Ian sansom books in order
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Jay Parini
In this difficult-to-classify book, Ian Sansom – best known for his mystery novels, which I’ve read and enjoyed – rambles through (or beside) one of the great modern poems: ‘September 1, 1939’ by W H Auden. It’s a poem I’ve read many times over the past forty years or so. Like Sansom, I’ve loved it dearly, been baffled by it, been inspired and annoyed, wished it were different, envied its perfections, sniffed at its imperfections and been generally grateful for the brilliance of the man who created it.
This book is not literary criticism, so don’t enter these gates with your head bowed. In fact, there has been very little real literary criticism since Erich Auerbach published Mimesis in 1946, which Sansom rightly calls ‘one of the last great, readable works of literary criticism’. The university presses continue to publish monographs that purport to tell us something about literature, but it’s generally a depressing spectacle. On poetry, it’s usually the poets who have something to say: Pound or Eliot, Winters or Jarrell, Brodsky or Heaney.
Auden has, more than mo
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