Unlike the pies however, the book we were discussing was not to everyone’s taste. Pompeii by Robert Harris is a blockbuster of a novel, which at times feels more like a disaster movie than a book.

Each chapter was dated and began with a brief, scientific description of the progress of the volcano which we all felt worked well and helped to crank up the tension.  The main characters however were not hugely convincing, and the love story, which held the narrative together, seemed highly unlikely. 

We could not fault Harris’s research, which appeared extremely thorough, and the setting he created was impressive. We could see parallels between the political and financial intrigues in the book and recent political and economic events, but we did not agree with those critics who had suggested that this was Harris’s post 9/11 novel.

 If anything, it seemed more of an indictment of current policies on carbon reduction, highlighting man’s insignificance, and his egocentric view of the world; convinced that he can control the power of Nature.

Of course, we all knew where the story was going, so the author had set himself a difficult task, but everyone felt the ending was quite abrupt and some, the postscript a little saccharine.

So a mixed reception for Pompeii the novel, although clearly this was an event in history which intrigued us all.

Tempest Anderson in Colima, Mexico circa 1900. He is sitting next to a volcanic rock known as a 'breadcrust bomb'.

We went on to look at the photographs of Tempest Anderson. Anderson was born in York in 1846. He trained as a doctor but was a keen traveller, amateur photographer and volcanologist. He documented active volcanoes across the globe and took part in a Royal Society expedition to the Caribbean in 1902 to record the aftermath of volcanic eruptions on St Vincent and Martinique. 

The Martinique disaster had a number of similarities with Harris’s Pompeii. When Mount Pelee erupted on the morning of 8 May 1902, almost the entire population of St Pierre perished.

Despite increased volcanic activity in the weeks leading up to the disaster, local politicians, keen to maximise the turn out to an election on 11 May, had encouraged people to stay in the town. They had promoted its safety so effectively that people in surrounding villages had arrived, swelling the population to around 28,000. Only 2 people survived.

The YMT book club is led by Vicky Hoyle. Each month we also look at relevant objects from the YMT collections.  Every session is free and all are welcome; we just ask that you phone in advance on 01904 650333 to book a place.

The next book is How to Paint a Dead Man by Sarah Hall. We will be meeting at York Art Gallery this Saturday, 14 January, at 3pm.

A Japanese print by Hiroshige from York Art Gallery's collection

The Hare with Amber Eyes by Edmund de Waal is somewhat like an episode of Who Do You Think You Are? as it follows four generations of the Ephrussi family through Europe.

The focus of the book is a collection of Japanese netsuke, bought in Paris in the late 1800s, by Charles Ephrussi and then passed down through the family, eventually being given to Edmund (the author) by his uncle Iggy.

Much of the Ephrussi family’s wealth was lost during the turmoil of the Second World War, and this book tells the remarkable story of the nesuke’s survival. We were much taken by de Waal’s eloquence in writing about objects.

As an accomplished, successful ceramic artist he brings a maker’s sensibility to the words he chooses. His descriptions of the tactile quality of objects are really very beautiful.

In writing about the Europe in the 19th and 20th centuries it is inevitable that there are times when this small treasure of a book cannot do justice to the huge political and social changes taking place.

However, by focussing on the story of this set of objects owned by one family, these events take on a different shape. Read it. It’s a work of art. We then looked at a selection of Japanese Prints from the Art Gallery collection.

The YMT book club is led by Vicky Hoyle. Each month we also look at relevant objects from the YMT collections. The next book is Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson We will be meeting at York Castle Museum on Saturday 12 November at 3pm.

For more information visit our website.

We have a horse in the gallery. Stubb’s life-size painting of Whistlejacket arrived last Thursday and to general sighs of relief, fitted through the door (with only millimetres to spare.)

He was wrapped in pinky paper – like the Jumblies feet – and arrived in an enormous, articulated lorry. It transpires that the lorry itself is not quite big enough to accommodate him, so he travels in a sort of horse-box attached to the back!

It’s nice to kick back and blog for a bit now the days are drawing in – there is definately a chill in the air. Here at the Art Gallery we have been passing around a cold of the worst kind, such that we may have to start painting crosses on the office doors. Thankfully I was able to escape from the heady atmosphere of Vicks Vapourub last week when I attended the engage conference in Bradford.  It was particularly welcome as it included a trip to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park on a day bright with sunshine.  The Andy Goldworthy installations are a must see.  You have not seen a wood pile until you have seen one of Mr. Goldsworthy’s. 

As a student I wrote a thesis on the romanticisim of nature in industrial societies and how this is reflected in the Green Man myth.  I wrote to several artists, asking for their feelings towards the Green Man – including Andy Goldsworthy – he was very generous in his reply, too busy to write to me, he recorded his answer on an audio tape, which he requested I return to him, as on the B-side were noises made by his baby son. His wife had recorded it for him whilst he was on a residency in Japan.  It is something of a regret that I didn’t have the where-with-all to make a copy of the tape before sending it back – baby noises and all. I still have the transcript (of Andy’s comments – not his son’s) though, painstakingly tapped out on my Remington portable – now I really am showing my age!

My son, Finn, went caving with school last year and loved it, so my husband arranged for a friend of ours to take Finn and his sister, Esme, caving with her.  She invited other friends’ kids along too, and the upshot was that she needed an extra adult.  Richard, my husband, suffers from horrendous claustrophobia even in spacious, floodlit show caves with stalagmites named ‘the witches hat’ and ‘the grumpy elf’.  So I had to go.  It was as bad as I expected, such that, standing in the middle of a car park afterwards, in the rain, peeling off sodden clothes beneath a damp towel was, by comparison, a delightful experience.  When I got home, physically trembling from a combination of shock, exhaustion and hypothermia, Richard beamed and said, “That makes up for all those visits to the Abbey Museum I’ve had to endure.”

How can that be?  How can caving compare with the occasional trip to our local museum?  I was dumbstruck. Anyhow, I now have to consider that if there is even a shred of truth in his comparison, I have to accept that not everyone enjoys repeat visits to museums and galleries in the way I do.  Are we expecting too much of the people of York when we ask them to visit the Gallery again and again?     

Could we threaten to send them caving instead?