The Past is a Different Country

Or not so distant, thanks to the joy of books. I braved the minus temperatures to venture into university and teach a seminar on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight this week, suitably attired in thick tights/boots/cardigan and, of course, the obligatory knight on a necklace (and no time for proper photos, sorry about that). Due to my love of this book, I dragged in with me several versions of Sir Gawain, including the fabulously colourful Michael Morpurgo children’s book (recommended reading!) and enthused at my students about the joy of medieval manuscripts and the colour green as linked to the devil in folklore. A story about a green giant who rides off headless at new year, and a shadowy Morgan-witch in the background? What’s not to love.

And to cheer up the grey day and match the colours of the occasion (and the children’s book) I went with lovely rich burgundy, which always makes me smile somehow, and a bit of medieval animal print.

I’m always torn between my love of the complexity of texts like this one and a more childish love, simply, of fairy tales and children’s books, which seem to allow an escape into the imagination that is harder to find in adult fiction. But it often feels like as a ‘serious’ reader, and a postgraduate student at that, I am not supposed to admit that. Although having said that, I get bored very quickly of the kind of conversations where people try to impress with their highbrow knowledge and scorn of anything not postmodern and deliberately multifaceted.

So. For the record, my favourite books are invariably children’s books, I love Larkrise to Candleford, animals dressed in clothes are one of my favourite things ever, and actually, I’m grateful that I know how to appreciate the little things and the green knights in life.

I should have been a quiet soul in the cool candle-lit cloisters

I am so lucky at the moment, because my days are spent working on and dreaming about things like this.

There's something about the detail, the pure rich colours, the glimpse into another world you have to remind yourself was real once. There is such care and joy over each detail that it makes me wonder whether modern art is often so empty and plain because we rush through life without enjoying it, or even noticing it. Such skill has painted these vivid dreams of life so richly - and you don't have to be a medievalist to wander into those dreams and be absorbed in the colours.

I wish that it could never end.