6) Jan Morris

Jan Morris is a writer of extraordinary grace, patience, and wit. Her ability to describe place as atmosphere, people and impressions is unparalleled. The 12 books you see in this photo are only a small part of her extensive and global writing oeuvre. Every place, every time, every internationally momentous event that she's written about becomes solidly present, no matter how distant from them I may be.

She no longer writes travelogues, but you can still find new editions of many of her classic works, and, as you see here, used editions as well. Because there are people in the world who do not want them. Which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but my library does benefit from it. There is only one book in this photo that I bought new, although while I was copying the link for the caption, I found another book of hers that I now have to have. (Bookselling is expensive for booklovers.)

Jan Morris is a writer who writes confidently in her own voice, while almost never telling her own story. She notably wrote about her transition in the book Conundrum and addressed it again in the follow-up memoir The Pleasures of a Tangled Life, where stories of family, personal perceptions and discovery are the focus than anything salacious or gratifying to overly curious cisgendered people. Her book was the first place where I read someone specifically addressing the details and rules of femininity. It was shocking. In the skilled hands of a writer of her caliber, though, how could a thorough understanding of the subtle and telling ways in which women and men move differently through the world be anything but?

Hav is the one novel that she wrote. In it, an unnamed traveler moves through the city of Hav, stays in hotels, eats food, meets people and conducts what we gather are interviews all the while sharing local lore, history and odd tit-bits to keep the narrative flowing. It's a city with a history intimately connected to the vanished Ottoman Empire and the Hapsburgs. A city of cynicism and romance and dour music in the air. It sounds kind of awful. I want to go there. Of course, I can't. It doesn't exist. Except in my imagination and hers. 

If you can't read all of the titles, it's just because my tablet's camera is terrible

Travel narratives are a particular interest of mine. I hosted a travel narrative reading group for about a year. It never really took off, but I read some fantastic books! During the planning stages, a co-worker asked if I'd ever read Jan Morris as part of a longer conversation about women writers of travelogues. The beginning of this literary love affair was beautiful and compulsive. She's been an invaluable companion, even in places that are totally unexpected - my love for Steve Rogers is well-documented and reading Manhattan '45 was moving as I kept imagining Skinny Steve learning the patterns of the streets and the piers of the city, as any kid would, especially if he was the type to meet people and maybe get into trouble.

My collection of travel narratives grew on the spines of Morris's books. Her prose style is immediately impressive and her tales unfold like cooling coffee on a lazy morning. Every new-to-me book of hers that comes through Used at the bookstore is like a Golden Ticket or that one doubled-peanut M&M in the bag. 

Back in 2012, I didn't think too much about what it meant that I'd read only 3 books of travel by women, and only 1 of those was by a professional travel writer. The collection of travel narratives in my women-only bedroom library is still dominated by Morris, but is not solely hers. Still. 

Finding them is a journey unto itself. Happily, I do love to travel.