Climbing Days by Dorothy Pilley | Introduced by Dan Richards | Book Review | Canongate

 

Ever since I read Climbing Days by Dan Richards, I have been intrigued by Dorothy Pilley. Dan's great-great-aunt was a pioneer mountaineer, and someone that the last few decades have somehow allowed to fade into some obscurity. Having finally had the chance to read her original account, Climbing Days - here republished in a stunning edition by Canongate, and introduced by Dan Richards - I am surprised and saddened that this book isn't one of the canons of British climbing literature.

But saddened no more! Here, again, is the book in all its glory, and what a surprising, delightful and exciting read it is. Tracing Dorothy's climbing journey from her very first forays in the UK all the way to her pioneering ascent of the north-north-west face of the Dent Blanche in Switzerland, this is a complete and satisfying climbing journey that takes all the great climbs in its stride. Equally though, it is tender escapism, inspiring dreams of distant mountains many of us will never see. Mountains of the mind, and all that. 

Climbing Days takes in the Lakes, Wales and the Isle of Skye - with Dorothy expressing equal amounts of awe as anyone doing the same today will experience - and then further to Switzerland, France and Spain for adventures in alpinism as her skills, confidence and social circles grow.

One must constantly remember (with both awe and horror), when reading this fine piece of mountaineering literature, that what we think of today as 'climbing' took a very different shape in the 1930s, when this book was first published. I often felt a thrill when remembering that when Dorothy says 'abseil', she means wrapping a rope around her thigh and shoulder and lowering herself just so. No Grigri, no belay or rappel device, just a rock with a rope slung around it to hopefully keep one safe. Equally, climbing looked rather different: there is no mention at all of harnesses, and though carabiners were coming into fashion around this time, they weren't widespread yet. Pitons - metal spikes to drive into the rock and use as a step or anchor - were more common, but falling, generally, still wasn't a safe option, just something hopefully avoided or mitigated mid-air. 

In the same vein, reading about rescue operations she occasionally took part in is fascinating. At the time, there was no official mountain rescue - just a handful of (hopefully) experienced climbers, who happened to be staying in a nearby hut, and were gracious enough to go looking for a missing colleague who hadn't returned. She shares tales on hut etiquette, rationing and packing (for example, how they slowly moved away from carrying heavy tins to spartan rations), and even her first close encounter with a crevasse. In a way, Climbing Days is a beautiful glimpse into the development of mountaineering and alpinism in the early twentieth century.

But then, so much more too: I am so pleasantly surprised by how funny Dorothy is. Considering Climbing Days was first published in 1935, it reads as easily as any modern climbing memoir, and her often tongue-in-cheek, self-mocking yet awe-filled rememberances fill the pages with life. Not always plain-sailing; sacrifices had to be made. 'I haunted second-hand bookshops for climbing literature,' she writes, 'going without a new hat or sacrificing lobster salad for a bun and coffee lunch.'

Lyrical, too; developed from her diaries that she kept throughout her entire life, Dorothy had plenty of material to draw on and develop into vivid descriptions of landscape and experience.

'After supper I went outside, wrapped in blankets, to watch the moonlight moulding the backs of a sea of clouds in the valley and cutting the upper glacial world into heraldic simplicity of sable and silver.'

The two Climbing Days - that of Dorothy Pilley and that of Dan Richards - are a brilliant match, and if any of this appeals to you, I would advise reading them both. The order doesn't matter, though Dan's book is perhaps a great contextual introduction to Dorothy's work. I am just glad that, to my ever-growing library of badass, inspiring female climbers' memoirs, I can now add this wonderful account.

 

Four Mountaineering Books Everyone Should Read | Dorothy Pilley, Catherine Destivelle, Helen Mort & Alison Hargreaves | Rock Climbing Book Reviews

I want to tell you about the four mountaineering books I've read recently. This chain of events wasn't intentional, quite haphazard in fact; but the outcome, and this thread that I've followed (and can hopefully keep following) have been very satisfying indeed.

They're all about, or by, women; again, not planned, but I'm quite happy it turned out this way. They are all heroes in their own right, who broke unimaginable limits and went way beyond expectations. Whether you're a climber, hiker, walker or armchair traveller, these books, I believe, are full of inspiration and evocative landscapes that will delight you. 

