The girl (reading) on the train
All five levels of Maslow's hierarchy of needs can be achieved by reading novel on train
When I go back to the Scottish Borders to see my family, I get the train. Or to be exact, I get two trains, and then I wait for one of my parents to pick me up from the station and drive me back to the small village I grew up in, because I am a twenty-five year old loser who cannot drive. Door to door, it takes three-ish hours and each time I make the trip I become re-acquainted with the horrifying beast that is the ScotRail train service: the unspeakable toilets, the squalid carriages, the way middle-aged men have inbuilt radar that allows them to seek out young women sitting alone, sit next to them and strike up a conversation despite the fact that they’re wearing headphones/reading/asleep. Despite these obvious cons, I LOVE train travel. Whenever I get a chance to go anywhere, especially if it’s for work, I try and plan my journey around the trains wherever possible. Buses, taxis, aeroplanes; they pale in comparison with the humble train.
Why do you enjoy it so much? I hear you ask, and the answer is reading. Reading on the train is better than reading anywhere else (although reading a Kindle in bed between 2-4am rivals this). I don’t know why, exactly, but I think it has something to do with the liminality of a train journey; I’m in between two places, not wholly in either and with nothing concrete to do1 until I reach my destination. Inconsistent signal means that scrolling on my phone is even more unsatisfying than usual and my reluctance to converse with strangers means that I need something to focus my eyes on. I used to hate travelling anywhere on my own due to anxiety, and reading on public transport began as a crutch and developed into a positive past-time. I find it easier to focus on a train than I do in other situations, something about the motion and the sight of the countryside whooshing past allows me to fall into a novel in that all-consuming compulsive way that I’m always chasing. The kind of reading where I miss my stop or look up blankly when the train conductor taps me on the shoulder, blinking and confused as I’m waking up from a dream. On this particular journey, I read the first 60 pages or so of Freedom by Jonathan Franzen (more on this on my January reading roundup post!) and I enjoyed myself so much, I began ruminating on other train journeys and other novels. Here are some of the most transcendental train-reading experiences I can remember, times where the reading material paired with the train journey like an excellent wine with a delectable cheese.
1.
Book: Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield.
Journey: Glasgow Central > York.
I was going to visit my friend at her family house for a couple of days. It was a last minute trip because I was spinning out about my novel after a month of book launches and events, and I wanted a few days peace to wander around an old gorgeous city and watch University Challenge. I picked up Our Wives as I was running out the door because I’d heard a hundred recommendations and it was short enough (240 pages) to read in a one-r on the four-ish hour journey. I was consumed within minutes by the creepy, watery narrative of a submarine mission gone wrong interspersed with a quiet, tender love story. So consumed that I grumbled when I had to change trains at Edinburgh Waverley and wasn’t even phased by a 45 minute delay. It was one of those delays when everyone gets very chummy with each other and start communally cracking jokes about the crap-ness of the British rail service. It was very Richard Curtis vibes. I became the black sheep of the carriage by refusing to look up and join in with the banter. But how could I? I was so creeped out by Armfield’s strange, vague descriptions that the cheerful atmosphere felt inappropriate. The man sitting next to me ate a jar of olives with his fingers and I didn’t even notice until he was three quarters of the way down. Would recommend! The book, not the olives.
2.
Book: My Phantoms by Gwendoline Riley
Journey: Glasgow > Aviemore
On a long journey up north to celebrate my sister’s 30th, I read My Phantoms. Riley is exceptionally skilled in producing short, beautifully-written, spiky, horrible little novels (almost novellas). I come away from her written worlds feeling sticky and shameful; like everyone I meet is harbouring a secret resentment towards me. On this particular journey, I was nursing a mid level hangover2, and so I was even more susceptible to the unsettling atmosphere of My Phantoms. I should take a break, I kept thinking to myself, as I ignored the gorgeous highland landscapes just outside my window and delved even deeper into Riley’s skewering of familial love and mother-daughter relationships, I should take some painkillers, maybe eat something. But I couldn’t! I was glued to the page! Riley’s prose was like a scab I couldn’t stop picking! And I mean all of this in a GOOD way, in case you couldn’t tell. I was so stressed out by the time I actually finished it that I bought a falafel wrap from the station M&S, which is something that no-one in their right mind would ever do.
3.
Book: The Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante
Journey: Glasgow Queen St > Edinburgh (with many, many delays)
On this day, extensive rail strikes meant that I was forced to go limp like a dead fish in the vast ocean that is ScotRail and pray that the gods would deliver me safely to my intended destination. I got a rail replacement bus into town and, after being thrown off at the edge of the city by a disgruntled bus driver at the end of his very long (and I’m sure onerous) shift, I was forced to sprint to the train station and hurl myself through the doors of the carriage or risk waiting another three hours for the next running train. Why, you may ask, was I so desperate to make it to Edinburgh on a Sunday afternoon? To see my niece, who at the time was very small and squishable, and is still one of the only people I would risk the Sunday train service to see. As I collapsed into my seat, my breath loud in my ears3 and sweat dampening my brow, I realised I had forgotten to bring reading material. However! After a quick search through my backpack, I found a brand new copy of The Days of Abandonment by Ferrante, complete with receipt, that I had bought after reading the Neopolitan quartet4 and promptly forgotten about. I ended up reading the whole thing over my two journeys (which due to delays ended up taking about two hours each way) and it was a BANGER of a reading experience. Similar in voice to other Ferrante’s I’ve read but different in tone, Abandonment is a subtle, uneasy little book about a mother who gets accidentally locked inside her house with her two children in the aftermath of her husband leaving her. It’s a descent into madness book, sort of, but quieter than others of the same ilk, and I found myself feeling thoroughly empty by the end of it. It was creepy and clever and succeeded in creating such a strong atmosphere that the vibe sort of seeped out of the book and affected me too. I felt really weird after reading it and had to squeeze my niece twice as hard and eat a big burrito to feel normal again.
Sorry this post is late (as if anybody noticed, lol), I’ve been feeling lazy this week. It also might be a bit niche, but I’m not that arsed! I ended up picking three novels that creeped me out and made me feel very unnerved, so if you’re looking for a more uplifting public transport reading experience, I’ve had a pretty good train time with: Heartburn by Nora Ephron, The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo, Rachel’s Holiday by Marian Keyes and Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver. See ya next week for a January reading round-up.
PS. I’m getting the train to Perth next week and I need a good train-book. Give me some recs.
PPS. I haven’t edited this one because it’s Sunday and who has the time for that sort of thing, so if there are more typos than usual you can keep it to yourself.
I cannot work on trains, idk why. I’m allergic to it.
Unlike novels, hangovers DO NOT pair well with train journeys.
Why is it soooooo embarassing to run for a train, make it, and then have to sit there PANTING while everyone else in the carriage pretends that you don’t exist?
I loved this series btw!!!!!! But you probably don’t need me to tell you that.
I had an excellent train reading experience on the train from London to Edinburgh last month with Private Rites by Julia Armfield! Was fully immersed in it while listening to the soundtrack of The Outrun which is eerie and otherworldly, like the book. 10/10 train reading experience, would recommend!