Bookish Bits and Bobs: Hay-on-Why?

My summer holiday this year took in just a few of the many delights of England and Wales, including the Gower, the gardens of Hatfield House, the food of the Manoir aux Quat'Saisons, and the vibrant city of Cardiff. On the day of our exit from Wales, I decided that no self-respecting book lover could possibly leave without visiting the famous Welsh town of Hay-on-Wye, whose literary festival attracts thousands every year, as do its many bookshops. I was excited about this visit and had almost been expecting something magical. However, I'd now advise bibliophiles not to bother.

The near-mythical status of Hay-on-Wye is founded more or less on the reputation of its eccentric "king", Richard Booth, who also owns several of the bookshops in the town, including one bearing his own name. This, when combined with the magnitude of its yearly literary festival, leads visitors to expect that they are getting something unique. However, even though parking and tourist information are both plentiful, the town is still something of a disappointment.

I appreciate that we visited on a not-too-summery day in July, and that the place may well be more exciting when the festival is actually on. But given the town's propensity towards bookselling, one is expecting to see bookshops literally everywhere, with books almost spilling out of the town's every nook and cranny. However, what we saw was just an ordinary town that just happened to have a few more bookshops than average - and that was only when you had walked down a few streets. We weren't hit with the immediate feeling of "wow, look at all these bookshops!" that we had been hoping for - and sadly, neither did this feeling develop gradually as we wandered through the town.

But surely the bookshops themselves would be vast treasure troves of bargainous bookish buys to suit every interest? Not really. Many of them just seem to be general bookshops, rather than tailoring stock to suit different topics, so there is a feeling that once you've been in one of the bookshops, they all look pretty much the same, and while the proprietors attempt to organise their books by topic within shops, there again is still a feeling of getting lost amongst books in a negative way. There's the kind of purposeless browsing where you feel you may find a rare pearl at any moment, and there's the kind of purposeless browsing where you lose motivation and think "what's the point? I haven't got a hope of finding the kind of thing I want or like amongst all this".

Even the bookshops' architecture lacked character. Of course there was the blurred vision of the creaky-floored, faux-Tudor establishment, but many of them look like this, meaning that the overall effect is homogenised, not characterful (even though that doesn't seem to stop the hordes of foreign tourists - particularly Americans - being attracted to it and coming and loving it year on year). Equally, the one shop I really had hope for in terms of a memorable experience - the bookshop that used to be an old cinema - had ripped out all of the original features of the building that would have made it unique, leaving you to browse a soulless warehouse.

the book in question

To complete the litany of disappointments, there weren't even any good deals to be had. I appreciate that it's not the point of second-hand bookshops to give you as big a discount as Amazon. But I caught one bookshop selling a book for £30 which I later found for 1p (plus postage, of course) online. Is such a discrepancy in price really justified for a book that wasn't even signed or especially collectable? I don't think so - this to me smacks of Hay-on-Wye trying to milk tourists for all they're worth.

beautiful Hereford

I therefore left the town after two hours' browsing, feeling deflated and without even a single purchase to show for my efforts. All in all, it just seemed like a pointless visit and I was disappointed that I hadn't managed to enjoy it. It's possible that I would try again when the festival is on (although the difficulty in accessing Hay by public transport and the fact that the festival is held out of school holiday time makes it very difficult for working tourists to visit just for a weekend), and that I would find it more exciting then, thanks to the special events and guest speakers that are laid on, and the inevitable change in atmosphere that this likely bringing to the town. However, I'd be more likely to recommend doing what we did afterwards: driving for a bit longer to go to Hereford for lunch, which, while it boasts a vapid chain-dominated high street, also has plenty of cobbled side roads showcasing independent retailers, a beautiful cathedral, and the best cup of coffee we had for the entire trip. Hay could perhaps take a few lessons from Hereford in delivering an engaging town centre all year round - and not just when its world-famous festival is on.

The Way of the Tumbrils (John Elliot)

--The blurb--

"In The Way of the Tumbrils, a dozen of the most turbulent and tragic episodes of the French revolution are recounted. Part history, part guide book, The Way of the Tumbrils is a story of men and women fighting desperately to avoid the scaffold."

--The review--

When today's tourists see the darker side of Paris, including iPhone theft, a permanent trail of dog faeces, and the constant whiff in the air of surliness and cigarette smoke, it can be easy to forget the city's rich history and cast of memorable characters. Thankfully, John Elliot, in what is sadly his only book, is able to bring the whole fabulous story back to life in The Way of the Tumbrils. The writer is, by his own description, not really a writer at all, but just an ex-railwayman with an interest in his subject. However, these humble origins have begotten a text of greatness, which would make a superb gift for all history buffs and Paris fans.

The tumbril, or tumbrel, was a two-wheeled cart often used at the time of the Revolution to transport goods and people. The reason for the tumbrils in Elliot's story, and indeed in its title, is predictably sinister and completely appropriate to the author's highly visual and sensory retelling of this time in history.

Accessible and well-written, The Way of the Tumbrils mixes first-, second- and third-person, which contradicts all the stylists and goes against all the rules, and yet somehow works. Humorous stories arise from Elliot's lack of grasp of French, which seems even funnier given his level of interest in the country's history. However, other scenes indicate that the writer has a higher command of the language than he gives himself credit for. The overall result is a lively account of the bravery and treachery that pervades French history, and the fact that The Way of the Tumbrils only covers the Revolution is almost painful - Elliot is so engaging that a complete history of France would have been extremely desirable.

In spite of the book being published in 1958, the routes set out by Elliot are still easily navigable today - although the inclusion of maps, at least in the e-book edition (the print editions perhaps have them) would have been even more helpful in this regard. There are also other formatting problems with the digital version: some accents and letters are missing or erroneous, and some images and captions are split across several pages. For this reason, the print version is recommended. The accompanying pictures, though, generally are reproduced beautifully.

While the Bastille chapter lacks the same pace and humour as the rest of the book, the writer manages to keep the reader's attention throughout. Although a certain amount of knowledge is presupposed, this does not preclude understanding and may prompt the reader to find out more. Combining history, geography and tourism, The Way of the Tumbrils also considers questions of ethics: its at times emotive and highly descriptive nature may even go as far as to cause some readers to reconsider their views of the death penalty.

If the object of history books is to enable the reader to imagine what it was like to be present at significant times in the past, Elliot certainly achieves this with The Way of the Tumbrils - and remarkably so considering his lack of status as a professional historian. Thanks to his work, many could even be ready to forgive Paris its mounds of mégots, and tour the place of the past today.