I'll go chronologically.

Climbing Days by Dan Richards

I reviewed Climbing Days earlier on my blog, but this was the book that started me off on a quest for mountaineering literature. Its focus on a pioneer of British mountaineering, who also happens to be a woman, was a great hook. I loved reading snippets of Dorothy Pilley's adventures and those of the author, Dan Richards – both transported me, as a reader, to the places I dream of. The Lakes, the Alps, Welsh crags, the great outdoors, powerfully evoked throughout.

The upshot of reading Climbing Days was a short trip to Wasdale Head, where climbing as a sport first began (at least in the UK), with Walter Parry Haskett Smith's solo ascent of the Napes Needle. It is also the home of the Barn Door Shop, supplier of all the gear that hikers have forgotten to pack, as well as plenty of great literature of local interest. I came away with my next two reads...

Rock Queen by Catherine Destivelle

I started reading Rock Queen by the lounge fire of our cosy Wasdale Head B&B, whisky in hand, legs aching from a full day of hiking. It was perfect, and Catherine's no-nonsense, straight, driven narrative was a pleasure to read from the very start.

I didn't know it then, but Catherine is something of a legend in climbing and mountaineering circles, having completed first (often solo) ascents of some of the hardest rock faces and routes in the Alps and beyond, as well as being climbing world champion at a time that was the very beginning of competitive climbing. She began her climbing career while still at school, escaping to Fontainebleau and beyond each weekend. After she became world champion, she realised it wasn't what she wanted: her true passion lay in mountaineering, and so she turned her back on competing once and for all. It is so brilliant to read how she gave it all up to follow her own path.

It's hard to believe a bigger publisher didn't snatch this book to put out in English. My copy is from Hayloft Publishing, and albeit the translation and spell-check falter a little towards the end of the book, it is still a fascinating read about Catherine's life and genuinely jaw-dropping achievements. It made me want to try trad climbing for the first time in my life (the discipline where you place your own protective gear as you progress up a rock face).

A Line Above the Sky by Helen Mort

This was my second purchase at the Barn Door Shop, for a mixture of personal reasons, and also having seen Helen's name many times before. I felt it was time. 

This book is beautifully written, and is a poetic reflection of Helen's journey into motherhood. She is a climber and a fell runner, and although she yearned for it, being a mother didn't immediately feel natural for her. From the beginning, it made me sad.

A 'glass moth, a metal butterfly ': the first stirring of a new life in her. If I wanted reassurance that in motherhood, one can still have it all, I was disappointed – but Helen writes beautifully of the duality of a need for freedom and an even more desperate need to cling to her newborn. 'This is the purgatory of motherhood – perhaps of the human condition altogether – to want or need something else and then, as soon as you have it, to need the opposite.'

Throughout the book, she also traces the life of Alison Hargreaves, also a mother and accomplished climber who, six months pregnant, climbed the notorious North Face of the Eiger. She looks to her like her own mother figure, an example to her like I'd hoped Helen might be for me. In fact, the title of the book is that of a climb named by Alison's son, Tom Ballard. Which led me onto my next read, of course.

Regions of the Heart: The Triumph and Tragedy of Alison Hargreaves by David Rose & Ed Douglas

Reading Alison Hargreaves' biography was a very different experience from Helen's tender reflections, but perhaps that's a good thing. Alison was a driven, outstanding mountaineer and climber who struggled against the unfair cards that had been dealt to her all her life. It was another heartbreaking read, this time because such a brilliant talent was being kept down by an abusive husband and her isolation from the climbing community. (Catherine Destivelle often crops up in the narrative as Alison jealously read about her achievements in the press.) She was never quite able to break out and make a name for herself to the extent that she wanted to.

Nevertheless, Alison's achievements are mind-blowing, though one may not appreciate their full force on paper: perhaps the most oustanding one worth mentioning here is being the first woman to climb Everest unsupported, carrying all her gear and without bottled oxygen. By this time, she had two children.

Alison died on K2, way too young. She had already completed the ascent and was on her way down when a storm enveloped her. The narrative of the book is sorrowful: it felt as though she was finally ready to leave her husband, to start a new life with her children, somewhere new. But it was not to be.

