Review by Karen Powell-Curtis of "Familiar Phantoms" by Sue Forrester

Sue Forrester’s debut pamphlet, Familiar Phantoms, transports us across time and place, from England to Africa and Asia. We tend to think of phantoms in terms of people, but Sue Forrester writes of places as if they too are phantoms. 

Her poems are rich with sensory details. In "Lamping with Lizard" we hear the "rustles, chirps and clicks" of Africa after dark and, by torchlight, we see "Iridescent bulbous beetles." We experience the fragrances of the "verandah scented with citronella" in "Small World," and the "jasmine blooms" in "The Scent of War." The poem "Cooking with Mother" offers taste and touch through the "production / of eighty doughnuts for the tea tent."

Forrester uses the power of objects to evoke the phantoms in her poems, and to link the past to the present. For example, in "One September Day," the Registrar’s fountain pen triggers a memory of a "21st birthday gift from Aunt Win," and simultaneously creates a new memory as she "Writes in the book, the forever book, / in the forever ink" to register a birth.

A "silver and black obsidian butterfly brooch" brings to mind another aunt in "And Apple Pie." In this prose poem, it is the absence of a particular object, a "silver-trimmed barrel" from which the aunt "dispensed chocolate biscuits" which represents the unique relationship between the niece and her aunt. Forrester writes, "And I mourn that biscuit barrel, swept away in a heartless house clearance, her daughters knowing only their mother, not my aunt."

"Needlecraft" is full of details revealing the love between a family. The central item in this poem is a knitting needle which has been repurposed to check "the lemon cake is done." The needle is the "survivor of the pair I used / when my big sister taught me to knit." This prompts the memory of sitting "on the little chair, / Daddy made for me," watching "my sister make a buttonholed loop / on the pot holder I’d knitted for Mum."

We gain a sense of a life through recollections involving cars in "My Brother’s Car." The poem ends with the moving description of the brother telling "a crowded chapel how he got to know / our father under a car" with "oil dripping onto their heads and hands: / a malodorous unction, full of grace."

The phantoms in Sue Forrester’s pamphlet are sensitively summoned but her poems never slip into sentimentality.

About the reviewer
Karen Powell-Curtis has a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies and magazines. 

Review by Gus Gresham of "Maybe the Birds" by A. J. Ashworth

This short story collection by A. J. Ashworth is a rewarding read, each story like a piece of mysterious treasure from a dug-up pirates’ chest. The prose is beautiful, understated, sometimes beguiling, and full of humanity.

In the title story, we understand that we are in the midst of something apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic. Aside from hints, the details of the main "event" are left out. The focus is the effects upon the lives of survivors, upon a particular survivor, and the warm relationship between her and her dog. It’s about what we might leave behind as a legacy when the familiar world is lost, and in her case this takes the form of recreating the lost sounds of birdsong with bespoke clay pipes.

"Leather" is effectively a story about a story. It reads as a review of a story about woman’s strange "find" in a second-hand bookshop. This review approach works surprisingly well. It’s a clever, playful and enjoyable device. The story is analysed and questioned for us by a fictional narrator/reviewer who employs tantalising quotes from the story itself. Some of the descriptive language and tone-setting is particularly strong: "… the kind of curdled light that comes before a rainstorm," echoed later, in other lines like fried eggs that are "broken and bleeding yellow onto the plate."

"Mirrors" was a personal favourite. It has the sense of something apocalyptic again, like "Maybe the Birds," but "Mirrors" is even darker, more enigmatic, told in second person, and with the prose itself fractured on and across the pages. Unsettling to say the least, and rendered so beautifully.

There is scope for humour, too, in this collection. The premise of "The Monolith" can be gleaned from the following short quote as the protagonist speaks with her ex on the phone: "…thinks she sees a ripple across the monolith, as if it’s made of black liquid. ‘I’m not joking, Carl. There’s a monolith in the yard.’" There is so much to enjoy in this story. Mystery, inventiveness, the study of relationships, and of course more gorgeous prose: "A gust of wind makes the window frame crack like a bone."

"Small Feathers Falling" centres on the treatment of women by some men. There are creepiness and horror in this tale, which – among other things – stands as a stark reminder of how we should listen to our gut when the early warning bells chime in a new relationship. We dismiss sinister behaviour all too often, don’t we?, and let it slide all too often. The casually delivered, derogatory names the male antagonist calls the female protagonist become "dark moths in her head." The descriptions of the owl are wonderful, and the story’s creepiness and tension build to a point where anything could and does happen.

The book’s "Afterword" is an insightful essay which provides a more academic angle on the book’s themes. Ashworth talks of "… how female characters in postapocalyptic settings … [continue] … with preapocalyptic activities." List-making and sculpture are suggested to be the mainstay here, and indeed the title story comes back to mind with the protagonist’s careful and loving clay-hewn "syrinxes" designed to mimic the sounds of birds in a world that has lost its birds (and we has suspect lost much more).

Each story is also rich with allegory, in my view, and Maybe the Birds is a collection to be savoured.

