The joy of a focused book group

Book groups are clearly here to stay, with little gatherings across the land busy discussing the latest Ian McEwan or Julie Myerson. These discussions may well be of great interest and hugely enjoyable but what I can highly recommend is refining the focus rather more rigorously.

I am a newish recruit to a gloriously recherché reading group devoted exclusively to the works of Henry James. While it must be admitted that many of my friends find this hilarious and tease me mercilessly as a result, I stoically persevere, despite frequently feeling way out of my depth in the company of scholars and writers of the calibre of Miranda Seymour, Alan Hollinghurst, Rupert Christiansen and Jonathan Keates. But it has the same sort of champagne for the brain effect as the sparkly Spec itself, and I always emerge feeling elated and mentally reinvigorated, as well as having read something that I almost certainly wouldn't have got round to otherwise.

I know someone who started a Proust reading group specifically to ensure that she actually got the whole way through À la recherche du temps perdu rather than, like me, being in a perpetual state of meaning to get round to it some day. They've finished it now and celebrated in style by going to Paris for the weekend with a day trip to Illiers for tea and madeleines.