Books books books… yn Gymraeg

It's not often that I'm moved to buy a book by someone of whom I've never heard, on the strength of an academic article.

Er, OK, it is often. But I thought I'd share this one with you in the (vain?) hope that you'd go with me on this one. I've been reading Almanac (no working website), the Association for Welsh Writing in English's yearbook of essays. Amongst the many genuinely fascinating pieces is Rob Gossedge's attempt to revive the reputation of Nigel Heseltine, who I hope isn't related to the evil Tory bastard Michael.

Anyway, Heseltine was the son of monstrous Peter Warlock, an interesting composer who died early, and a difficult mother. They were the rag-ends of the Welsh squirearchy, a particularly obtuse, moronic, traitorous and unsympathetic bunch of wastrels, and its this class which Heseltine satirised in Tales of the Squirearchy, before he became a prolific translator, travel author and literary commentator.

Sounds good, doesn't it? Unfortunately, I've just spent £25 on one of only three copies available on the web, all in the US. What an undignified end to what seems like a talented life.

OK, if satirical short stories about the vanishing aristocracy aren't your thing, this might be: Fflur Dafydd's Y Llyfrgell has won the Daniel Owen Prize at the Eisteddfod. This is seriously prestigious.

The plot and setting are utterly up my street so I'll be breaking out the dictionary for this one:

a controversial novel that takes a peep into one of the major institutions of Wales, the National Library. Set in the year 2020, the novel follows a cast of characters during one dramatic day when two armed lady librarians occupy the Library.

This is a satirical novel, with a large dose of black humour, which lampoons librarians, academicians, civil servants, politicians and janitors, and throws them mercilessly together in a sinister and bizarre crisis. The novel also deals with a number of topical themes – digitisation, post-feminism, literary criticism and, most importantly, a nation’s memory and identity. The novel is an alternative view of the nation’s future, a future where women will govern; politicians overly influence the arts, and the book – and the author – are things that have been forgotten as the new technology takes their place. This is undoubtedly a challenging novel that will upset many a reader – particularly the male critic – and is certain to stimulate debate.

Like Fflur Dafydd’s other works, such as her novel about Bardsey, the novel is an amusing analysis of one of the icons of Wales, with the location itself turning into a major character during the course of the novel, as the reader sees this institution in a new and thrilling light.