1. Articles

Sacred Hearts and Shadows

Reviews
  The Water Stealer, Maurice Riordan, Faber and Faber, 2015, 64pp, £9.99 (paperback) Gangs of Shadow, Michael O’Neill, Arc Publications,…

Finding a Language

Reviews
  Archipelago, Antonella Anedda, translated by Jamie McKendrick, Bloodaxe Books, 2014, 160pp, £12 (paperback) From Elsewhere, Ciaran Carson, The Gallery…

Slow Realism

Reviews
  Let Me Be Frank With You, Richard Ford, Bloomsbury, 2014, 256pp, £18.99 (hardback) Richard Ford’s early attempts at novel…

A Peripatetic Life

Reviews
  After the Titanic: A Life of Derek Mahon, Stephen Enniss, Gill & Macmillan, 2014, 304pp, £26.99 (hardback) Derek Mahon…

Hell on Earth

Reviews
  Goya: The Witches and Old Women Album The Courtauld Gallery 26 February – 25 May 2015 Anyone fortunate enough…

Earthy Intimacy

Reviews
  L’Ormindo, Francesco Cavalli, Sam Wanamaker Playhouse 3 February – 5 March 2015 ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, John Ford,…

Zika

Essays
  The oldest person to ever leap off the twenty metre-high Old Bridge in Mostar was a sixty-five year old…

My London

Essays
  Suzi Feay is the tenth writer in the My London series. She was literary editor of The Independent for…

Waterloo

Essays
  In St John’s Wood churchyard you will find the grave of Samuel Godley. He worked as a porter in…

Untitled

Poetry
  She says: we don’t have the right kind of basement in our building I had to leave, one can’t…

L’Heure Bleue

Poetry
  in this last blue flash of dusk the violins of our eyes are playing to the south west wind’s…

Blue Moon

Poetry
  Often enough we go to the seals by the woodland path where tortoiseshell moths willlessly travel from shadow to…

Gospel Oak

Poetry
  The fight dog’s name, said its proud owner, was Jake, an old white bull terrier, brindle circle around his…

Twilight

Poetry
  By early winter Our world begins to shift. Approaching dusk We stroll miles from houses Sunk into valleys of…

A Student of Rock-Pools

Poetry
  At the tremor of his footsteps Little transparent eft-like things sank And disappeared into the wet sand, But he…

Wallpaper

Poetry
  I used to think the moon followed me, stalking behind a picket line of trees, extending fingers of glassy…

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