The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop

Silbury Hill in Wiltshire has perplexed people for generations. Was it once an island, moated by water? Was it a place of worship, of ritual, of celebration, perhaps a way of marking the seasons’ passing? Along with Stonehenge and nearby Avebury, was it part of a healing landscape or a physical memory of the long dead? In ‘On Silbury Hill’, Adam Thorpe posits that the mysterious hill is the sum of all we project onto it – a blank screen where human dreams and nightmares flicker. The hill has been a part of Thorpe’s life since his schooldays at Marlborough, a place he could escape to. Since then, wherever he has lived, in England, France and Cameroon, Thorpe has carried Silbury with him.