When I was younger I was a prolific reader. During my late teens and early twenties I would devour novels, often getting through two or three in a week. I wouldn’t make any claims to being well read as a result of this – my preference was for horror and thrillers, and few of the titles I chose made it onto literary picks (although they did make it to the best seller lists quite often). Over time, with my job, my wife, and my children, as well as other interests competing for my time, I became slower at completing books (although I still read regularly). The internet, and more specifically, the ability to consume it on portable devices was the thing that hit my reading the hardest though. Even with the convenience of a Kindle, the amount of books I read fell through the floor. I was probably reading four books a year at most.

I’ve made efforts to rectify this recently, and my rate has increased a little, although I still need to make greater effort to favour a book over wasting time online. I almost always read in bed before I sleep but, as I’m often tired, it’s not unusual for me to read only a few pages before I nod off, so I really need to fit my reading into a time of the day when I’m more alert. Obviously, it also helps to have a book that is engaging. And that’s what I’ve had the pleasure of this week.

A few months ago, while browsing in Blackwell’s bookshop in Sheffield I spotted a book on the display table near the entrance. It had a yellow cover featuring a black and white photo of a pretty girl in a Smiths t-shirt. It was titled The Stirrings: Coming of Age in Northern Time and written by Catherine Taylor. It also had a wealth of recommendations from various reviewers on the front, but it was that evocative sub-title that caught my attention, I think.

Picking the book up, I read the precis:

This is a story about one young woman coming of age, and about the place and time that shaped her: the North of England in the 1970s and 80s.
About the scorching summer of 1976 – the last Catherine Taylor would spend with both her parents in their home in Sheffield.
About the Yorkshire Ripper, the serial killer whose haunting presence in Catherine’s childhood was matched only by the aching absence of her own father.
About a country thrown into disarray by the nuclear threat and the Miners’ Strike, just as Catherine’s adolescent body was invaded by a debilitating illness.
About 1989’s ‘Second Summer of Love’, a time of sexual awakening for Catherine, and the unforeseen consequences that followed it.
About a tragic accident, and how the insidious dangers facing women would became increasingly apparent as Catherine crossed into to adulthood.

Seeing that the book, a memoir, was not only set (at least in part) in my home city, but that it also closely shared it’s place in time with my own coming of age, I added it to my list of books I’d like to read (in this case, by taking a photo of it on the display – I do this a lot in bookshops so I don’t forget about something interesting).

Not long afterwards, in early September, I spotted the Kindle edition for sale and snapped it up. It then joined a few dozen other books that I’ve added to my Kindle library in a growing “pile of shame” of books that I’ve bough but struggle to find the time to read. I tend to pick books at random from this selection, but after finishing another book, decided to bring this one to the top of the pile. I’m glad I did.

This is the first book in a long time that I’ve finished in the space of less than a week. It’s not a long book, sure, at 223 pages, but from the very first page I was hooked, and as well as actually sitting down to read for hours at a time, I’d also read a few pages whenever I had a spare few minutes. The sense of time and place was palpable and the book is beautifully written, telling the story of Catherine’s journey from childhood to adulthood, through the ups and downs, the adventures and the tragedies (it’s truly heartbreaking in places), all described with a wonderful honesty. Because of the Sheffield connection there are places and things and memories that were part of my youth too, albeit seen through my own particular lens of experience.

I’ve read many books that I’ve enjoyed, but it’s rare that I find one that makes me feel the way this one has. It’s a beautiful work and I now feel sad that not only have I finished it, but also because I have a sense of loss for the times described, a “forever young” nostalgia for a past that can’t be revisited other than in memory. I’m glad it had the power to move me.

…

As this is ostensibly a photography blog, I guess I should also say that I went out and made some photographs today. This isn’t an unusual thing, although it being midweek perhaps is, but I had a day off work and decided to head out into the Peak District to shoot three sheets of 4×5 large format Kodak Ektar that have been sat in film holders for a long time. As usual, the weather forecast was an outright lie, and the mixture of sunshine and cloud was actually just cloud without sunshine. This robbed me of some glowing autumnal colours but, making the best of what I had, it did make for soft light in the woodland area I visited.

Although I did shoot one sheet of Ektar late last year (still in one of the holders I used today!) I’ve not actually processed any C41 large format film before, so I now have to find a lab that I can send it to. I hope some of the shots are worthwhile as it certainly ain’t going to be cheap – probably the best part of £30 for four sheets! Wish me luck!

Today’s picture is apropos on nothing, really, but I find it evocative and, given what I’ve written about The Stirrings, I felt it was a good fit.

Olympus OM-10 & G.Zuiko 35mm f/2.8 on Ilford FP4+. Ilfotec DD-X 1+4 @ 20° 10mins.

Taken on 2 August 2024