The bride recounts, vividly and hilariously, her and her Mother’s plans for an English country wedding, how they dealt with Uncle George (The Head Of The Family), and their success in making sure that on her wedding day the church was filled with music and flowers (both officially banned due to the “mixed” marriage of a Catholic bridegroom and a Church of England bride). She subsequently finds herself living on a horse-rearing estate in a rural part of Portugal, coping with a truculent cook, a primitive kitchen (no electricity, no gas, no fly screens, no taps — unlike the stables, which were far more up-to-date) and watching a husband gradually turning into a horse before her eyes…. In Lisbon, a four-hour drive away, lived her husband’s parents, his nine brothers and sisters, an unending procession of aunts, uncles and cousins, and a large number of family servants. She recounts the ups and downs of the early months of her married life at Reinaldo, the family property which she struggles to make her own. Iron bedsteads, straw mattresses and numerous pictures of the Holy Family gradually make way for chintz, bookshelves, and comfortable veranda furniture; chicken-with-rice-and-peppers are replaced by duck and lemon meringue, though a new young cook is swiftly appropriated by her mother-in-law, which could be thought of (but not by the writer) as a compliment. Friends and neighbours are also keenly observed in this light-hearted, observant and humorous account of a girl’s path from an English country cottage and a London flat, to love, marriage and motherhood on a traditional country estate in Portugal.

    

    Culled from tapes made by Bukowski at his Los Angeles home in 1968 for biographer and rock critic Barry Miles, long before the author had begun regular public readings. Bukowski was so shy he insisted that he record alone. He reads both poetry and prose, gets thoroughly drunk during the recording, and bitches about his life, his landlord, and his neighbours.

    The only full biography of the celebrated cult figure and underground poet/novelist.

    So began for Michael Jenkins a formative experience which, when he came to write about it half a century later, reappeared to him ‘as in a dream, complete but surreal’. A House in Flanders, his account of those summer months spent on the edge of the Flanders Plain, does indeed have a hypnotic and dreamlike quality. The dignified old French country house with its unvarying routines; the extended family of elderly aunts, uncles and grown-up cousins (with one of whom he fell boyishly in love); and the summer warmth and wide Flemish skies were like an awakening to a young boy whose home in England was a ‘cold and empty place’ and whose parents, he felt, ‘preferred frigid intellectual exchanges to the more complicated and demanding world of personal relationships’. Yet all was not as golden as at first seemed. The German occupation had left its mark, and in 1951 memories of it were still raw and painful. Gradually, through his vivid portraits of the various members – in particular of the firm but kindly matriarch Tante Yvonne – Michael Jenkins teases out the history of the family and of the surrounding area and uncovers the secret at the heart of the book – the reason he has been sent there. ‘A radiant book’, wrote Dirk Bogarde in the Daily Telegraph, ‘a whole spectrum of colours and lights, of delights and elegances, of wistfulness and love’. The perfect summer read.

    The Traitors is the story of how they came to do so.

    Bronowski was both a distinguished mathematician and a poet, a philosopher of science and a literary critic who wrote a well-known study of William Blake. Dr. Bronowski's very career was founded on the premise of an intimate connection between science and the humanities, disciplines which are still generally thought to be worlds apart.The Common Sense of Science, a book which remains as topical today as it was when it first appeared twenty-five years ago, articulates and develops Bronowski's provocative idea that the sciences and the arts fundamentally share the same imaginative vision.

    Against a magnificently embroidered backdrop of eighteenth-century France, he shows us Sade's incredible life of sexual appetite, adherence to Enlightenment principles, imprisonment, scandal, and above all inexhaustible imagination. Based on a decade of research and utilizing work never before published in English, The Marquis de Sade is a definitive work that confronts nearly two hundred years of myth to reveal a Promethean figure of astonishing complexity.

    

    Whether it is taking a troublesome cow to be mated with a prime bull; dealing with a rat-infested hayrick; learning the ways and means of maggot farming; or describing the fine art of poaching pheasants using nothing but raisins and sleeping pills, Roald Dahl brings his stories of everyday country folk and their strange passions wonderfully to life. Lacing each tale with dollops of humor and adding a sprinkling of the sinister, Dahl ensures that this short story collection celebrates the sweet mysteries of life."All the stories sparkle with vibrant characters, humorous dialogue, and sly rustic lore and cunning." -- Sunday Express"A sophisticated account of village life. The rural characters are molded by Dahl's dark, inquisitive imagination. Compelling and very funny." -- Time Out

    It is doubtful that Bennett could have made up the eccentric Miss Shepherd if he tried, but his poignant, funny but unsentimental account of their strange relationship is akin to his best fictional screen writing.Bennett concedes that "One seldom was able to do her a good turn without some thoughts of strangulation", but as the plastic bags build up, the years pass by and Miss Shepherd moves into Bennett's driveway, a relationship is established which defines a certain moment in late 20th-century London life which has probably gone forever. The dissenting, liberal, middle-class world of Bennett and his peers comes into hilarious but also telling collision with the world of Miss Shepherd: "there was a gap between our social position and our social obligations. It was in this gap that Miss Shepherd (in her van) was able to live". Bennett recounts Miss Shepherd's bizarre escapades in his inimitable style, from her letter to the Argentinean Embassy at the height of the Falklands War, to her attempts to stand for Parliament and wangle an electric wheelchair out of the Social Services. Beautifully observed, The Lady in the Van is as notable for Bennett's attempts to uncover the enigmatic history of Miss Shepherd, as it is for its amusing account of her eccentric escapades. --Jerry Brotton

    Blandings has impostors like other houses have mice. Now there are two of them – both intent on a dangerous enterprise. Lord Emsworth’s secretary, the efficient Baxter, is on the alert and determined to discover what is afoot – despite the distractions caused by the Honorable Freddie Threepwood’s hapless affair of the heart.

    Each of the ten chapters is a virtual time capsule which reminds, as we plunge headlong into the future, of the richness and importance of our past. Illustrations throughout.

    The bus was travelling very slowly in the right direction and could hardly have been missed by anyone except Aunt Juliet, who must have been travelling fairly fast in the wrong direction.Growing up in the 1930s in a grand old home in Sydney’s bohemian Kings Cross, Robin Dalton experienced a childhood of curiosity and wonder. Raised by a bevy of idiosyncratic aunts and a revolving door of unconventional houseguests, Dalton recalls a time when children had real adventures in a world not easy but perhaps less complicated than today’s.With a gentle warmth and wicked wit, Robin Dalton brings to life all the colour, glamour and charm of Australian society between the wars. Steeped in nostalgia, Aunts Up the Cross is a delightfully funny memoir of family, childhood and an Australia of yesteryear.

    The Sunday Krazy Kat strip turns to full spectacular color, with a flood of rare color extras and a revelatory essay by Jeet Heer.