing. Imitating life, to some extent, but something will be done.

Race for your life, Charlie Brown

A while ago I took part in Race for Life, in aid of Cancer Research UK.

It was something of an adventure - a part of town I hadn't been to before, not being sure of how I was running owing to a lack of training runs.

In the event, I was very pleased to exceed my expectations, finishing roughly two minutes faster than I'd hoped. So all the training is paying off somewhere.

The best thing, though, was the atmosphere. Literally thousands of women of all ages and levels of fitness, in stetson and tutus and angel wings and pink, pink, pink, like some mildly athletic hen night. In addition to our race numbers pinned to our fronts, many had sheets on their backs, which told of who they were running for, family and friends who had suffered cancer.

I felt very glad that I had no one to put on my back.

Wise words

The world is a terrible place, full of depression, misery and
loneliness. But it's the only one we have. So if you have still
got time left, go for an audition, get to formal hall, ask her
out, get out of bed, just try it.
You'll never get a chance like this again.

Listmania, or Firing the Western Can[n]on

I like lists. It’s something about their order, the accumulation of what has been or the promise of what is to come.

Once, when I was about fifteen, I spent a number of days compiling a list of books I wanted to read. It runs to several pages of tiny handwriting in a square-papered French exercise book. I uncovered it recently and flicked through, expecting to confidently cross off, or rather put a neat tick (for that was the method I had chosen) next to most of the books.

Not so. I managed one or two, here and there. Recently another – Postcards from the Edge – but the mass remains unread.

Lists of books are tricky, subjective things. The perennial lists of what is ‘good’ – best books, top books, favourite books – almost seem confined to the same library, a combination of GCSE and A-level set texts (Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre), other books which are perceived to be ‘good’, a smattering of reasonably modern works then, of course, The Lord of the Rings and, latterly, the septiform Harry Potter beast. Nothing too experimental or self-consciously difficult, and most of them read before we reach majority: my reasonable acquaintance with the Western Canon is entirely down to my approximation of a modern classical education by some enlightened teachers.

Yet I always count how many of them I have read, expecting a respectable number, but generally managing less than half. For example, of the BBC’s 2003 ‘Top 100 books’, I have managed thirty. Of the 1001 Books to Read Before You Die, less than a hundred. (Though am pleased, if a little surprised, to note the prominence of South African writing on that list).

Of course, I have tried to be scrupulously honest, to tick off only books that I have read all the way through, in its original form. I don’t think my Black Beauty picture book counts. But if I count, along with the books that I have read, the books I feel I have read, the number looks infinitely better (especially if you also count the books I own). Like Clive James, I never quite got round to reading Middlemarch, though I did manage an essay of passably scholarliness for a first-year undergraduate, and there are many others. I’ve at least heard of most of them, even if they inhabit some dim literary hinterland where it’s a little too dark to tell if it’s Flann O’Brien or Flannery O’Connor.

But are lists good things anyway? Limited at best, prescriptive at worst, I prefer my free-range habits, my reading ratio of one ‘proper’ book to be savoured and considered to one ‘junk food’ to be gulped down and galloped through. Books lead on to each other, an organic process rather than moving down a list: I read Gillian Slovo’s Every Secret Thing: My Family, My Country, then immediately ordered 117 Days by Ruth First from amazon, something I had meant to do ages ago, when I read The Jail Diary of Albie Sachs.

I suspect it’s the lists that I like, not the instructions they contain.

But why?

Here we are in cyberspace. Again. I've decided to stop beating about the bush and acknowledge that I want to write about rowing. Amongst other things.