Edited by Duncan Minshull. William Collins.
To head for a place on foot is to – meander and wander.. ramble and amble.. stroll and saunter.. strut and scuff.. loiter and lurch.. ambulate and.. well, just walk. Furthermore, don’t we set out across all sorts of landscapes and cityscapes, in all sorts of weathers, for all sorts of reasons? Be they physical or psychological reasons, personal or public, sometimes even political?
And, isn’t it about time we had insight into this?
As a lifelong footer, who has written quite a lot about travelling on two feet, I thought about the idea and reckoned that the way forward, so to speak, was to commission a series of non-fiction pieces that examined our need to take a walk. Celebrate the anatomy of a walk. Simply this! Or, as I later put it, in the introduction to a collection that was to become WHERE MY FEET FALL
The twenty signed up and went about things, usually as one of two types. There are those who put the activity at the centre of their work – call them walker-writers, in the steps of a Dickens, a Woolf, friendlier than a Hazlitt. And there are those whose feet hadn’t crossed any pages until here. Also joining up are the ambulating outliers. Harland Miller says ‘I’ve always hated walking’, before recalling an episode, caused by a lack of petrol, that was memorable for him … alright, it was ‘worth- while’. Whilst Richard Ford leads the collection with mixed feelings – he doesn’t own the right gear, doesn’t like the wrong weather, but is abroad often and happy to boot, you know it.
Ford uses a lovely bright word to describe his fellow footers, a ‘cavalcade’. For Where My Feet Fall I wanted the cavalcade to cover as many grounds as possible. Walks are had in the UK and in Europe. In North America and Australia. In India, Pakistan and Japan. During the hours of daylight, dusk and night; come rain, shine and snow.
The pieces ranged between 2000 and 3500 words in length, and were commissioned at the beginning of the pandemic when we all seemed to find our feet; and in every piece you’ll find observations to savour. Lines recalled in the midst of bad weather, in a beguiling city, possibly lost or confused, even physically hobbled. It takes all sorts, on all sorts of roads. And here are a few of the insights to inspire you on your own walks:
On getting going..
I definitely do have to decide to walk, – rather than, say, just ambling out the front door and heading off. At certain times of the year I will walk most days – though certainly not all days and not at all times of the year. Sometimes I walk four miles (mostly less), though never at a fast clip. RICHARD FORD.
On the wayfarer..
No one walks from town to town any more. That’s the truth. The Italian word viandante, like the English word ‘wayfarer’, has fallen into disuse. ‘Someone who goes on paths outside towns, travelling by foot, to reach distant places,’ the dictionary explains. And adds: ‘No longer current.’ Hikers take their cars to where the roads end and the paths begin. TIM PARKS
On aiming high..
In Scotland to walk is to climb. The idea of ambling in meadows can seem both luxurious and really dull – proper walking is uphill. In hilly cities, hilly landscapes, enjoyment and high views are paid for in sweat. I think that’s part of why Scots won’t find it shocking should you suggest life is hard. We don’t have Hollywood endings – we have hills. AL KENNEDY
On the emotional pull..
And walking is a strange discipline. Your mind charges all over the place. The dead, the living, the stars, the real and the unreal – everything merges and still your body commits to this rhythmic movement. Beating time, onwards. I’m older now and the path still forks. I keep walking, as always. JOANNA KAVENNA
And on friendships forged..
There are such things as walking friendships, of course. Which is to say, there are people with whom you’d happily set off across a city or up a mountain or through fields and forests – and then there are people with whom you simply never raise such a possibility. KAMILA SHAMSIE
As the collection came together, it occurred to me that a visual element might be needed, to open the book up to its readers. And as I was to find out, many of the writers proved to be adept mappers and snappers and doodlers, happy to create images that reflected their journeys, that accompanied their words.
Here’s a short gallery walk of five, provided by Will Self, Harland Miller, Jessica J Lee, Blythe Kavenna (daughter of Joanna) and Kamila Shamsie.
You’ll notice some lines and a photograph above by the award winning novelist Kamila Shamsie, whose essay for Where My Feet Fall recalls strolling with friends across their childhood city of Karachi (it’s not really a walking city at all), and on to the main beach at the outer edges.
Kamila and I will have the pleasure of talking to you about this and other ambulatory adventures at Stanfords on May 24th, at 6.30 pm.
Tickets available here.
But, until then, may you go.. forward.. avanti.. avanzar.. zenshin zuru!
Duncan Minshull April 2022.
Where My Feet Fall is available from Stanfords for £18.99