A meditation on a continent from a Greyhound bus

Train travel in the dark and trips to the British seaside

An old man lives at the bottom of my garden. His name is Robert Barkus, or Bakehouse, or Bagust. Nobody is quite sure. But I often sense him around when I’m gardening, and I’ve found out a fair bit ab

What revealed the magic of books for me was The Wind in the Willows. When I was five, I contracted measles, which meant I had to spend my days in bed in a darkened room. My mother sat outside my bedro

Austenland – is there such a place? If so, it’s to be found in drawing rooms and parlours, not in sweeping vistas. So it’s appropriate that the Hampshire village of Chawton, Jane Austen’s home for the

THE DISCOVERY OF A HAND-DRAWN MAP OF A MYSTERIOUS LAND LEADS THE AUTHOR TO TRANSYLVANIA, WHERE FANTASY AND FAMILY HERITAGE COLLIDE