About the Reviewer
Gus Gresham’s short stories have appeared in literary magazines and online, many of which are now collected in his latest book, Angel Reach. He is author of the novel Kyiv Trance and of the young adult novels Earthrise and Marmalade Skies. He has travelled widely and worked as a mechanical engineer, fruit picker, construction worker, environmental activist, writer, English tutor, audio-book producer, interpersonal skills facilitator, and building surveyor.

You can read more about Maybe the Birds by A. J. Ashworth on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Martyn Crucefix of "Dear Life" by Shanta Acharya

In Reflections on Exile and Other Essays, Edward Said describes the "contrapuntal" music of those living in exile: the awareness of at least two cultures providing a "plurality of vision," a simultaneity, ways of perceiving that wind in and out of each other. Shanta Acharya's new collection provides the reader with just such music. One of her most powerful poems opens "Alien, outsider, firangi, gaijin, exile / are some of the names of the pariah gods of exile." Born and raised in the Hindu religion in India, transplanted to pursue academic studies in the West, and having spent years working in the financial industries, the various strands of her music weave fascinating tunes. Her poems are concerned with identity, home, distance, love, and the world's violence, and succeed in addressing questions of faith more directly than most contemporary UK poets.

"Looking For Myself" eloquently explores the theme of identity and Acharya states the complexity of her position: "Single, female, first generation immigrant, no security, / intelligent, neurodivergent, born to be different." This difference is often associated with the poet's spiritual beliefs, her scepticism about the either/or of rational Western thought which she counters with the Hindu concept of divinity as neti, neti (not this, not that). But prayers often go unanswered, and the poet has to come to some sort of negotiated settlement with the silence: "All I seek is a place in your temple / to sing."

This poet's singing voice is particularly evident in this new collection in its use of the ghazal. This couplet form, with its return at the end of each second line to a refrain, perhaps suits the "contrapuntal" songs of exile, the voyage out, the returning back. A particularly powerful example (the title phrase serving as refrain) is "Find Me," with couplets addressing the plight of a child refugee, an old woman, the disappeared, the dead in shallow graves, and "the bones of exiles." "Things" is a marvellous listing ghazal (infinite things, love of things, I-don't-know-what-to-believe-in things, nothings) culminating in Acharya's final imperative of faith, seemingly unshakable despite the horrors of the world from which her poems never shrink: "Waking to the mystery of the Thing of things, / live in peace that passes the understanding of things."

About the reviewer
Martyn Crucefix: Between a Drowning Man was published by Salt in 2023; his translations of Peter Huchel (Shearsman) won the 2020 Schlegel-Tieck Prize. A Rilke Selected Poems, Change Your Life, has been published by Pushkin Press, 2024. Martyn's blog is here. 

You can read another review by Claire Cox of Dear Life by Shanta Acharya on Everybody's Reviewing here. 

Review by Martyn Crucefix of "In a Cabin, in the Woods" by Michael Krüger, trans. Karen Leeder

In the midst of the Covid pandemic, German poet Michael Krüger was also beginning to be treated for leukaemia. He retreated to a wooden house near Lake Starnberg in Germany and began to dispatch poems – 30-40 line meditations from a life-preserving quarantine – which were published to great acclaim in Süddeutsche Zeitung. This book contains 50 of them in superb translations by Karen Leeder.

With his own mortality standing so close, the small things loom large ("the flies can hear me") and picking details from beyond the window, or from memory, he is "amazed / at the richness, the lustre, the splendour." In contrast, the stricken world at large provides a new vocabulary: "Today: herd immunity. Let’s see how long / that lasts." Krüger’s work has always glittered with vivid images. The sunlit glint of the nearby lake is "like a huge barrel of mercury, / about to spill over." If that image is full of foreboding it’s no surprise and, even hidden away as he is, Krüger never loses his sense of wider concerns. As the spring birds arrive, military aircraft ("windowless, big-bellied, camouflage beasts") pass overhead carrying lethal hardware to poorer parts of the world.

There are moments of despair. Gazing into the mirror the question is whether it is "still worth shaving" and there is a sort of disproportionate grief when his Lavazza coffee machine breaks down, "a linguistically gifted gadget / that could gurgle, groan, moan, hiss and beep." But the book is surprisingly up-beat and its serious business has to do with poem-making, bringing order and meaning to an off-kilter, deadly (and for Krüger) godless world just beyond his doorstep: "I have to give things / a truth they cannot find by themselves." So when the local farmer (and his son) mows the nearby meadow, it’s like "a ballet for two tractors," and after rainfall it is like a Dutch painting, and Krüger is moved to quote his great German poet-forebear, Peter Huchel, transmuting the natural world to human meaning: "it points / off into the grass / like a truth."

About the reviewer
Martyn Crucefix: Between a Drowning Man was published by Salt in 2023; his translations of Peter Huchel (Shearsman) won the 2020 Schlegel-Tieck Prize. A Rilke Selected Poems, Change Your Life, has been published by Pushkin Press, 2024. Martyn's blog is here. 

