Listening to Björk’s Vespertine album, I’m flooded with feeling. It’s not like memory, as that implies the memories are mine. The feelings (or maybe, emotions?) I’m writing about are inextricably linked to Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials. While reading the books, Northern Lights in particular, her fragile Vespertine was my soundtrack. Usually, I’m not one to listen to music whilst reading, yet the landscape of both is so full of icy wonder, I’m frozen in those feelings; like the snow-flake that reflects in your palm for those fleeting few seconds before melting away, it’s a wonder of the moment, a passionate affair, here today and gone tomorrow.