Do you like ducks, hills, the sound of (funk) music, vinyl, church bells, folklore, post offices, onion bhajis, Morris Minors, clogs, bogs, mogs and the feel of the word ‘twazzock’? I thought so. Also knitting, cows, books and cemeteries? As if I needed to ask. Independent Bookshop Week begins tomorrow and we are celebrating all such things through the writing of Tom Cox.

This has proved an excellent excuse to go hunting in charity shops for Hungarian folk singers, Steely Dan cassette tapes, creepy dolls and a robot. Some trips were more successful than others.* Do come and see the resulting window display tomorrow. Unless you’re afraid of invisible goblins.

Tom’s books are an absolute joy. Reading them is like meeting someone on a country walk who seems very familiar and a little off-kilter. Did you once see him play a gig in a pub at 2am or meet him on a protest years ago? You will strike up an immediate friendship whilst wondering if he’s noticed that he is being followed by a crow. He looks your age but seems to know the landscape as intimately as that tree you often shelter under when the constant rain reaches its most impressive.  

In Villager, Cox welcomes you to Underhill, a West Country village with a long history buried in the boggy ground and bristling through the glorious tor. You meet many who live there – people and… other things – across the decades stretching far back in time as well as forward to 2099, with a very noisy backdrop: the rain, the river and the music which resounds through its pages.

Villager is so special and beautifully layered. As the old houses hide stories within their walls, so too do the chapters of the book. There are delightful histories and connections to be revealed between characters, paintings, folk songs and rocks – it’s excellent fun and with an edge too… I’m not sure I could sleep in a house after finding a clog protruding from a damp wall…  

1983 is something of a personal favourite, his novel about Benji, an eight-year-old growing up in a mining village in Nottinghamshire with all the usual concerns of childhood: fitting in, snacks, nuclear war and the possibility of being abducted by aliens. His home appears to be falling down the hill. Victoria Wood’s response to subsidence, ‘well, we’re training it to pop to the off licence’ feels not out of place: the novel does have a sort of Wood eccentricity. Also, robots. I’ll say no more as it is one to dive into without preconceived ideas – it will take you by surprise at every moment.

His latest novel Everything Will Swallow You follows Eric and Carl, perhaps the most moving evocation of friendship since that between Charlotte and Wilbur the pig. I wrote about it a few months ago and the love I felt then continues. We are really excited to hear more about it from Tom himself on Tuesday at 6pm. If you’d like to come, there is one seat left…

As well as his novels and short stories – Harry has been reading Help the Witch, a collection he describes as feeling charming and chummy until someone suddenly turns out the light, Shirley Jackson-esque domestic horror with Space Raiders crisps – Tom’s non-fiction is fantastic.

Notebook has inspired me to go through my always unfinished notebooks and make plans for future writing. The theft of his rucksack – abandoned whilst dancing in a Bristol pub, so at least he was doing what he loved when disaster struck – meant the loss of many memories, ideas and potential song titles. Notebook is compiled from examining his remaining ones, full of walks across the country, thoughts on people who drive very wide Audis fast on country lanes and, best of all, quotations from his father, a man who speaks in mystic non-sequiturs, always in capitals (‘PUT SEASHELLS IN THE ANKLES OF YOUR SOCKS,’).

Inevitably, I now have a notebook devoted to Notebook.

Next up for me is Ring the Hill, which I suspect is going to take me to unexpected places, not all of them real, as well as up a hill or two. I don’t know my knolls from my caps from my kopjes and if I’m going to attend anything vaguely resembling a geography lesson, I want it to be with Tom Cox – it will surely involve crisps and a weird carving in a church discovered whilst trying to escape a persistent cow.

And then to 21^st-Century Yokel, a happy amalgamation of writing about nature, walking, family and owls. Also featuring otters, jackdaws and more advice from his father: ‘WOFFAL’***. The first chapter is entitled ‘Witches’ Knickers.’ ‘Nuff said.

A very happy Independent Bookshop Week to you. Do remember to WOFFAL,
Lizzie

*For the full extent, please direct enquiries to my accountant.**
**Please don’t. I got carried away.
*** ‘Watch Out For Fookwits and Loonies.’