Review by Martyn Crucefix of "Slow Burn" by Jordi Doce

The late John Burnside praised Jordi Doce as "one of the three or four living European poets whose work I most treasure." Slow Burn is a sequence of ten delicate, untitled poems of grief, finely translated by Paul O’Prey. It is not till later that the reader is told "death made its move" and Doce initially establishes an unsuspecting mood, comparing the human body to an ordinary "sunlit town square." The café chairs, the old men’s talk, the pigeons, the bell tower, form a "simple / homeostasis," a stability yet to be struck down. Likewise ordinary language (meetings, conversations) only functions up to a point, beyond which hovers "the god / of what’s left unsaid." 

Though distanced into the third person, the fifth poem portrays the writer as he used to be: "rummaging through things, / looking for their meaning." The switch to the present as he "peers through the window" comes as a shock: "He has stopped hearing the voice of himself." Doce’s verbal strikes have an unnerving delicacy. Another poem opens "Whose certainties were these?" and the juxtaposition of certainties with the past tense does powerful lifting in characterising the devastation of loss. The writer’s business is now left in "neglect" and any talk of peace or tranquillity is "to speak a dead language" or is at best "a craving for some plausible / sense of order."

A later poem takes up the earlier suggestion of the unsuspecting ordinary and evokes the shattering effect of grief through the image of a house having lost a room: "We dropped our guard / for just a moment / and it disappeared." It is here that death makes its move, "without / any hint, without any warning. / And took the whole house." The final italicised poem looks back at the sequence preceding it from beneath a sky that is "both itself / and something strange" and affirms that the flames of loss have passed across the flesh of those remaining, for whom, beneath their skin, "embers smoulder on." It is this residual grief that constitutes the mournful "slow burn" of this moving, melancholy, restrained, and exquisitely written chapbook.

About the reviewer
Martyn Crucefix: Between a Drowning Man was published by Salt in 2023; his translations of Peter Huchel (Shearsman) won the 2020 Schlegel-Tieck Prize. A Rilke Selected Poems, Change Your Life, has been published by Pushkin Press, 2024. Martyn's blog is here. 

Review by Rennie Parker of "Poems of a Nottingham Lace-Runner" by Mary Bailey, with an Introduction by John Goodridge

 

How pleasant to make the acquaintance of Mary Bailey, a lace worker ("Lace Runner") from the great industrial city of Nottingham. For here is her pamphlet, her only one, since she was dead by her mid-thirties; but available at last thanks to the combined efforts of researchers plus Five Leaves Press.

Bailey is adept at ballad metre, but this should not be surprising, as mill hands and fieldworkers alike would improve their monotonous hours by singing. It’s possible that she had popular tunes in mind when composing her verse:

          You ladies of Britain, we most humbly address
               And hope you will take it in hand,
           And at once condescend on poor Runners to think,
               When dress’d at your glasses you stand.
  

There is ample evidence of the love she feels for her children, with none of that reserve which members of the upper classes were meant to show; she works hard and gets about, rebuking mean girls and enjoying the small wins of everyday life on the breadline. I like the sound of this person; the Baileys appear like the numerous and chaotic family next door but where their priorities are in the right order. 

Moreover, it’s important to know that literature was not only available to her but a realistic means of survival at the time. Literature was not an add-on or a hobby; it was part of the work she could do and where she might expect some benefits from that production, whether in sales, patronage, or as a springboard for a career. She knows what is popular at the time: there are moral instructions, appeals, an epitaph - but I find the most engaging piece is her verse letter, meant for her family in Staffordshire:

          Dear brother and sister the packet is come
          To let you both know we are safely got home:
          And, in this epistle I’m happy to say 
          My dear little Ellinor slept all the way …

The book was produced by subscription, same as the model used by today’s online publishers such as Unbounders; her patrons are listed at the back, numbering 90 in total with the vast majority of them being female - none of that idle sitting in drawing rooms for these ladies -  and it’s probably significant that Bailey’s two editions happened in the same decade as her vastly more popular compatriot, John Clare (who was only fifty miles away by stagecoach at the time).

As an insight into one woman’s life and experience, it’s beautiful; here is an authentic voice from those times, showing how a literate working woman thought and felt in the 1820s. Only the usual word of warning for any production like this: she is of course a supplicant, asking favours of the gatekeepers and upper class folk who could determine how she lived or died, or whether the literature should continue at all.

About the reviewer
Rennie Parker is a poet living in the East Midlands, and she is mostly published by Shoestring Press. Her latest collection Balloons and Stripey Trousers, a nightmare journey into the toxic workplace, came out earlier this year. She works in FE and blogs occasionally here. She is also on Twitter/X and Bluesky.

Review by Rachael Clyne of "The Postcolonial Flâneuse" by Ramisha Rafique

I am attracted by flânerie, the random wander in cityscape, and was intrigued by the postcolonial aspect. While I anticipated the gauntlet of sharp political comment, I found myself immersed in Rafique’s gentle reflections on gender, race and religion as she tours street cafes. As a Muslim woman she already disrupts the white male origins of the genre.

