Electricity by Angus Peter Campbell sampler
Electricity brings us back to an upbringing we may not have experienced but can certainly relate to. Taking a step back into her Hebridean childhood, Granny writes to her granddaughter in Australia, decorating her notebooks with hand-drawn scribbles and doodles. Though she may now live in Edinburgh, she relives her memories with a sense of warmth and protection. Yet, it is more than simple nostalgia for a time she cannot return to. At its core, Electricity is about community, and what it is to involve it in your life fully. Electricity itself sparked across the Hebrides and changed the lives of its people forever. You become more than your family, friends, or even neighbours. The landscape itself floods into your DNA. It is something that you will never separate from. This latest novel from award-winning writer Angus Peter Campbell has already garnered attention across the board. It will be not only popular with rural Scots but those who long for the simpler times they grew up in - times when we were more physically connected.
Electricity brings us back to an upbringing we may not have experienced but can certainly relate to.
Taking a step back into her Hebridean childhood, Granny writes to her granddaughter in Australia, decorating her notebooks with hand-drawn scribbles and doodles. Though she may now live in Edinburgh, she relives her memories with a sense of warmth and protection.
Yet, it is more than simple nostalgia for a time she cannot return to. At its core, Electricity is about community, and what it is to involve it in your life fully. Electricity itself sparked across the Hebrides and changed the lives of its people forever. You become more than your family, friends, or even neighbours. The landscape itself floods into your DNA. It is something that you will never separate from.
This latest novel from award-winning writer Angus Peter Campbell has already garnered attention across the board. It will be not only popular with rural Scots but those who long for the simpler times they grew up in - times when we were more physically connected.
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angus peter campbell<br />
Though Mam said she’d also had them when she was my age<br />
and that they would go after a while. Which they did. There were<br />
some things we didn’t talk about in those days. You just found<br />
out about it <strong>by</strong> magic, as it were. Like finding an unknown object<br />
on the shore and <strong>by</strong> handling it discover it was light and made<br />
of plastic, and that if the bit at the end was fixed (which Dad<br />
repaired) it could fly! It was a toy plane. Things can surprise us.<br />
The thing that happened was that I grew up the same time<br />
electricity arrived. It was as if the two were directly connected.<br />
The way the bulbs sizzled when they were first lit was the way<br />
I felt. Crackling and fusing together and then illuminating<br />
everything with that soft, flickering light.<br />
But we also feared it. Sensed that nothing would ever be the<br />
same again. Dad feared the loss of the hearth and the fire. Mam<br />
knew what speed meant. It spoilt the making of things. She<br />
always did things slowly. Carved the bread as if it felt every cut.<br />
Milked the cow gently, because it made the milk creamier. Folded<br />
the tablecloth ever so softly, because the linen remembered all<br />
her kindness. In the midst of it all I met Antoine, and it was as if<br />
the whole place was lit up <strong>by</strong> will-o’-the-wisp, with my bike and<br />
the grass and the seashells all shining! It’s all that matters, those<br />
moments. Remember how the moths all hovered outside the<br />
tent that night, vainly trying to get in? They never did, and once<br />
we turned the torches off, all was silent, except for your quiet<br />
breathing, and me trying not to breathe in case I woke you.<br />
Everything will pass, my darling. That’s all. The bad too,<br />
so hold on to the good, for its day will come again. And<br />
just to remind you of the shadow-shapes we made with our<br />
hands in the torchlight, I’ve done a few drawings to chum all<br />
these words I’ve written. They are in memory of dear Mrs<br />
MacPherson, who made the best cup of tea and the nicest<br />
scones in the whole world, even though you think Gran does!<br />
I learned the recipes from her, so really it’s always been her<br />
scones. As is everything else, sort of hand-me-downs which<br />
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