On Reading and Writing Together


I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea,
Yet I know how the heather looks
And what a wave must be.

Emily Dickinson

We’re all writers. Take a moment and think about the writing you do each day — a caption for your Instagram photo, a text to a friend, a work e-mail. See, you’re already writing to tell stories, build relationships, and plan your future.

Expressive writing helps you channel what you already know how to do. You have permission to discard the rules, play with words, and discover new and powerful insights through its imaginative process. And it’s good for you, like yoga for your mind. In fact, a robust body of peer-reviewed research proves it (benefits like enhancing mood and improving physical health, setting life goals, reducing PTSD symptoms, easing stress, and sparking creativity). 

And what better way to spark our writing than reading poetry out loud together?  First we hear it – its tempo, rhythm and cadences; then we see it – its images in the mind’s eye; finally we sense its possible meanings – metaphors full of delicious ambiguity. We don’t need to come to any conclusions as long as something stirs within us.

Whatever we discover through our reading and writing, sharing it with others is to engage, to connect, to be heard, and to hear.  We loiter in the gaps as well.  There’s no perfect communication, but as we linger in each other’s metaphors, in the meaning we make between the words, we share connection. This sharing makes us feel better. We know we are not alone.

Alison Cable is a facilitator at the London Literary Salon, she is currently leading a series of Writing for Wellbeing studies, including Trees and Us beginning on 26 April.

What do Greek philosophers from 400 BCE have to say to us in the 21st Century?

“Can you tell me, Socrates—is being good something you can be taught? Or does it come with practice rather than being teachable? Or is it something that doesn’t come with practice or learning; does it just come to people naturally? “

– from Plato’s Meno

The good news is that Plato’s dialogues are both accessible and enjoyable to a modern audience, particularly when read as part of a group! They are intricately crafted, dramatic philosophical works and the Meno is an excellent place to begin.

In its opening line, the dialogue gets right to the heart of a matter that could hardly be more relevant today. The title speaker, Meno, asks Socrates whether being ‘good’ (a term sometimes translated as ‘virtue’ or ‘excellence’) is a thing that can be taught. Far from being able to answer, Socrates tells Meno that he has no idea of what virtue even is, and nor does anyone else he’s ever met. As they try to find a solid definition of virtue, Socrates and Meno find themselves confronted by some of philosophy’s most basic and profound questions: what can we know, how can we know it, how can we teach, how can we learn? All of which remain as relevant to contemporary life as to the ancient world.

The Meno offers a multifaceted view of Socrates, Plato’s teacher and philosophical protagonist—at times thoughtful, playful, humble, flirtatious, ironic, and slightly abrasive. To this is added an intriguing demonstration of the Pythagorean Theorem by an untutored slave boy, and a brief encounter with an Athenian politician who will later bring Socrates to trial on charges that will lead to his death.

The Meno offers a classic demonstration of Plato’s chosen philosophical format, the dramatic dialogue, in which the drama is sometimes just as important as the participant’ words and ideas. Our Beginner’s Guide to Plato study starts on 28 February.

Dramatic writing workshop: what and why?

Many Salon participants enjoy writing as well as reading. In response, we have been developing a programme of creative writing studies, most recently with Alison Cable’s Writing for Wellbeing series. The primary aim is not necessarily to prepare for publication, but to develop and enjoy a writing practice as part of self-development.

Now we are offering an opportunity to experiment with dramatic writing which, with its emphasis on structure, character and dialogue, is a way of telling stories that can feed into all kinds of literary creativity and appreciation.

Award-winning writer Jeremy Kamps, Professor of Dramatic Writing at New York University and a Guest Professor for the Pratt Institute writing department, explains the design of his eight-week study:

Our workshop will focus on the craft, process and art of dramatic story. You will write either a film short or a ten minute play (your choice), and our time together will include craft study, story de-construction, rumination on process and voice. Or, in other words, how your story meets and moves the world.

We will engage in peer review using the writer-centred Liz Lerman feedback protocol and there will be an emphasis on the idea that “writing is rewriting” (with its attendant joy and pain). The workshop is not about good or bad, but about how you tell the story you want to tell and why it needs to be told, while also providing some tools and ideas to consider along the way. Professional actors will join us for the culminating reading of our work. 

Click here for more information and booking details.

ULYSSES centenary!

Toby reading to crowds gathered outside Shakespeare and Company in Paris,
100 years to the day since the first publication of Ulysses

Founder and Director of the London Literary Salon, Toby Brothers, is in Paris today to celebrate the centenary of publication of Ulysses. Scandalous in 1922, the book – widely acclaimed as a work of genius – remains controversial a century later!

Expect more news of Joyceans en fête in Paris on Toby’s return.

The Salon on air . . .

Toby appeared on BBC Radio 4’s Start the Week yesterday (Monday 10 January), discussing ‘finding consolation and community in literature’ with Michael Ignatieff, Christopher Prendergast (editor of the Penguin Modern Classics In Search of Lost Time) and Tom Sutcliffe. This is available from our Press & Media page, together with recordings of Toby talking about the LitSalon Challenge on both BBC Radio London and Times Radio.

On the subject of our online presence, Start the Week generated so much internet traffic that our website crashed. We were thrilled to encounter so much enthusiasm, but we apologise to anyone who had difficulty accessing the website yesterday and thank you for your patience. We’re pleased to say that normal service has now resumed.

