Stan Grant

2 weeks ago | thesaturdaypaper.com.au | Stan Grant

I have just returned from a writers’ festival in Auckland and I am still processing the experience. I was humbled to be among several writers to deliver the opening night address. Each of us was tasked with riffing on the theme “The moment I knew”. There were some lovely reflections, some funny or heartening. Others were terribly sad. Each writer approached it with honesty and generosity. I had something in mind that I thought was interesting – amusing, if on the safe side – but this required more.

4 weeks ago | thesaturdaypaper.com.au | Stan Grant

The late Sir Roger Scruton was always among the most admirable and dignified defenders of the tradition of conservatism. He was a British scholar of dignity, humility, intellect and grace. He embodied a timeless gentility and manners. He was a civil cup of tea in a world of political hemlock. Scruton was always worth reading and listening to, whether or not one agreed with his perspective. He is especially worth revisiting now.

1 month ago | thesaturdaypaper.com.au | Stan Grant

He sang “Danny Boy”, my pa. He would stand straight, shoulders back with his chest puffed out and his lips all mushy and sticking out, and from his body would come the sweetest tenor. But when ye come and all the flowers are dying, If I am dead, as dead I well may be, You’ll come and find the place where I am lying, And kneel and say an Ave there for me. I barely knew my grandfather; he died when I was young. Everyone said he loved to sing.

1 month ago | thesaturdaypaper.com.au | Stan Grant

Whatever we may be remembered for, if we are remembered at all, I would suggest it is not magic. It is not that I believe we are without awe, that we have no sense of wonder or imagination. We are human after all and what was true for our ancestors is true for us: magic is essential to ward off despair. What we lack is not magic, really, but the words for magic. We have surrendered the language of the soul. We have locked it away in the cupboard of childish things.

2 months ago | thesaturdaypaper.com.au | Stan Grant

I first glimpsed mainland China from a train window on a cold Christmas morning. Our new home in Beijing was calling and, rather than fly, I wanted my children to travel across country, to feel this land open to us, to let us in. I woke early in our sleeper cabin, lost in wonder and the romance of being a stranger in a foreign place. Inside it was cold. Steam rose from my breath. With the back of my hand, I smeared the condensation on the glass and peered out.