From lockdown in Nottingham to Paris and Marseille, from Istanbul and Syria she offers vignettes. She wants to be part of the flow, rather than a labelled stereotype: "She has become part of / the mass. She is him, and her, / and them." Rafique vividly engages our senses with "Café Soundtrack" – music, chatter, accents, clink of cups, adding visual notes – a man fiddling with his ring, a passerby’s cloud breath. 

One minute we are on a Nottingham street, the next we are in Paris where statues of past empire become sleeping places for the current homeless. "For Those Lost in The Kashmiri Diaspora" concerns her own heritage and continuing impact of a region divided by the British then recolonised by Pakistan and India. The book covers many themes: conversing with God through a foreign language, social decline in the face of climate change and the joys of girl-chat setting their world to rights over coffee and cake.  A museum visit hints at how its art treasures reflect colonial tastes and cultural plunder. 

With the poet’s light touch we are offered a smorgasbord of tastes, customs and meditations, that stimulate food for thought. She eventually takes us into her familiar comfort zones, e.g. "Arab Quarter, Marseille," where her uncovered head is disapproved of by an older woman and she is comforted by "the fusion of black tea leaves, mint, and sugar." All in all, this is a pamphlet well written and worth reading.

About the reviewer
Rachael Clyne is a retired psychotherapist. Her prizewinning first collection Singing at the Bone Tree (Indigo Dreams) concerns eco-issues. Her pamphlet, Girl Golem (4Word) and her latest collection, You’ll Never Be Anyone Else (Seren Books), explore themes of identity and otherness, including migrant heritage, LGBTQ+ and relationships.    

Review by Nicole Yurcaba of "Eradication" by Jonathan Miles

 

Jonathan Miles’s Eradication: A Fable is the story of Adi, a former jazz musician turned schoolteacher, reeling from the tragedy of his young son’s death. Unable to escape grief’s grip, and attempting to recover from his wife’s decision to leave him, Adi decides to pursue a strange job opportunity. He accepts an assignment to spend five weeks alone on the tiny, isolated Pacific Island of Santa Flora. His mission: to right the ecological imbalance caused by the goats that have overpopulated the island. However, as the environment, natural elements, and wild landscape test Adi’s morality and ethics, Adi finds that the true threat to Santa Flora may not be the goats at all. The job’s rigors challenge his mental, physical, and psychological stamina, and as he relives his son’s death and the events that followed, he undergoes a transformation he never could have imagined.

Written as an introspective meditation, Eradication: A Fable is a jarring examination of one man’s reckoning with the world, love, grief, and, ultimately, himself. His "social isolato" is reminiscent of classic characters like Moby Dick’s Ishmael. The isolated island’s setting will remind readers of books like Lord of the Flies. In some ways, Eradication reads like a modern-day Robinson Crusoe because of its exploration of the humans-versus-nature ethos. More significantly, as Adi confronts the real consequences of human conquest and human incursion on fragile environments, Eradication resonates clearly with contemporary novels such as Daniela Catrileo’s stunning novel Chilco.

Eradication is morally and ethically necessary, especially as climate change and human greed continue to ravage the globe. Miles has truly contributed a beautifully eerie and hauntingly thought-provoking work to the contemporary literary canon. 

About the reviewer

Nicole Yurcaba (Нікола Юрцаба) is a Ukrainian American of Hutsul/Lemko origin. Her poems and reviews have appeared in Appalachian Heritage, Atlanta Review, Seneca Review, New Eastern Europe, Euromaidan Press, Chytomo, and The New Voice of Ukraine. Her poetry collection, The Pale Goth, is available from Alien Buddha Press. 

Review by Lisa Williams of "FantasticLand" by Mike Bockoven

It’s the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness so the time is ripe for getting cosy with some dark dystopian fiction. FantasticLand is a theme park and has been a mecca for fun since the 70s. A hurricane hits and floods the area; a team of predominantly college-aged employees are hired to look after the now-isolated park in the aftermath of the storm. What follows is a modern-day Lord of the Flies. The book isn’t for everyone – the violence is graphic and relentless. There’s a lovely juxtaposition though between the Disney-type theme park where "fun is guaranteed" and the grisly events that follow the storm, as society rapidly breaks down. The story is told through transcripts of interviews and eye-witness reports that give the story a real credibility. It’s reminiscent of a 1970s disaster movie, and in parts you do have to suspend your disbelief and just enjoy the ride. FantasticLand by Mike Bockoven is a gripping tale and fab for losing yourself in as the nights close in.

About the reviewer
Lisa Williams has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. She writes word-limited flash fiction, mostly drabbles - stories of exactly one hundred words. You can find her online @noodleBubble 

Review by Doryn Herbst of "Afonydd: Poems for Welsh Rivers / Cerddi Afonydd Cymru" ed. Sian Northey and Ness Owen

 

Afonydd: Poems for Welsh Rivers / Cerddi Afonydd Cymru is a Welsh / English bilingual anthology of poems that brings together 50 talented voices from every corner of Wales. Each poet reflects on a personal experience of a Welsh watercourse. Exploring the river in all its forms, the works meander from the smallest brooks all the way to the wide estuary of the River Severn. The result is an impressive and diverse portrayal of Wales and its waters. 

