Photo Copyright: Anne Sidnell

When the wind is whipping snow around my garden and even my dog is reluctant to brave the cold outside, it’s time to read without guilt. My Christmas, this year, has been filled with books. And the weather is cooperating, encouraging me to stay home and read… and read. At present I am perusing Penelope Lively’s memoir, Dancing Fish and Ammonites. Its discursive nature demands such attention. Written when she was 80, she reflects, in a series of essays, on Old Age, her Life and Times, Memory, Reading and Writing, and Six “Things”. Her book is not a chronological narrative, but more of a conversation, which bewitches the reader into silent — or sometimes out-loud debate. I found myself commenting, questioning, agreeing and disagreeing as though she were sitting, across from me by a flickering fire, surrounded by her personal library of books—which seemed a…