So, when approaching, RISINGTIDEFALLINGSTAR, I knew with the increasing freedom in Hoare’s writing I would find something less distinct than before. He has abstracted and loosened his topics for consideration and has employed more personal ruminations in his later works. I would put it like this: the book is the result of the question, ‘what does the sea mean to you?’ Philip Hoare as a writer has moved through the genre of biography, to explorations of specific places, to his exploration of the whale and the sea around the world.

Onto what the book actually is about is harder to explain. It is a book which washes over you as you dive into it, and has you missing your tube stop every time as you get too enticed by its visions.

It ruminates on time, on loss, on desire, on nature, on sexuality, on art and on the author himself. It is a beautiful, affecting, reflective and powerful book. This book is almost impossible to review without wince-inducing gushing, and as if to illustrate the point, here goes: The result was some of the most enjoyable tube journeys ever. I had heard some indistinct comments of what this book entailed, something about the sea, about artists, about swimming, not exactly enough to set the world on fire, but knowing some of Philip Hoare’s previous works I knew that a reflection on art and the sea would be fabulously told by that author, and therefore, had to be read as soon as possible.

It is a knowingness that your expectations will be fulfilled. This is not just about positive reviews or prizes – the desire to grab the book immediately, illustrates a reader’s unbridled confidence in the writer. We have all been there though sometimes, you know a book will be worth it before you even pick it up. Surely, expenses and spinal column considered, I could wait slightly longer for a lighter version to pop into my bag.Īlas, patience and economy never being my strong point, I soon had a copy of RISINGTIDEFALLINGSTAR on the counter, and yes I did want a free bookmark and yes I did want a paper bag because I had just spent all my lunch money on a book. I knew this was a book for which I would struggle to wait for the paperback edition to emerge ever since its cryptic title started doing the rounds on Twitter I found myself sizing up the relative expenses I had to cover that week and arguing with myself over whether I really wanted a hardback in my rucksack along with my notepads (A4 and A5), paperbacks ( The Sellout and hitherto unreviewed title) and a bottle of water.

Serious Pleasures by Philip Hoare