The composer of music

Sensuous. (Adj.) Of, relating to, or derived from the senses.
Appealing to or gratifying the senses.

I adore sensuous writing, whether it is Lawrence Durrell’s vibrantly visual Mediterranean shores, or tales seductively layered with the textures of silk and fur and crystal-brittleness like Fitzgerald’s, or the soot-encrusted stenches and sounds of Dickens’ London. When I read, I want to feel I am in the book, experiencing the spirit of a place, fully immersed in scents and tastes and sights.

But how exactly do you conjure the sound of piano music, or the fragrance of lavender from words on a page? It seems to me that this is where books really engage the partnership between writer and reader. Because success or otherwise is dependent on the writer studding the prose with enticement enough for the reader to draw on his or her own sensuous memory bank to enrich the story.

Yet even as we reach into our own imaginary reserves of touch and smell and taste, we know that we all react differently to external stimuli. Some people are repelled by the aroma of meat cooking, for example, or actively dislike the sound of a certain musical instrument. Studies have shown that we don’t even all see the same shade of colour in a fixed object. Which, I’m sure, is part of the reason why different books are magical for different readers, but never magical for all.

The joy of film is that it gives a fixed view of a place and characters. The drawback is that these images might not chime with the pictures a reader has already constructed. But it can carry a soundtrack the writer will never be able to pin down in words.

So with that in mind, here are some atmospheric scenes from The Lantern, made (just for fun!) last summer with the help of old friends. Steve Eaton Evans is a playwright and teacher; he and his equally talented wife Jane have run a theatre company, and all three of their sons have acted professionally. Watch out for Jake Evans, the young man with the knife at the lamp-lit table: serious star quality.

And the haunting piano music is written and played by my husband Rob. It captures beautifully the romantic, yearning quality of the pieces that Dom composes, in the book. Sometimes, only sound itself will do.

For a little more background about how we came to Provence, you can click here to The Hungry Writer blog where poet, writer and tutor Lynne Rees invited me to write a guest post this week.