Christopher Isherwood

Wednesday

Nicky Dunne

We have a true book-loving Queen – and she is a marvel

From our UK edition

Shepherd Market, W1, has many ghosts, some of whom are literary. In the shadow of Patrick Leigh Fermor’s former digs – the scene of ‘wild and continuous’ parties in the summer of 1933 – Heywood Hill has just celebrated 90 years of bookselling. In today’s Republic of Letters, we have a true book-loving Queen and she is a marvel. To mark Heywood Hill’s anniversary Her Majesty graciously toured our tiny shop. She talked about her love of all kinds of books (The Cazalet Chronicles in particular) and gamely joined Jerry Vinalon and Jay Lomot, our splendid professional book-packers, in helping them gift-wrap parcels. She signed a postcard which one lucky book subscriber should find in their next package. Not every customer is so fortunate.

Wednesday

Kazuo Robinson

The double life of a single man

In the late 1930s, the author W. Somerset Maugham said that Christopher Isherwood “holds the future of the English novel in his hands.” But the younger writer was about to leave London for Los Angeles. He and his close friend W.H. Auden emigrated in January 1939. En route, their ship was beset by a blizzard. It arrived in New York looking like a wedding cake, in Isherwood’s evocative description. Their journey to the New World was a wholescale rejection of what Isherwood had long thought of as “the Test.” For earlier generations, this had been the Great War (Isherwood’s father, Frank, was killed at the Battle of Ypres). For them, it was to be World War Two. Auden and Isherwood would be damned as cowards, but Isherwood had already found other interests.

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