This week, I’ve been really enjoying reading all the suggestions for fantasy places to read made by those who have completed my survey about women's fiction. (If you haven't completed the survey yet, there's still time - until the 31st May - and you could win a £20/$20 Amazon gift card. Here's the link: TAKE THE WOMEN'S FICTION SURVEY.
There have been so many great suggestions for fantasy reading places. Gardens of various sorts were a popular choice. I’ve recently been watching a re-run of a TV series called Around the World in Eighty Gardens, and your fantasy reading places made me want to go on a world trip called Around the World in Eighty Fantasy Reading Places. Wouldn’t that be great? Not only to experience all those wonderful places to sit and read a book, but to have the time and tranquillity to really get absorbed in reading.
Of course, for it to work properly, you’d need to have somebody on hand to carry your book pile and to supply you with refreshments. And they’d have to be somebody willing to melt into the background so they didn’t distract you.
One respondent was very specific about her choice of garden, naming the courtyard of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Not being familiar with it, I took a look. Wow! Isn’t it an amazing place? So amazing, I might not be able to concentrate on my book if I were there, which would mean I would need to go there often to get used to it, which wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.
Another garden choice that caught my eye was: in the garden of my childhood home. How evocative that was! In a flash, I was back in the garden of my own childhood, remembering every detail of it, or at least, every detail that counted to me as a child – I daresay my mother would have an entirely different memory of it. (After all, she was the one who did all the gardening.) For me, it conjured up memories of the sumac tree I loved so much with its rust-coloured furry trumpet fruits, and leaves that turned a vibrant red-gold every autumn. The pink roses I once looked at in the sunshine, causing pink splodges to appear before my eyes for ages afterwards. The bush I mindlessly plunged my hand into only to have it stung by a bee. The time when I was forbidden to go to the end of the garden because my dad was secretly making me a doll’s house for Christmas in his workshop.
If I could go back there now to read, it would have to be beneath that sumac tree in the autumn. If you could return to the garden of your childhood, I wonder whereabouts you’d read your favourite books?
Of course, not everyone has a garden when they're growing up. If that’s you, I wonder what your fantasy garden would be like? Or perhaps you’d be happy to stay indoors.
I'd love to know your thoughts on reading in gardens, childhood or otherwise. Comment below, or you can tweet to me at @margaretkaj.
I'll bring you more from the fascinating survey results soon. In the meantime, happy reading, whether you're in your fantasy reading place or not! Have a good week.