Quanta, Not Qualms – 13 November 2026

Being in no way superstitious, unbothered as I am by all those ladders under which I walk, the black cats passed and mirrors broken, not to mention wantonly stepping inside to open umbrellas, I have no qualms about writing to you on Friday 13^th.

With customary rationality, I felt quite safe in opening The Haunting of Lamb House by Joan Aiken, in its exceedingly beautiful new edition from Manderley Press. Thank goodness I don’t believe in ghosts, I thought, as I read the diary of young Toby living at Lamb House in Rye in the 1700s who one day saw something – a man? an apparition? – which changed the course of his life.

The story has captivated me without getting under my skin, I reflected, after reading the section in which Henry James moves into Lamb House and discovers Toby’s diary. Unlike James, I won’t be driven to distraction by the power of the house nor by the strange similarities in the boy’s story to events in his formidable The Turn of the Screw, I assured myself, checking under the bed for a third time before turning the lights out. That crash outside admittedly made me jump but it was a coincidence that it came at the same time as I read of the peculiar incidents when E. F. Benson was drawn to the same place a few years later.

The Haunting of Lamb House is a clever, understated novel inspired by the history of Lamb House which did indeed host Henry James and E. F. Benson, as well as being down the road from where Joan Aiken herself grew up. Whether the actual house was also occupied by some uncannier energy, I shall leave it to you to determine.

Manderley Press publications are rather stunning, with great care taken over finding forgotten titles, honouring them with new introductions, afterwords and artwork – just holding one of their books is very satisfying, even if some of them make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. In the mood to be spooked, gently, I read their edition of The Strange House by Raymond Briggs, the story of Tim and Gerry on an illicit hunt for tadpoles which turns into a wild rescue mission. The Strange House and Midnight Adventure, which is also included, are the sort of stories which young readers will experience as great escapades whilst any adults reading with them may see something more unnerving.* (Perhaps that’s true too of Briggs’s The Snowman, that sweet story about, well, a boy being kidnapped by a giant stranger and taken to a tea party in the middle of the night…)

Very brave children, the ones who think nothing of attending a party with twelve others and who never stop to greet a magpie, will love The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen by Guy Bass, illustrated by David Roberts. These are stories in which children see things that the adults cannot, pets are replaced by something demonic, reflections have a life of their own and, if you go down to the woods today, there will be a surprise. It sounds unusually dark until you remember that beloved picture book Not Now Bernard is about a boy trying to warn his indifferent parents of his impending murder.  

Really I am unconcerned by a date like Friday 13^th because linear time has once again proved meaningless with the publication of the next in the On the Calculation of Volume series by Solvej Balle. Book five of seven is here. I am increasingly convinced that Balle’s project is a virtuosic engagement with philosophy and physics, how to explore these when language falls short and thus how we should live.

For those not yet familiar with the novels, Tara Selter is stuck repeating 18^th November. Or, the world is stuck while things move forward for her. You have until this Wednesday (18^th November, obviously) to read all five and join us for a discussion. Space (and time) are limited so please let us know now, if there is such a thing as now, if you wish to attend.

Inspired by Balle’s novels, in particular the exploration of metaphor and vocabulary in the fourth book, I am slowly reading On the Equality of All Things by Carlo Rovelli. I loved his Seven Brief Lessons on Physics and was convinced for at least half an hour after reading it that I understood something of quantum mechanics. This latest book comprises six lessons on the momentous ‘scientific revolution’ currently underway and its philosophical implications, that is, this is a book about everything – quanta, knowledge, space, time, nature, certainty and what to do with all this.

I am currently on lesson three. There is no single duration of time between two events. There is no common time. There is no privileged time variable. The length of time elapsed between two events may not even be determined. Something about Einstein and contiguity… I’m not ready for the exam yet.

Rovelli’s writing is enticing and clear, his subject matter bewildering. While I’m reading his work – and for me each paragraph requires several attempts – there are moments of elevation, glimpses of something which might be the beginnings of a tiny move in the direction of understanding. When I close the book and try to describe what I’ve read to myself, let alone to anyone else, I feel about as bright as Mrs Dalloway admitting that she does not know what the equator is.

That makes it all the more fun. Difficult is a good thing, when well written. It makes reading (/life) interesting, even if I remain fuzzy on quantum probabilism. ‘Every fact is only a fact relative to something else, and even the fact that a fact is relative to something is itself relative. There is no ground floor,’ Rovelli writes. I hope your weekend is enjoyably haunted by similar thoughts.

Lizzie

* There is a further disconcerting layer for those who recognise the setting as that of Briggs’s childhood: the strange house of the title is on Arthur Road in Wimbledon; the midnight adventure takes place after breaking into the golf course nearby.