I was raised in a small hamlet in the Shropshire countryside. Maybe it was the triumph of electronic media, the doomy news stories of impending nuclear war in the eighties, or all those odd invasion fantasies proliferating on television, but the natural world was never enough for me. A friend and I once conceived of an ideal community, … Continue reading Statement on Poetry
Category: Memoir
The Novelist
At this time of year, as summer builds and I head to the coast, I remember my old ambition to be a novelist. This usually comes with a sense of embarrassment and regret. I've written a few novels, and they've been mostly unsuccessful, although I'm lenient enough on myself to think of this as a … Continue reading The Novelist
Chapel
In that dream, I walk through the woods near my childhood home, along the road towards my grandparents' house, a narrow, circuitous route over the railway lines, where I cycled regularly to find new places to play, idle and adventurous through those days of exquisite freedom. In the dream, it always dusk, long shadows cast … Continue reading Chapel
Summer Reading: Goodbye Columbus by Philip Roth
It is 2000, nine months into the new millennium, and he has lived in London for nearly three years. He rents a flat with his girlfriend, on the edge of Brixton, near the back entrance to Brockwell Park. When they first moved here, they would walk across the park some evenings, to a restaurant under … Continue reading Summer Reading: Goodbye Columbus by Philip Roth
Summer Reading: Last Evenings on Earth by Roberto Bolano
It is 2009, and the summer is a hot one at its best. Most days, he travels to London for work, heading out from the small town where he lives with his wife and daughter. The journey is long, but he has learned to make use of the time, reading, working on a novel, sedating … Continue reading Summer Reading: Last Evenings on Earth by Roberto Bolano
Lost Books
It starts in childhood, with the books read to you at night. The words are still fluid, and the dramas become quickly diluted into dreams. I remember: a rabbit running wild along a country path, a ginger cat curling up in a nest of flowers. It continues with the books loaned to you from libraries, … Continue reading Lost Books
My Copy Of Robinson
I’d like to say that I discovered Robinson for myself, but as usual someone else had to show me the way. I seem to require jumpstarts like this to overcome the indolence, which seems to be my natural state. Alarmingly, as I grow older, I seem more in the grip of this laziness: a paralysis … Continue reading My Copy Of Robinson
Walking
'Yet he did not hesitate in his career, but, with a mad energy, retraced his steps at once, to the heart of the mighty London.' Edgar Allan Poe My daughter wants to be a detective. I’ve explained to her that this is a high aim. The other day, two men passed us on our way to school. … Continue reading Walking
Pascal Garnier and The Ideal
'He left the room and shut the door behind him. No point saying goodbye to a dead man.' Pascal Garnier I recently picked up the novel How's The Pain?, by Pascal Garnier. You know what it's like. You go to a bookshop with a list of things to buy, but none of them feel right. You … Continue reading Pascal Garnier and The Ideal
Genre and the Edges
'In the evening, I'd pour myself a glass of very strong rum on the rocks, and I'd write hardboiled poems...' Pedro Juan Gutierrez I've spent my writing life on the periphery. It's not only a matter of success, or lack of, although that certainly plays its part. You stand watching the dance floor with your … Continue reading Genre and the Edges
Absence Club 