I recently spent two weeks crisscrossing Morocco, a trip that took in the Atlantic coast, the High Atlas Mountains, and two of its extraordinary cities, Marrakesh and Fès. The journey began in Marrakesh where we rented a riad, a traditional Moroccan house built around an internal courtyard, in the heart of the city’s ancient kasbah. For three days and in temperatures often exceeding 100 degrees, we explored the Red City’s ancient streets, alleyways, and markets, barely touching the surface of the Medina’s complex labyrinth.  There’s so much to see, both ancient and modern – the Saadian Tombs from the 16th century, the lavishly decorated Bahia Palace, the gorgeous Jardin Majorelle lovingly restored by Yves St. Laurent and Pierre Bergé – none of which should be missed.  But, as is so often the case in other cities, the heart, soul, and pulse of Marrakesh is to be found in its alleys, squares, and markets.  Get lost in the souk’s maze of streets, wander at night among the food vendors and hawkers in Jemaa el-Fnaa, have coffee in one of the hundreds of rooftop terraces, buy spices and sweets, and bask in the unique atmosphere of ancient and modern Marrakesh, one of the world’s most beguiling cities.

Leaving behind Marrakesh’s madness, we headed south into the High Atlas Mountains. If you crave a little respite from the heat and crowds of Morocco’s cities, the Ouirgane valley is a good place to find it.  With its orchards of olives and almonds and tiny Berber villages, this is a quiet, sleepy and strangely timeless backwater with a gorgeous mountain backdrop.  There’s not much to do except relax amid stunning mountain scenery, but that’s the whole point.

The drive from Ouirgane to Fès took ten hours, including an unscheduled and unfriendly encounter (the first of several) with Morocco’s corrupt traffic police who like to fleece unwitting tourists. Driving in Morocco isn’t especially stressful but the constant attention from police officers looking for baksheesh is wearing. (Tip: ask them for an official receipt and permission to take a photo of their ID card.  It’s amazing how quickly their appetite for conversation disappears!). It was a relief to abandon the car for a few days outside the walls of the Medina (Fès el Bali), a vast warren of streets so narrow and ancient that all motorized vehicles are banned, making it (I’m told) the largest urban space in the world with no traffic.

Fès is quite simply magnificent.  I can’t think of a city (not even Rome, Venice, or Athens) with an ancient past that’s so immediate and so tangible.  Founded in the 9th century and extended to roughly its present size in the 12th and 13th centuries, the Medina feels timeless. Maybe it’s the absence of vehicles, the density of the ancient buildings, the persistence of old crafts like copper-beating and weaving – the result is unique in my experience; a thriving, working city with such a clear and visible thread to more than a thousand years of history.  Little wonder it was designated by UNESCO as a World Heritage site. Because the Medina is so difficult to navigate, I did something I almost never do and hired a personal guide to help us find and explain its highlights.  I’m glad I did and would recommend it to anyone planning a trip.  The treasures of Fès are too numerous to list here, but it’s important to mention the Al-Attarine and Bou Inania madrassas and the leather tanneries.  As with Marrakesh, it’s important not to rush Fès and to allow lots of time to wander the streets, and savor the markets and coffee shops.  Its food scene is also impressive.  I celebrated my birthday in Nur, an outstanding restaurant owned and run by Najat Kaanache who has worked with some of the world’s greatest chefs.  It was fun to be with her in her kitchen after dinner and to hear about the challenges of running a fine dining restaurant in a Medina where all supplies have to be delivered by handcart or donkey! I was sad to leave Fès and the beautiful riad we rented in the heart of the Medina, but it was time to head to Essaouira on Morocco’s windy Atlantic coast for yet another perspective on this wonderful country.