In "To the nameless ones" / "I’r Rhai Dienw," Graheme Davies

           … invoke[s] them all: 
           These overlooked companions of the hill
           that make their way where only curlews call,
           and never had a name and never will.

           Ond fe ddathlaf nhw i gyd, 
           cynheiliaid anghofiedig pant a glyn,   
           sy’n gweu eu ffordd ymhell o sylw’r byd
           ar hynt anhysbys rhwng y grug a’r chwyn.

In "River Nevern at Newport" / "Nyfer yn Nhrefdraeth," Iris Anne Lewis writes: "This river knows two languages" / "Mae i’r afon hon ddwy iaith."

I read the English version of the poems and love how true they feel. The language is engaging and beautiful. I am sure readers of the Welsh will find each piece as inspired and gorgeous. Absolute gems are offered through sublime observations of the human condition, elsewhere, through an intense reach into nature. The book stitches together patches of history, landscape and life into stories that enchant with their depth. Shimmering layers mindful of all senses, touch, taste, smell, sights and sounds are woven through one tale to another. The poetry is lucid, and so much goes on beneath the surface, you emerge refreshed as from a dip in the cool of a clear mountain stream. 

From farmland to mudflats, people-babble to water-babble, words roam through wild places, through the weird and the familiar. At the heart of this anthology is an intimate connection to the intricacies of love, the shape of community and value of friendship but also the dangers and contradictions of life, the risks of human existence.

In "Swimming at the Dwyfor" / "Nofio yn Afon Dwyfor," Zoë Brigley writes: 

           Before I left, she asked Are you going alone? By which she meant
           without a human companion, and she was right, though I 

           was not on my own, the golden water winking and shimmering
           on the surface, plunging over rocks and shifting silt … 

                     ... I found what I wanted 
           there in the water, a dark chill like the bronze of armour.

           Cyn i mi adael, holodd Wyt ti’n mynd dy hun? Golygai 
           heb gwmni pobl, ac mi oedd hi’n iawn, er doeddwn i ddim
           

           ar fy mhen fy hun, y dyfroedd aur yn wincio a disgleirio 
           ar y wyneb, yn llamu tros greigiau ac yn gogri llaid……
           

                      ... Darganfyddais yr hyn a geisiwn 
           yma yn y dŵr, ias oer dywyll fel efydd arfwisg.

With a keen eye, the authors explore just how precarious life can be but also how precious. Fragility / resilience, grief / joy, compassion / vigour are laid side by side. Open-minded and grounded in the everyday as well as the extraordinary, they ask what binds us together, what it means to feel at home in your own skin. We discover harmonies in the darkest places to reminder us of hope and the power of regeneration.

As we wander through these drenched pages, autumn gives way to winter, sings through to summer accompanied by the music of birds and animals, the ripple of flow and reed. There are ponies, mayflies, cats, trout, crabs, otters.

In "Shore Mares" / "Cesig y Glannau," Natalie Ann Holborow writes:

           The ponies sop to land’s edges, eyes huge 
           and tender, brown as cherry-pits. Churning 
           wet marram, briny earth, currents 
           bucking around them – the sound of something 
           disappearing – as if the Earth were swallowing 
           shock, alarmed at her own quick waters, 
           cockles rattling her throat like pearls.

           Mae’r merlod yn mwydo i ffin y tir, llygaid anferth 
           a thyner, brown fel cerrig ceirios. Corddi 
           y moresg gwlyb, y ddaear hallt, a’r cerrynt 
           yn troi o’u hamgylch – sŵn rhywbeth 
           yn diflannu – fel petai’r Ddaear yn llyncu 
           ei syndod, ei dyfroedd chwim ei hun yn ei dychryn, 
           cocos yn clecian ar ei ei gwddf fel perlau.”

A deep feeling for the natural world tackles how we pollute, exhaust, throttle, try to tame the river. These poems peck at our consciousness, shows us that constant intrusion destroys the countryside, brings floods to towns and village. We cannot flee the truth that human activity not only endangers vulnerable species but puts our own health and well-being at risk.

In "Will-o’-the-Wisp at Splott" / "Tân Annwn yn y Sblot," Gareth Writer-Davies writes: 

           the plastic mud returns 
           taking on the shape of what it captures
 
           rusty tools, old jetties, flint arrowheads 
           scraped debris from all ages ...

           dychwela’r llaid plastigaidd 
           gan ddwyn ffurf yr hyn mae’n ei ddal 
           offer rhydlyd, hen lanfeydd, blaenau saethau fflint 
           geriach garw drwy’r oesoedd ...

