The second book read for Virago Reading Week was Antonia White's Frost in May.
Much has been written on it, so I shall not.
'She read on and on, enraptured. She could not understand half, but it excited her oddly, like words in a foreign language sung to a beautiful air. She followed the poem vaguely as she followed the Latin in her missal, guessing, inventing meanings for herself, intoxicated by the mere rush of words. And yet she felt she did understand, not with her eyes or her brain, but with some faculty she did not even know she possessed.' Antonia White Frost in May
When I read this it so struck a chord with me.
Do you remember that feeling?