The Eyre Affair is a weird book. I'm constantly being nudged in the ribs and assured that I'm having a grand old time, but I'm not convinced by any part of it (except the dodos, which are charming enough to get a pass) and I'm not sure why.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Henry Williamson once played a flute for seals; I can't swear that it went quite as well as it does in the self-insert moment.