It is a deep look at the life, drive and passion of an excellent mountaineer who deserved so much more recognition than she got. I am surprised and somewhat outraged that I had to buy this book second-hand from some dodgy website.

I'm currently reading The White Spider by Heinrich Harrer – where shall I go next? Please leave your best mountaineering or climbing recommendations in the comments, so that I may continue my escapist reading frenzy...

Antoni Gaudí by Michael Eaude | Book Review | Critical Lives | Reaktion Books

[Review originally published on Bookmunch: View Post]

I knew nothing about the life of Antoni Gaudí as I dove into this book. I did, however, remember visiting the Sagrada Família when I was young, and being blown away by architecture for the first time in my life. It is a magnificent building, truly unlike anything – with mythical figures and melons and coffee beans, decorated with glass and pottery shards, piled on top of spires like 99 Flakes, bursting with colour. It’s enough to take a quick glance at the Güell Pavillions Dragon Gate, or the Casa Batlló, to see what I mean.

I know even less about architecture, but it does strike me as unique that Gaudí was a ‘total architect’: he didn’t just design the brick-and-mortar structures, but also the interiors and, in some cases, even the furniture. Every nook and cranny, painted bird, cast-iron leaf or coloured glass shard came from him. His influences, presented in the book in good detail, are fascinating in their global scale: William Morris and John Ruskin, the Arts and Crafts movement, Persian and Orientalist flourishes, mudéjar (the work of Muslim craftsmen under Christian rule, a style still very prominent throughout Spain) and Gothic styles – despite travelling very little himself and learning mostly from the books he found in his university library.

The man behind all this dreamy colour, however, was not at all what I expected.‘There were three main strands to Gaudí’s thought: he was extremely right-wing, a fervent Catalanist and a militant Catholic.’

The depths of his fanaticism emerge in detail, including a fasting period during his midlife crisis that felt more like a hunger strike in its seriousness, and religious extremism in every aspect of his life.

He was brusque, often rude, haughty and rebellious but, inarguably, outrageously talented. He had no time for leisure: ‘In his pockets he usually carried bags of biscuits … stamped with a cross, which he nibbled frequently and distributed to whomever he was talking to. Formal meals used up too much valuable time, he thought.’

The book provides good historical context for some basic understanding of Gaudí’s motives and historical setting, and will be of interest to anyone who has seen, or is planning (or hoping) to see, some of his work. Notably, Eaude writes very accessibly: as and when he uses jargon, he is quick to explain in layman terms before one could even start panicking. Everything gets sufficient context, which is surprising for such a slim volume. Adorned with 57 illustrations and/or snaps, though black and white, it feels a complete picture of the man and the myth (though for a fuller experience, it is worth seeing the designs in colour).

The format of the book is doing it no favours, though. On first appearance, I was baffled by my own wish to read this – the small type, the glossy pages, the elongated paperback format all screamed academia. Luckily, I actually started reading it, and quickly realised looks could be deceiving. It turned out to be a very enjoyable and interesting read. (Admittedly, upon further research, the TLS said the series contained ‘very short critical biographies whose main target audience is likely to be undergraduates, but that will also do nicely for a general audience.’ So clearly I'm just a nerd.)

The book finishes on the question of what Gaudí would have made of his stellar success today. He is personally responsible for driving mass tourism to Barcelona, attracting more visitors annually than the Prado Museum in Madrid or the Alhambra in Granada. Eaude proposes he would have ‘taken reverence and admiration of his talent as his due … And would have fulminated against the irreligious, money-making mass consumption of tourism’.

A classic case of biting the hand that feeds, reminiscent of Thomas Bernhard’s literary prizes. It’s a complicated legacy, but the value of Gaudí’s revolutionary buildings and unique architecture is rock solid.

Revolution in the Head Review | The Beatles' Records and the Sixties | Ian MacDonald

 

My Beatles period, so to speak, has been going for over a year, and it's become something of an unhealthy obsession, as those around me will happily confirm. I first discovered their music in my late teens, but as is appropriate, it was all She Loves You and A Hard Day's Night and yeah, yeah, yeah at that point. I came to their later albums after watching Peter Jackson's Get Back, as I'm sure many others have done so too, and it's been a journey since then.