There’s something about ocean towns. Maybe because they look out to empty expanses and distant places or because they encourage people to wind down a little, there’s that indefinable mood, that sense of a place exhaling and relaxing.  Essaouira is famous for its blustery beaches, its quaint fishing port, and its walled Medina, and has attracted surfers, hippies, and musicians (like Jimi Hendrix and Frank Zappa) for decades.  It’s a chilled-out, pressure-free place with a small souk and a plentiful supply of bars and restaurants.  Check out Caravane Café for dinner in its elegant courtyard, take tea at L’Heure Bleue Palais, and stroll around the fish market at sunset.  The locals say if you stay a few days, you may never want to leave.  True for Essaouira and true for Morocco.

The Comforts of Home is the ninth installment in Susan Hill’s very successful series of Simon Serrailler mysteries.  By now the pattern is well-established. Each novel seeks to weave a tapestry using two threads: the increasingly complicated personal life of Serrailler and one or more crimes under investigation. In The Comforts of Home the domestic thread is the dominant one and Hill looks as assured and adept as she always does writing about Serrailler’s complicated relationships with his sister, father, and other family members.  The “crimes”, such as they are, feel cursory and halfhearted here, as if Hill’s normally skillful plotting has deserted her temporarily.  A tenth installment is due later in the year, so it’ll be interesting to see what balance she strikes in the next novel.

All in all, this isn’t one of the strongest books in the series.  Having said that, reading a new novel from Susan Hill, this one included, feels like pulling on a favorite sweater: warming, comforting, familiar and reassuring.

Political life has become so debased in recent years, with elected leaders snuggling up with dictators and totalitarian regimes interfering in democratic elections, that it must be difficult for thriller writers to come up with plots more preposterous than real life.  The premise of Tom Bradby’s latest novel is that the UK’s Foreign Secretary and about-to-be Prime Minister is a Russian spy.  I doubt anyone would find such an idea far-fetched in today’s world.  Kate Henderson, head of MI6’s Russia desk, has to find the truth while watching her back in an organization in which no one is above suspicion.

Tom Bradby is a well-known journalist and news anchor in the UK.  I had no idea he was also a novelist until I read a glowing review of Secret Service in the Financial Times.  I enjoyed reading it, but it’s no genre masterpiece.  It’s a simple enough tale, with sharply drawn characters, and enough pace and tension to make it a perfect, undemanding summer read.

Rachel Cusk’s three connected novels – Outline (2015), Transit (2017), and Kudos (2018) – were my summer vacation reading this year.  I had read Outline when it was first published but decided to re-read it to get a proper grasp of the entire trilogy.  The novels have been acclaimed widely and I was keen to understand why because my first experience of reading Outline hadn’t been especially enthralling at the time.

The novels have very little in the way of a conventional plot. They all feature a single narrator, a published writer called Faye.  We don’t learn much about Faye’s basic biography.  We know she’s divorced, has children, and has moved back to London from the countryside.  We know she teaches creative writing and attends literary conferences. In all three novels we follow her through a series of apparently disconnected encounters and conversations: with students, fellow writers, a festival organizer, a former boyfriend, a builder renovating her apartment, and so on.  Our picture of Faye grows in increments through these encounters.

Although I’m very glad to have read all three novels and was very impressed by them, they probably weren’t ideal vacation reading (at least for me). These are demanding, sinewy books; cerebral, chilly, and difficult to penetrate. Cusk has serious ambitions for these novels, nothing less than how to live today and how to interact with others. Something necessarily difficult and complicated is at work here, something that demands effort, persistence, and patience – much like life itself.

I had been coveting the monumental two-volume review of Freud’s work ever since Phaidon published it in 2018, but with a price tag of $500 I was unlikely to ever give in to the craving.  I must have dropped a few heavy hints along the way because these beautiful books showed up on my birthday this month.  I can’t imagine a more perfect gift.  With more than 600 pages and nearly 500 illustrations, this is a wonderful piece of publishing and an entirely fitting tribute to one of the greatest painters who ever lived.

The two volumes are arranged chronologically and begin with an insightful essay by Martin Gayford (who previously wrote a captivating account of sitting for a portrait by Freud).  The illustrations are simply sumptuous.  These are books to pore over, to return to time and time again, and to savor.