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With a library committed to housing a copy of every single book published in the U.K. at its academic heart, Oxford is a writerly city writ large.
Founded in 1602, the Bodleian tends 12 million books across 370 kilometres of shelving and its reading rooms have nurtured generations of scholars, monarchs, politicians and poets. As the nation’s largest academic library, it’s a portal into the “gown” half of the “town and gown” divide that has defined this city for centuries.
You don’t need a mortarboard or gilt-edged diploma to appreciate its latest free exhibition, however — just a passion for the written word and a literary wanderlust.
Bewitched by Harry Potter and the revived interest in J.R.R. Tolkien’s fantasy world, Weston Library (it houses the Bodleian’s special collections) is presenting Write, Cut, Rewrite.
An inquest into the homicidal habits of authors — or “killing your darlings” — it lays bare the brutality behind bestsellers, the slashing in search of the poetic turn of phrase. In spidery notebooks, scrap paper scribblings and inky scrawl-outs, the creative process is nakedly exposed to forensic examination.
As the curators put it: “Behind every published work is the ghostly presence of what was, or might have been, before the author changed their mind.”
From Ezra Pound’s “severe pruning” of T.S. Eliot’s epic poem The Waste Land, to Samuel Beckett’s 10-version slog to craft the right opening for his first published novel, it’s a peek through the authorial grist and chaff saved from the pre-digital dumpster.
One display captures the anguished thrashings of spy writer John le Carré, who took four months to perfect the opening scene for his 1974 novel, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.
Another features a notebook of similes by hard-boiled crime master Raymond Chandler — “as meaningless as a smoke ring,” “as empty as a scarecrow’s pockets.” A lean-prose legend, Chandler chiselled his novels with murderous relish. Scope out the ruthless paring behind his 1953 Philip Marlowe gem, The Long Goodbye, and its killer ending — after windier versions had been discarded: “I never saw any of them again — except the cops. No way has ever been invented to say goodbye to them.”
Oxford’s literary connections extend far beyond the Bodleian. Everyone has their favourites, writers whose footsteps can be traced amid this elegant city in the English Midlands whose academic roots extend to the 12th century.
So, with apologies to those written off, here is a wholly subjective guide to a literary pilgrimage in the “city of dreaming spires.”
Firstly, let’s say hello to the cops Chandler couldn’t kiss off — for Oxford will forever be linked with Inspector Morse. Airing from 1987-2000, the crime drama and its spinoffs Lewis and Endeavour have done more to drive North American interest in Oxford (until Harry Potter) than any tourist board shtick.
The city’s university — it’s actually 38 colleges and six halls — featured prominently, but the curmudgeonly sleuth was an avowed ale lover (“I’m thinking, Lewis!”) so a pub visit is essential. The Randolph Hotel boasts the Morse Bar, while at the top end of wild Port Meadow nestles the riverside Trout Inn, where the detective did much of his deducing.
Colin Dexter, whose novels formed the basis of the TV series, died in 2017 at the age of 86 but he’s still revered at the Dew Drop Inn in the Summertown neighbourhood. Sup a pint in his honour amid photos of Morse actor John Thaw.
Continue north from Summertown to the Wolvercote Cemetery, final resting place of Lord of the Rings author John Ronald Reuel Tolkien and his wife Edith. Follow the signs to his gravesite, which is often covered in flowers and other offerings from his fans.
George Orwell, the author of dystopian novels 1984 and Animal Farm, is buried in the Village of Sutton Courtenay south of town. Take a bus to Abingdon and follow the Thames Path to the All Saints’ Church, where he is buried under his real name — Eric Arthur Blair.
Back in Oxford, another bar beckons — the Eagle & Child (known locally as the Bird and Baby). Home to The Inklings writing group led by Tolkien and Narnia author C.S. Lewis, the St. Giles boozer has fallen into disrepair and is closed awaiting a reported plan by a group of Americans to restore it to its 1930s glory when writers convened over draughts and early drafts in its celebrated “Rabbit Room.”
Drinking and scribbling go hand in glove in Oxford and nowhere more haphazardly than the Turf Tavern (circa 1381) whose warren of rooms — if you can find them; the pub is notoriously well hidden — provide an “education in intoxication.” Situated between New College and Hertford College, it popped up in three Morse episodes and has pulled pints for presidents, prime ministers, pie-eyed students and literary lions.
Less intoxicating fare is on tap at Alice’s Shop on St. Aldate’s, said to be where Alice Lidell — the inspiration for Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland — would buy her sweets. Carroll, real name Charles Dodgson, was a mathematics lecturer at nearby Christ Church College.
Whether fantasy fanatic, Dexter devotee or Orwell acolyte, no book lover should leave Oxford without popping in to Blackwell’s and its cosy Poet’s Corner. Sprawling over four floors, with eight km of shelving, the “haven for the bookish” has been trading on Broad Street since 1879.
Much as Hollywood and writers have immortalized its dreaming spires, a grittier Oxford exists — the “town” half — and for that we end our tour at St. Aldate’s Police Station, where Morse “settles cuckoo-like to pursue his unofficial inquiries.”
Dexter wrote lovingly of the quadrangles, flapping robes and bowler-hatted porters of academia, but he also cast a light on less-scrubbed corners of the city such as Cowley Road and the car plants.
Inside the cop shop — a detachment of the Thames Valley Police — former members of the CID (Criminal Investigation Division) remember Dexter fondly. Such was his influence, detectives working cases involving the colleges would talk of “having a Morse moment.”
In his 13th and final novel, The Remorseful Day, Dexter wrote of Morse as having little temptation to explore the wider world — “he could imagine few if any places closer to his heart than Oxford.”
After a few days on the literary trail, few would wish to rewrite that sentiment.