I love this archive. It's an important reminder that all literature has its roots in the human voice. Black print on white paper is not remote and abstract stuff but grows out from 'ordinary' language, is linked to stories told to children at dusk, to gossip and jokes and song. It reaches back to the tales that were spoken and sung long before print existed, to the first stories and spells chanted by firelight in ancient caves.
The Waste Land Part I - The Burial of the Dead
by
T. S. Eliot
I was seventeen, and a pretty disaffected sixth-former, when I first heard this. It was an ordinary school day. I sat in class expecting another dryis...
David Almond's tour
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