In recent years the ‘Slow Food’ movement has worked hard to remind people of the simple pleasures of the kitchen: the leisurely putter of a stew on the hob rather than the frantic ping of a microwave; conversations around the table rather than attempts to juggle a burger and a mobile phone while walking down the street. Perhaps the time has come for a literary equivalent, Slow Books, aimed at readers who want to savour good writing and share it with friends. Few books would be better placed to spark such a movement than Peter Davidson’s intricate meditation on twilight in European art and literature. It is at once richly satisfying and as elusive as a ghost.

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