#helen dunmore

[derangedrhythms]

It is winter, my season.

Helen Dunmore, from ‘A Spell of Winter’

[novlr]

“A novel, in the end, is a container, a shape which you are trying to pour your story into.” — Helen Dunmore

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

My life’s stem was cut

Helen Dunmore

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[blackwaterridge]

'it's happening at last,' I thought, 'we're turning into one another.'

Helen Dunmore, A Spell of Winter

[aljundiassagheer]

Daniel Branwell x dark!Frederick Dennis from The Lie by Helen Dunmore

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[mermaidbracket]

[violettesiren]

Always rain, September rain, The slipstream of the season, Night of the equinox, the change.

There are three surfers out back. Now the rain's pulse is doubled, the wave Is not to be caught. Are they lost in the dark

Do they know where the coast is combed with light Or is there only the swell, lifting Back to the beginning

When they ran down the hill like children Through this rain, September rain, And the sea opened its breast to them?

I lie and listen And the life in me stirs like a tide That knows when it must be gone.

I am on the deep deep water Lightly held by one ankle Out of my depth, waiting.

September Rain by Helen Dunmore

[judgingbooksbycovers]

A Spell of Winter

By Helen Dunmore

Design by Holly Ovenden.

[autumnrose11]

First novel of 2023 ...

I’ve just started reading “The Lie” by Helen Dunmore, and I’m two chapters in. I’m hooked already. This is one of the books that I know close to nothing about, except that it’s set in Cornwall, during and just after the First World War. I’ve got a very bad habit of sometimes reading the background/summary of the novels I embark upon. Not this time: I’m going to take the story as it comes.

This novel appeared on my recommended reading list on Goodreads a few weeks ago. I suppose my fascination with (depressing) WW1 literature all started with my obsession with Downton (series 2 and all the soldier!Matthew feels!!!). So far, I've read Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks, My Dear, I Wanted to Tell You by Louisa Young (which I would recommend to ANYONE, it’s one of the few novels I’ve read which touched me very deeply) and Summer in February by Jonathan Smith. That last one is not really about the First World War, but it is set in 1913, in a bohemian artists’ community in Lamorna, Cornwall. I adored the novel (though not as much as MDIWTTY). I read the setting and the one-line blurb of The Lie … and that’s how I ended up getting it :D

The opening chapters are already very evocative, judging by what I’ve read so far … and I very much hope this is another of those extraordinary novels that I’m never going to forget.

[derangedrhythms]

My winter excitement quickened each year with the approach of darkness. I wanted the thermometer to drop lower and lower until not even a trace of mercury showed against the figures. I wanted us to wake to a kingdom of ice where our breath would turn to icicles as it left our lips, and we would walk through tunnels of snow to the outhouses and find birds fallen dead from the air. I willed the snow to lie forever, and I turned over and buried my head under the pillow so as not to hear the chuckle and drip of thaw. 

Helen Dunmore, from ‘A Spell of Winter’

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Sanctuary from a Rain Storm

On a fine day, I decide to visit Norwich. I drive to the park and ride, hop on a bus and, once in the city centre, head for Elm Hill, to explore its Tudor buildings, quaint shops and courtyards, which have been used often in settings for films, and are reputedly haunted. Clouds gather overhead, I feel large drops on my face, so head for a courtyard to shelter from the storm. I peer into the dark…

[blackwaterridge]

I know everything about you. He knew more of me now than anyone, and I knew more about him. It left us alone together, a shipwreck with our secret that dragged at us like treasure.

Helen Dunmore, A Spell of Winter

[elliotpsmoke-blog]

‘Birdcage Walk,’ by Helen Dunmore

Novel, 2017 Historical novel set in Bristol, at about the time of the French Revolution and viewing the social fall out and upheaval in British trade and family life. A book, really, which is hard to dislike, with relatable characters set in opposition to each other, and plenty of drama which – occasionally, though not overly – plays to melodrama. The types, acting and actions of the characters…

[sheepyhollows]

“I love the privacy of rain.” — Helen Dunmore, Inside The Wave Poems

[violettesiren]

Where you hide moon-striped grass ripples like tiger skin where you hide the dry ditch rustles with crickets where you hide the electricity pylon saws and sighs and the combine harvester’s headlight pierces the hedges where you hide in your ball of silence your snorts muffled gone dumb a foggy moon sails over your head, the stars are nipped in the bud where you hide you hear the white-faced owl hunting you count the teeth of the fox.

Hedgehog Hiding at Harvest in Hills Above Monmouth by Helen Dunmore