I had the joy of getting to know Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper, the White Album and Abbey Road in 2022, and I was very conscious of what an enviable position it was to hear these albums, really, for the first time. 

The obsession continued, though, and I first read Hunter Davies' authorised Beatles biography (a great read, as is his biography of Wordsworth) to get general context - and later, by accident, I discovered Revolution in the Head. Something of a quest to obtain a copy, this book built its own mythology, and by the time I got my hands on it, I was hungry for its contents, whatever they may be.

Why Revolution in the Head is next level Beatles reading

Revolution in the Head is, in a nutshell, a chronological overview of the Beatles' songs - every single one ever recorded, 241 according to their official EMI discography. Song by song, MacDonald recounts anecdotes about composition, an overview of structure, recording techniques or historical context even. What it does is ground the Beatles firmly in their time, giving an overview of social and political movements and thinking of the time (hence the head), historical events and even musical references and inspiration (some truly surprising - see, for example, Watch Your Step by Bobby Parker and I Feel Fine).

What it did, specifically for me, was give a fascinating insight into how - and why - all these creations came to life in the first place. Starting with the early Decca auditions, it meticulously catalogues each song: E for early creation (if we want to be specific, 'tracks and records taped before the first release [1] in the Parlophone/Apple discography'), U for unreleased, and all others numbered from [1] Love Me Do to [186] I Me Mine and all the way to the two posthumous songs by John Lennon, finished by The Beatles in the nineties. 

It is hard to write objectively about this. For me, it is mind-blowing that a song like Love Me Do, the first of all songs to be officially recorded, was written by 16-year old Paul. What follows on their first LP, Please Please Me, are further hits that are hard to believe were just so - see P.S. I Love You, or I Saw Her Standing There. And it keeps going from there. The context is this: no one was writing their own material at the time, and so one of the first things that set The Beatles apart was their ability to write their own hit songs, with no previous musical training and yet a keen ear for surprising musical progressions that were already the envy of their competitors.

And later came the incredible innovations, like being the first band to use feedback on record, to use tape loops, or Tomorrow Never Knows, which in itself was revolution on record.

To me, one of the most surprising revelations is how in tune The Beatles were inadvertently with their time, being always one step ahead of the game. They were always searching for new inspiration and influences, reaching to places that other UK and US acts wouldn't. It's difficult to conceive how strange it seemed at the time that they were into Indian meditation and mantras, or that they listened to Motown. This is one of the triumphs of the book - by giving context to their work, it helps future-dwellers like myself appreciate the significance of their experiments.

Behind the Beatles scenes

The most enjoyable aspect was certainly the second-specific details that MacDonald shares. How many times have I listened to Hey Jude without noticing that, at 2:58, Paul swears over a fumbled harmony vocal? How could I have missed George’s whispered count-in for the tabla player at 3:46 on Within You Without You (and what is a tabla anyway)? How have I never heard John’s sarcastic ‘Bye’ in the Sgt. Pepper reprise? Or Mal Evans’ dramatic counting in A Day in the Life (1:41, 3:46)? 

There are also the anecdotes, which entice me as much as I'm sure they enticed my screaming 60s predecessors crying and fainting at live appearances. Although MacDonald prefers an objective, removed and often somewhat harsh stance (perhaps necessary to be taken seriously, especially when it comes to music journalism) the personalities shine through clearly, from the early phases of light-hearted fun, to the egotistical final years of 'I Me Mine'. 

These are all nuggets of information that, perhaps if you're not a particular fan, wouldn't interest you much. But Twist and Shout, the version that we all know, was recorded in a single take at 10pm, when an exhausted band gave one last song a go for their first LP - after which, John's voice was completely gone. And the Sgt. Pepper album, on that morning when the finishing touches were added, was blasted from a window in Chelsea by the band at 6am, and oh to be a fly on the wall.

It is undeniable that it reads like mythology - and MacDonald knows it too.

Beatles Reverb: reflective sound; room abience.

Naturally, a lot of it goes over my head. I don't know what the significance is of delaying the expected move to D from A with an interjected bar of 2/4. Nor am I always clear or familiar with the ideologies and historical events being mentioned, and to be able to cover all of this information in one book would, naturally, be impossible. So I am content with as much as I can grasp, and don't dwell too much on what a tonic or a coda or a chromatic descent means if it isn't clear from the context.

