The pre-semester deluge and a new look, or, good intentions but little of substance

Is it really the 20th of January already? In my world, that means 11 days until the new semester, when I will be teaching a brand new module for final-year undergraduates. A module that has existed in my mind since last spring, but which now has to become reality aka a syllabus, handouts, worksheets and a course website. Hence less time for reading and reviewing, although I did have time to try out this new look for the blog (what do you think?! *twirls*) and to sign up to Twitter (see right).

So, what’s to look forward to in the near future? I’ve several reviews pending, including the long-promised one of Catherine of Aragon, another of Elena Moya Pereira‘s The Olive Groves of Belchite, and finally, my thoughts on Granta’s Best of Young Spanish-Language Novelists, which I talked about a while back, and which finally dropped through the letterbox this week. On the teetering ‘to-read’ pile (see left) are also (still) La catedral del mar, Dime quien soy (1095 pages!), Todo é silencio (click on ‘booktrailer,’ if you don’t mind sound!), Angela Jackson’s Warm Earth, and Mateo, el maestro de Compostela by Antonio Costa Gómez (ojo! music), and various other refugees that you might just about be able to make out.

For today, though, I’m rereading Helen Forrester’s 1993 novel The Liverpool Basque, which is a set text for the ‘Basque Liverpool’ unit of the new course, and maybe even worth a sneaky review too – including, if you’re very lucky, one or two of the photos from my ‘Liverpool Basque’ fieldtrip, of which you can see a tiny taster on the right.

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