In "The Uninvited Guest" / "Yr Ymwelydd na Wahoddwyd," Tracey Rhys writes:

           I loved the Ogmore 
           until it came to stay, 
           bringing a soupçon 
           of despair

           Roeddwn yn gwirioni ar afon Ogwr 
           nes y daeth i aros, 
           gan ddod â cheiniogwerth 
           o anobaith

On the theme of belonging, the last poem, "Binary" / "Deuaidd" by Adele Evershed, ends with a powerful message about what it means to go home: "late sunshine   my shadow settles   back inside my body" / "heulwen yr hwyr   fy nghysgod yn swatio   yn ôl yn fy nghorff."

About the reviewer 
Doryn Herbst, a former water industry scientist working in Wales, now lives in Germany. Her writing considers the natural world and themes which address social issues. Poetry in print and online, including: The Wild Word, Ink Sweat & Tears, Mugwort Magazine and Poetry Wales. Doryn has a collection coming out with Yaffle Press in spring 2026 called A Barbed and Twisted Place.

Review by Colin Dardis of "Bunting’s Honey" by Moya Cannon

A persistent theme is the danger of forgetting, of lost words and times. "And Now The Babies" laments that "no one can figure out again, | how to give peace a chance." In "Planting Roses in Baicheng," set in the Chinese city that has seen its fair share of border changes over the years, an old, local woman contemplates as "a witness from inside history" and wonders about her history. This pondering on the past is built upon in "All Gone," a key poem in the collection, which recognises the evanescent nature of family events:

          And a century later
         hardly anyone remembers this
         nor do they really matter,
         the trillions of family stories
         which, every day, drift down
         a billion rivulets
         into Lethe’s indifferent waters.

The collection’s title poem celebrates Edward Bunting, famed for his work in collecting and notating Irish folk music. The reader can’t help but draw a comparison here between Bunting and Cannon, the latter collecting stories in her poems that otherwise would be lost, from Tyrone villages to the River Saōne to Venice to Jilin Province. In "Turlough Hill," Cannon notes that we will never truly learn of the history of the site "because nobody wrote | nobody will ever know." Cannon excels in letting us know of hidden wonders, of human adventures and pastoral splendours, and it is from within nature that some of the strongest poems arise.

The opening section of the collection is a series of eco-poems, ablaze with appreciations for scenery and wildlife. However, there are notes of warning. In "Die-back," the poet warns us that

          A species, even, can disappear discreetly,
          with no official count-down,
          without the drama
          of an asteroid or an ice-age

Similarly, in "For the Birds," we learn of pigeon flocks that had "darkened America’s skies," reduced to the last of its year dying "imprisoned, in a Cincinnati zoo." Cannon’s eco-poems are a standout of the collection. In the thrall of nature, greeted by a vision of lake and sky, Cannon wryly notes a crowd of spectators jostling "closer to a roped cliff edge | where a hundred smartphones are held aloft." Contrast this with the poet’s own discovery of a corrie lake in "A Quarrel with the Lexiographers," noting her how "heart leaps" amidst the "skree and heather"; Cannon’s experience feels realer, void of the prism of technology. Indeed, in a poem titled "A Technology," Cannon charts the history and advancement of typesetting, but frets if "a millennium from now | will anyone, perchance, survive" to read our current "cacophony" of "whirring symbols."

In "Pascal," the poem opens with a quote from the French physicist: "The eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me." Cannon wonders "what lies | beyond the rim of a universe"; such contemplation of the expanse of existence is amusing, given that Pascal also famously wrote "All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone." And yet these poems, contrastingly, make the reader want to go outside and explore a mountainside or watch a sunrise, and revel in "that honeycomb of hours spent laughing and talking" in human contact. Although there are notes of sadness and grief, these poems are so rich in the celebration of nature and connection that the reader is enlivened, even emboldened, at the collection’s end. In "Old Friend," fittingly the closing poem, we are reminded that there will be "nothing left of us in this world | but what we have remembered to give away." With these poems, Cannon has ensured that what she leaves behind adds to the beauty of the world.

About the reviewer
Colin Dardis is a neurodivergent writer, editor and sound artist, his work has been published widely throughout Ireland, the UK and the US. He co-hosts the long-running open mic poetry night, Purely Poetry, in Belfast, and is editor of the Poem Alone blog.

Review by Éadaoín Lynch of "Exiles Across Time" by Hua Ai

"How far will hunger drive a body over borders?"

Ai’s debut chapbook is driven by an enterprising voice, and a new angle on age-old stories of birth, death, conflict and resilience. It opens with six short announcements or portents, called "Echoes," each in turn repeated in a longer-form poem – a neat example of form mirroring subject. What is remarkable about Ai’s work is her blend of contrasted conceits, political history, and mythic register, recalling elements from the work of Anna Akhmatova or Mahmoud Darwish.

Being an ESL poet, Ai’s language and syntax are reflective of the book’s thematic "exile," as the poems themselves bear the journey of translation. This journey is further contextualised in her Author’s Note, where she shares that, in her native language Mandarin, "meaning travels under the surface; readers are trusted to dive." Transposing a lyric convention from one language into another is not an easy feat, particularly where connotation and cultural context are inevitably lost in the move. Ai, however, is fearless and the confidence bears out in original, inventive poems.