To his credit, the supporting information in MacDonalds' book is excellent - not only does he include an incredibly detailed general index, there is also a song index (broken down by key), a detailed discography, a glossary and a chronological table spanning nearly 100 pages which includes what the Beatles were doing, a UK pop overview, culture and current affairs.

Despite being laid out and written as a reference book, the story of the band also comes through, and towards the end it does become somewhat difficult and heart-breaking to read. There are tears and walk-outs and ego and fights over chocolate digestives (shame on you, Yoko). But it is to the author's credit not to get sentimental over these affairs (unlike this reader).

Ultimately, the book creates such reverb around The Beatles that it's impossible not to see how much effect they still have, and especially highlights their achievements, in music and beyond, without placing them on a pedestal. It is a fascinating insight and one I will be referring back to regularly.

Best read with a good pair of headphones to hand.

Adam Smith by Jesse Norman | What He Thought, and Why it Matters | Book Review | Allen Lane

I've had my eyes on this book ever since it first came out in hardback last year. Mostly because I love Penguin Press, and their Allen Lane imprint is truly trustworthy for genuinely interesting, in-depth and educational books. Adam Smith: What He Thought, and Why it Matters by Jesse Norman is no exception.

Bearing in mind that I've never studied economics, nor philosophy properly, what follows is an amateur's brief review on what she thought of the book. Rather than talk about the contents, I'll just aim to list the reasons why I think it is worth a read.

Side note: I had no idea I was reading the book of the Financial Secretary to the Treasury.

What did I like about it?

You may well be wondering why a book like this would interest me, or anyone like me, who isn't into market economy. I guess the answer is I have a soft spot for random little pockets of history, science, literature or other areas that are taken into close consideration, examined on all sides and presented in an accessible way. Before anyone takes offence, I don't mean that Adam Smith is a random little pocket - more like a significant personality in history who, for some reason and as Norman often points out, didn't and still doesn't get the recognition he perhaps deserves. I have spoken to several people while reading the book who didn't know who he was, and I myself was only taught about 'the invisible hand' of the market - enough to pass my finals.

In short, Smith is often considered the father of modern economics, and was the first to write about a market-centric economy in his most well-known work called The Wealth of Nations. He was also among the first economists to propose the division of labour and specialisation for increased productivity. Less well-known is the fact that he also wrote about morals and the law, exploring causality in human behavior; that he set out to write down the 'science of man'.

The book starts with a brief biography - brief by necessity, as we know very little about Smith's life - followed by an in-depth exploration of his philosophy, theories and also historical context. From the mid-18th century, his most active writing period, all the way up to modern times, Norman examines Smith's impact in all areas, and suggests reasons why governments and economists might want to revisit his works. He also challenges misconceptions about Smith, analysing and refuting these.

Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of Smith for me is how advanced his thinking was compared to his contemporaries in so many ways. He was vehemently opposed to slavery, saw overwhelmingly the negatives in the monopoly of the East India Company, and proposed a thought structure that was never before considered.

Conversely, I found it interesting that he didn't foresee the impact that industrialisation or technological advances might have in future.

What was I not massively fond of?

The language, as one might expect, was at times difficult for the humble non-aficionado, and it took me quite a while to finish the book for having to go back and re-read paragraphs I didn't understand (or I'd accidentally zoned out). Having said that, at 300 pages this book is short and entirely digestible - it just takes some dedication.

There were also some repetitions that I feel could have been left out, while some topics could have been more deeply explained. An example of this is the financial crash in 2008, and how Smith's thoughts relate or might explain it. Norman skirts around the topic but he doesn't settle on it unfortunately. More case studies in general would have been helpful - although I assume I am not the primary market.

I also found that sometimes, Norman's passionate defending of Smith's reputation against misconceptions made me somewhat suspicious. But I can't comment any further on this, I am in no way qualified.

Overall...

Bluntly? Reading this book will make you feel smart. For a while, at least.

I found the book overall really interesting, captivating and well-written even for a beginner like me. If you are even slightly interested in history and/or economics, this is a good place to dip into it.

7/10