In this novel of 1935 two children, strangers, wait in a well appointed house in Paris: Leopold for his mother, whom he has never seen, and Henrietta for a train. Upstairs an old woman lies dying and her daughter flutters round her. Little does Henrietta know what fascinations this Fisher house contains. There are secrets that have the potential

Aldous Huxley spares no one in his ironic, piercing portrayal of a group gathered in an Italian palace by the socially ambitious and self-professed lover of art, Mrs. Aldwinkle. Here, Mrs. Aldwinkle yearns to recapture the glories of the Italian Renaissance, but her guests ultimately fail to fulfill her naive expectations. Among her entourage are:

Andrew Marr (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Marr) is a much admired journalist, author and broadcaster with a talent for making serious subjects accessible. Happily, as of April 2013, he is recovering from a heart attack, and has appeared back on our television screens. When it comes to a history of modern Britain he is shrewd enough to know that yet another irenic

From its source in The Lowther Hills to the sea the River Clyde runs through 109 miles in three distinct areas: Clydesdale, The Clyde Valley and ‘Clydeside’. This volume (1999) deals with first of these. Moving from prehistoric and Roman through medieval and Covenanting to industrial and modern times, the book offers an account of

The study of Darwinian theory has attracted many of the brightest minds and best writers during the past twenty years. In Darwin’s Dangerous Idea (1996), Daniel Dennett http://ase.tufts.edu/cogstud/incbios/dennettd/dennettd.htm and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Dennett) attempts to integrate an enormously diverse range of research into a coherent but popularly understandable defense of neo-Darwinian thought. Darwin’s ‘dangerous idea’ is clearly held forth

On first reading this at school in 1978, it took me a while to get fully involved in the narrative. By half way through I wondered if there could ever be a more subtle and penetrating novelist than Mary Ann Evans. 35 years later I’ve not read any fiction finer than that of George Eliot