From a Novel in Progress
James Wood, 9 May 2002
“... splayed, and listen to Romantic music on his elderly record-player. The reticent passion of Edward Elgar was the sound of my childhood, the sound of the Malvern hills in summer (though I’ve never seen them, in fact), the valleys as gentle as stomachs, the fatherly oaks with their green brains, and the grass flattened by the shoes of walkers – all ... ”