Mere morsels

or, well, you know, it's one of these posts (»¡plus a book review!«)

Aug 03, 2023

I write this under the surreal July sun. A cascade of biochemical pathways are at play beneath my skin, machinations of molecules that once more lead me to believe I was a plant in a former life, body flooded with chlorophyll.

Book review morsel

It wasn’t until I moved to Australia that I came to fully appreciate the freedom of cycling. Oh, sure, I’d cycled plenty in my youth in the UK, through forest glades and haunted parks1; yet, despite living in Nottingham, ~~Coventry~~ The-City-That-Contains-The-University-of-Warwick and Birmingham, I hadn’t truly cycled. Not around and within a city, feeling its beat and heart.

Years ago, a friend (Oh, Hi Mark!) lent me his single-speed bicycle and upon it I began to thrive on the freedom and weaving, the one-geared efficiency, the smug delectation of sailing past peak-hour Melbourne traffic, the upward fury at hills followed by gravity’s downward joy.

Well, until I fell off and broke my teeth and face2.

Sometime later I purchased a new bike, with glorious thin wheels and the lightest of frames. I loved that bike.

Then someone stole it, sold it for kidney parts. Or something. Bastards.

Whatever. Insurance. I got another bike, which remains unstolen. It's a good bike, but I miss its sibling.

Anyway, that’s all preamble. These thoughts stem from conversations with

Terry Freedman

about city cycling and his love of London’s streets, a discussion that led to a casual admission of him having written and published (!) a book on this very topic. After some nudging3, I convinced Terry to send me a copy. I read it cover to cover in the space of an afternoon.

I asked if I could write a short review, a sort of What I Think.

Here’s Wot I Fink:

I’m half the world away, but the pages of Terry Freedman’s Forgotten Paths and Winding Memories—a discovery of London's bike trails have left me lamenting my departure from the UK and craving the experience of a city I’ve never lived in. From Brixton to Ilford, Greenwich to Upminster, Terry navigates the reader through a curated series of bike lanes, paths, riverbanks and park trails, all whilst recounting memories from each location. It’s a charming and unique take on the topic of cycling.

Yet the startling aspect of this book—one that, admittedly, I at first found off-putting—is that it contains neither maps nor trails! Terry has denied the reader these, and I think I understand why.

The pages are in many ways a memoir, a record of what each place means to the author. Anecdotes, stories, childhood memories, the oft-amusing follies of youth—those who have read Terry’s work will immediately understand the kind of wit and whimsy with which these are regaled to the reader. And so to place these paths upon the page with such as a simple device as a map would deny the reader the discovery of Terry’s own journey, as well as the reader’s.

Instead, there are hints and riddles to locate a starting point and then a winding tale that is intended—if this reviewer’s interpretation holds—to let the cyclist stop and ponder along the way. To be there, with Terry, at specific moments long past. And though I haven’t been able to sit on a saddle and do just that, my time on the sofa with a notepad, tea and Google Maps (locating those cryptic starting points) gave me pause to reflect. I wasn’t just reading about a part of London. I was reading about a part of Terry’s London.

If that isn’t special, I’m not sure what is.

Note: The above is all false. Terry never wrote that book. No-one did. I made it up for an experiment where I write a review about a book that doesn’t exist and then Terry has to write the actual book (well, a sliver of it). Then we’ll swap and I’ll run away screaming from whatever challenge he sets me. I hope you enjoyed. Did you believe it? Did you see it coming? Do you wish the book did exist? (I do!) Do let me and Terry know in the comments; it was his idea! (Well, he read about it somewhere and suggested we try it.)

EDIT: well, Terry has since published an article from said book. You can find it just below. He well and truly exceeded my expectations!

Eclecticism: Reflections on literature and life

Forgotten paths and winding memories

Chapter 7: Fairlop Waters Country Park We’ve enjoyed the green delights and cycling in other parts of London, such as Chiswick and Hammersmith in the west, and Tottenham to the north. But now we dally in the London Borough of Redbridge in the east, just touching the county of Essex…

a year ago · 19 likes · 40 comments · Terry Freedman

Actual morsels

Recently, I discovered that delicious Melbourne chocolatier Mörk4 sell Mörk Morsels. Clearly these have come about due to Mörk being fellow SLAKE readers and so I have no doubt various future posts will be sponsored by Mörk5 in order to ensure that an adequate supply of dark chocolate is delivered into the Mörkish chamber of my mouth.

Dreamorsels

Mor(sel)pheus smiles upon me of late. Wild, wild dreams have been had. There are nrgghhh such delights I would like to write about, including but not limited to:

Walking the many antique furniture stores that are not in any way dotted along Flinders Lane in Melbourne, I made the off-hand discovery (whilst I “brought down the kangaroo”) of the very last thylacine skeleton within an absurdly large and expensive wooden armoire that I was pretending to be able to afford
The experience of pure horror at realising my undergraduate students had, via some clever hack, access to my laptop and for two years had been parading my innocent (I sincerely hoped …) browsing history as nightly events for the amusement of those who paid—yes, paid!—to have subscription access6

Closing morsel

I want to give a nod to an author you may not yet know but who deserves a spotlight:

Lane Talbot

I have begun Lane’s North Dark, a chilling tale written with efficient and vivid prose about a place that is cold and brutal. It’s not for the faint hearted, but then again many great novels aren’t.