The narrative focus in Exiles Across Time combines gothic and nature imagery, mythos, and symbolism in a way that rebuffs the confessional mode, or what Ai calls "English’s appetite for direct address." The chimeras of life, death and rebirth are corroborated by sweeping metaphors, such as, "History splits awake," "Ice breaks its winter silence," "Existence is a slit throat," and "In woods where history hangs itself." Here is a pastoral poetic that looks as much at destruction as creation – a fitting approach for a work that is concerned so much with exile. 

From initial mythic imaginings of maternal sacrifice and patriarchal domination to a resurgence of hope amid the hunt, Ai turns sharply in "Echo III" to a bruising account of the siege of Sarajevo, illustrating a clear reality, even in ambitious metaphors. This is followed closely in "Echo IV" by a call to action – "a million fingers pull the tyrant down" – to the final "Echoes" of self-fashioning and reawakening. Through these works, Ai charts a journey that is intergenerational, international, and grounded in political upheaval and brutality. Exiles Across Time is an auspicious debut that favours promising work to come.

About the reviewer
Éadaoín Lynch is an Irish writer & researcher based in Edinburgh. They are one of the Typewronger Writers-in-Residence for 2025, and co-editor of Re·creation: A Queer Poetry Anthology with Alycia Pirmohamed. Their poem "Brogue" was Commended for the Magma 2024 Poetry Competition by Raymond Antrobus. Fierce Scrow, their debut poetry pamphlet, launched in 2022 with Nine Pens Press.

Review by Debasish Lahiri of "Debris" by Daniel Huws

Sometimes poetry can be the disturbance of clear blue skies, shaking the airline passengers, briefly, from their polite boredom into mild alarm, but merely coaxing a bird to bring out all its dance moves in a mid-air ballet. A quiet, precise quire of our disquiets, the poetry of Daniel Huws brings dynamism of drama, that of the recondite garret or the familial dinner table, to a laconic, punctilious close like the sibilant witness of sunlight through the window of the same room. Huws has always had that Welsh gift of using nature to narrate the seasons of "man," to feel the winds (and smoke) of time in the hair, and the tug at the hem of their clothes. Everything, or nothing, is mundane, or mythical.

In Debris, poetry from his two earlier collections Noth (1972) and The Quarry (1999) is collected alongside "uncollected" and occasional poems. Huws’s tribute to Christopher Reid in his "Author’s Preface" can equally be a testament to his own craft as a poet. Patience, a quality Huws admires in his editor, is his own great forte. When the needle on a seismograph is going mad as Hieronymo, when the world – of one individual, or the world as a civilization sees it – is going down, Huws’s poetry holds it all in the unshaking crucible of its palm, without "a single cumbersome word or phrase" or “a jarring note." The clarion call of mortality sounds through the bacchanalian mist of youth, clearly, in "The Party": "He took off his flesh and lay in his bones." 

Burnishing parergons – small moments, contemplations that sit askew to the straight highroads of existence, realizations that are of no consequence, but great import – with suppleness and poise, with an unerring eye and acute ear, Huws often produces such lines – "days of dying bred spite in our tongue" and "to have strayed in a wood which seemed like home."  

Huws pulses with the dark-vowelled flow that we find in Dylan Thomas, but he keeps that well behind an English dyke. This is his particular Welsh-ness. However, like sand between fingers that tide does sometimes breach: 

          With the voice of a flower, the voice of a child,
          You cried against the iniquity
          Of blackness, blackness clammy and choking
          …
          Your only resource was to flourish death
          In a brilliant flare of uncomprehending.

The misted past catches up with us as the poet conjures for us places, straight out of the gizzard of time, and we feel a sudden damp in our boots from that old bog of years, or quarry:

          Ages ago,
          And I still stand
          Caught in the long afternoon
          In the old quarry,
          Face to the wall,
          Counting to twenty.

Huws’s Debris is a reminder that the pluck and spirit of "small" beings – women, men, children or flowers – ensure that the world does not end tonight.

          The slow way home was through the wood
          Which creaked with age
           …
          And in the November storm
          The red campion battled so late.

The occasional poems in the volume (addressed to Ted Hughes, Jean Hawkes and Lucas Myers) are rhymed with a friendliness and accord that is the bedrock of friendship that has withstood the ravages of time. Daniel Huws writes like the restorer of old paintings, the light that is always there in the dark-overtaken masterpieces and just needs brightening. If poetry can turn to sound a silence that is ever-growing in us, around us, as in Huws, then it will have succeeded in its labour.

About the reviewer
Debasish Lahiri has nine collections of poetry to his credit, the latest being A Certain Penance of Light (2025). Lahiri is the recipient of the Prix-du Merite, Naji Naaman Literary Prize 2019.

Interview with Duncan Gill

Duncan Gill is a British author, born in England, Hemel Hempstead, in1987. The Ancestral Odyssey is the name of his epic fantasy book series that started with The Utopian Dream and was independently published in 2016 to positive reviews. Gill has published six volumes under The Ancestral Odyssey and is currently writing its continuation - a series that thus far has captured the essence of traditional fantasy storytelling, while reaching to bring fans of the genre something new. His goal is to honour what epic fantasy is but he strives to experiment and expand upon it, hoping to demonstrate that it can be more than what was once thought.

