I was quite relieved to leave America - there was a tendency towards post-election despair among the people I knew, and although I had a good time their despondency had somewhat rubbed off on me.
I arrived in Sydney in the early morning on what turned out to be a scorching day, and made my way to the funky and eccentric Hughenden Hotel (14 Queen Street, Woollahra 93634863). Although my room was small and a little shabby, the general atmosphere with its occasional pianist, friendliness of the staff and outside sitting areas were more than enough compensation.
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“Don’t you find that your emotions are heightened in the air?” I was at a dinner party and the conversation went back and forth with one guy saying that although he never cried in movies on terra firma, in the air he sobbed uncontrollably. A woman interjected that she found reading on a plane so engrossing that she always remembered everything that she’d read. I was intrigued - although I wasn’t sure I agreed. I cry easily at movies on the ground but I’m not sure that I’ve cried watching a film in the air. And as for retaining what I read - do I ever? As one friend put it: “No need to retain what I read. I am not studying for an exam”.
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There are so many books set in and around San Francisco; contemporary ones range from Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate (Vintage 1986) (inspired by Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin), which Gore Vidal called “the great Californian novel”, to The Serial by Cyra McFadden (Knopf 1977), an account of liberated life in 1970s Marin County in 52 zingy episodes. The Golden Gate’s breathtaking sophistication couldn’t be further removed from The Serial, which booksellers refer to as “that book”.
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America takes Hallowe’en very seriously and even though I travel up the Hudson Valley prior to October 31 the shops, markets and houses are heaving with pumpkins of all sizes and shades. They echo the spectacular colours of the trees - one week short of their prime - but nevertheless of an intensity unseen in Britain.
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