Now posting on Vulpes Libris: Don’t Panic, I’m Islamic

Over on Vulpes Libris I reviewed the miscellany Don't Panic, I'm Islamic, which has the ridiculously long subtitle of Words and Pictures on How to Stop Worrying and Learn to love the Alien Next Door. I think that gives you everything you need to know. I enjoyed it!

Now posting on Vulpes Libris: Penelope Lively’s Passing On

A slightly unfortunate phrasing, that: as if she'd written a novel called Death, or Sudden Demise. It's a great novel, and I talk about it over on Vulpes Libris. Go see.

Penguin New Writing 37: The embrace of the weird

So many famous writers in this issue from 1949! Laurie Lee, Frank O’Connor, Anna Kavan, Patrick Leigh-Fermor and Jacquetta Hawkes! Had John Lehmann’s ship come in? Frank O’Connor’s ‘The Landlady’ is one of the most readable stories Lehmann published in Penguin New Writing, and it’s not gloomy, or cruel to women, or about tight-lipped privilege. … Continue reading Penguin New Writing 37: The embrace of the weird →

Ben Judah’s This is London

This book has been looking at me for months, sitting on the shelf in an accusing position, in the stack received during and since Christmas and somehow not yet read, because I knew full well it would not be a nice read, not be comforting, not be bedtime reading, not be reading I could prop … Continue reading Ben Judah’s This is London →

Now posting on Vulpes Libris: A is for Arsenic

For all you Agatha Christie and devious poison-plot detective novel addicts, here's a review of Kathryn Harkup's A is for Arsenic. The Poisons of Agatha Christie. More belladonna and cyanide than you can shake a stick at.

Penguin New Writing 36: into 1949

Note for 20th-century linguistics historians: in his introduction to this issue of Penguin New Writing John Lehmann remarks on the number of neologisms that have occurred in the tiny lifetime of the magazine. ‘The last ten years have been an express formative period in the English language, new words, new expressions have become acclimatized in … Continue reading Penguin New Writing 36: into 1949 →