The Iliad Unhurried and media news

Colmar Painter – Running Warrior, Walters Art Museum

There is a rare opportunity to join Mark Cwik’s ongoing Iliad Unhurried study on Wednesday afternoons. The current subscription covers twelve weeks starting with book 5 (of 24). There are two places available and you are welcome to join at any point in the cycle, but the first meeting is today, Wednesday 5 January, at 2.00pm GMT!

More studies will be listed soon, including new travel opportunities and Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night with Jane Wymark. We’ll be sending out another newsletter later this month  to keep you up-to-date.

Meanwhile, there is media news: Toby will be a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Start the Week next Monday, 10 January, discussing Finding consolation and community in reading with Michael Ignatieff, Christopher Prendergast and Tom Sutcliffe

The LitSalon Challenge is gathering momentum, do share details with anyone you think might be interested. You can hear Toby talking about it live with Robert Elms on BBC Radio London this Sunday morning, 9 January, and in her interview with Hugo Rifkind on Times Radio last month.

Season’s Greetings from Toby Brothers, Salon Director

Hello Salonsitas past, current and potential.

This has been such a strange year . . . but, thanks to so many of you, it has been a year of discovery and development for the Salon community. I hope others have found – as I have – the studies to provide some ballast in this unstable time. 

There is the frenetic energy of the moments in the Salon when we build upon each other’s ideas, questions, struggles, to come (unexpectedly, with a whoosh of pleasure) to textured reading that resonates with each of us, and with the text. In those moments, the loud world hums around us, briefly, with rhythm instead of dissonance. And, in spite of the divided Zoom frame, I feel connected to a global gathering of hungry minds. 

But the Salon has also given me the enduring gift of apt words, deeply witty aphorisms and lyrical phrasings shared between the Salonistas embedded in a particular work. The photo above is an example: all of those cards are Joyce-connected, the postcard from Gibraltar (combining Proust AND Joyce in an involuntary memory connecting fragrance and literary references), a seascape with a vision towards Sandymount, Dylan – grandson of two dedicated Joyceans – preparing for his life-long reading, a Yulysses greeting from a Wakian with this Joyce (Ithaca) quote: 

“May this Yuletide bring to thee

Joy and peace and welcome glee”

The winter solstice is a time when I am reminded to stop fighting the dark and hard moments, and instead to make room. To find a space of quiet and reflection, to be mindful of the struggle of others in this hard, hard time, to be present even as the world swirls. And in the gift of poetry, I find words that help me hold the dark: 

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.

Let this darkness be a bell tower

and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.

Move back and forth into the change.

What is it like, such intensity of pain?

If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,

be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,

the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,

say to the silent earth: I flow.

To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29

And finally, some Joyce trivia: from a 2022 Ulyssian: 

Q. What have Sir Richard Rogers (recently departed architect of the Pompidou Centre, Lloyds Building et al) have in common with Mr Joyce?

A. Mr Joyce taught English to Richard Roger’s mother, Dada, when he was in Trieste.

Who knew?

Have a peaceful, happy and healthy time and look forward to catching up in 2022.

P.S. If you haven’t already seen our new LitSalon Challenge it’s free to join and please pass it on to anyone who you think might be interested. You can hear me talking about it on Times Radio here (about 2 hours 25 minutes into the programme, although be warned that it can take quite a long time to load).

The LitSalon Challenge

Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash

Today sees the launch of the LitSalon Challenge. We’ve developed a new online opportunity for anyone who is interested in reading more widely and exploring what the Salon offers but can’t currently join a conventional Salon study. It’s free, open to all and will complement the existing Salon. You can find out more here.

You can hear Toby talking about the Salon and the Challenge on Times Radio’s Hugo Rifkind show today, Saturday 18 December, at around 12.15 GMT (and we’ll make it available later on the website if you can’t listen live).

Why read Proust? A salonista’s view . . .

As someone who wonders about buying green bananas these days (will any of us be here to appreciate them when they ripen?) why take a leap into the dark with Proust, whose reputation inspires trepidation in the heart of the ignorant reader?

I knew Toby’s salon would be a safe space where I could learn from bright, committed, generous friends I had not yet even met. I wanted a fixed appointment in my week when so much of what was once a routine had fallen off a cliff . . .

The Proust Study is way more than a reason to get out of bed every Monday. It is a privilege to share the frustrations and genius of each reading, to get to know the cast of characters, their way of conversing, the class system, the politics, art history, classics, science and human nature, warts and all. I have been horrified by the anti-semitism – as a traditional but not religious Jewish woman I thought, wrongly, I knew all there was to know – and the salon has been sympathetic and equally disgusted by the vile anti-semitism from which Proust doesn’t flinch. I have learned more about furnishings, flowers, clothes, food, fragrances and trees, spires, seascapes, carriages, Paris, army life, snobbery and magic lanterns than I thought possible . . . . and I am only on The Guermantes Way (Volume III).

In a nutshell: ‘Frail, sickly, sensitive, over-imaginative mummy’s boy in middle-class French family reaches adolescence (perhaps, even, becomes an adult, Proust’s narrator changes tense so often I am never entirely certain of anything).  Against a backdrop of Dreyfus, crumbling aristocracy, ennui, and the tyranny of servants who make life possible, the volumes are as much about procrastination, memory, the impossibility of love, perception, grief, longing and cake.’ 

Sue Fox is a journalist and veteran of many Salons

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