His official website is here. On X: @MegasTeque

Interviewed by Joyce Bou Charaa

JBC: What first inspired you to become a writer? Was there a specific memory or experience that drove you to start writing stories?

DG: That’s a good question, and unfortunately, I don’t have a definitive answer. I believe it all came from a concept that slowly formed in my early teens from various places, but I suppose this desire to write, this need to forge my own story was always there under the surface, it just needed some help to be discovered, and then of course once it was unearthed, you can begin to learn, refine, and polish the craft at your own leisure. Bu, going back before that moment if I may? I remember coming away from books as a child, walking out of films and finishing certain video games - I was left with annoying thoughts of what would come next and what would that look like? When such titles did not continue, I’d begin to craft the narrative myself in my own head, and because I grew up in a time without the noise of social media, I craved long walks and lengthy car journeys, but more specifically, I craved time alone, because only when I was alone could I indulge in this meditative state assisted with music that enabled me to continue the story of x, y and z, stories I’d build simply by thinking about them. The beauty of this was it could be anything I wanted it to be, and I believe that was my initiation to what was coming next, a project of my own making, one that I felt had to be written.

As for inspirations, I’m usually drawn to stories complete with their own worlds, and that world can look like anything so long as it’s grounded in its own unique signature and style. I like worlds that feel lived in, worlds that have been thought out, worlds with the weight of history, with wear and tear at the corners, worlds that encapsulate both beauty, danger with a lick of mystery, while enriched in their own fantastical setting. If done right, anything can be believed.

To no one’s surprise, Lord of the Rings is a champion when it comes to world building, Harry Potter is indeed excellent, worthy of a mention for inspiration. I think all modern fantasy writers have to have read or at least indulged in these worlds, but I personally leaned further into Tolkien having started to read the trilogy at sixteen and finishing it at seventeen while visiting my Grandparents in Suffolk, which was a year or so into creating my own fantasy world set in a place called Equis. However, before I discovered Tolkien and Rowling and everything hence, I remember reading and becoming invested in a magazine that belonged to my elder brother called The Ancestral Trail; the first issue was published by Marshal Cavendish in 1992, while its final issue was released in 1994. Written by Fergus Fleming and Ian Probert and illustrated by Julek Heller, this trail follows a story that is very much in line with what inspires me and my own work: a dark, fantasy tale born out of an unsettling world of magic and monsters. Of course, there are so many other inspirations, such as Amy Hennig’s Legacy of Kain series that’s set in the rotting, gothic, vampiric world of Nosgoth, Lorne Lanning's Oddworld, and the biomechanical worlds depicted by the artist H. R. Giger, the mind behind the universe of the nightmarish Star Beast, better known as Alien. Such brilliant works all meld together; they mix with your own unique senses and perception, and from this ooze you slowly but surely build.

JBC: You've written six volumes of your fantasy series, The Ancestral Odyssey. Could you tell us more about the book idea and how it started? Also, can you share some behind-the-scenes moments from crafting the plot?

DG: Sure. The idea is to create a series of books coupled with their own themes distinct from each other, yet at their core tell a story about inheritance, what we pass down to future generations. This thread might not be clear to begin with, but as the stories unfold, it all centres around a question; what is the most important thing to inherit? What is the most important thing worth preserving? These ideas, loose and flimsy at the time, became my base, and from this foundation grew what we see today. It’s hard to pin down where it all exactly started; as I mentioned earlier, when I was a child I was always lost in my own head making things up, doing everything I could to stay in that place rather than face bitter reality, but if I had to accurately point to a time where Odyssey started, I’d say it was around 2002, perhaps 2003. It didn’t exist as a book back then, but instead it was a humble collection of sketches, hand-written descriptions of locations, a simple hand drawn map, and loads of notes scribbled on the backs of receipts from where I worked at the time. Despite not having a goal or endgame in mind, I continued to work on it, I kept building it for reasons I was uncertain of, but something was telling me that this was a calling, that there was something here worth exploring, and that’s what I did, I kept building it, I kept adding to it little by little and expanding this jargon until semblances of ideas formed. Were all these ideas any good? No, not all of them, but those that I believe are good have either been executed, or are still being tended to today, and are yet to flower.

A few years later, I’d submit this huge body of work as part of a college project in 2006, a project which earned me a place in university in 2007, and that was when I started writing the book in my dorm, and the book was called Mythology: Seeds of War. This is where I encountered my first problem as a storyteller. Seeds of War wasn’t fit for a beginning, there was already too much going on, most of the characters were well established, the journey was already in full swing, huge events had taken place that deserved to be experienced, and there was no real weight to the dialogue. It didn’t feel right to start here, so I decided to shelve it for what I thought would be a short time (eighteen years, give or take) and got to work on something that feels more and more like a history now. I dialled the clock back twenty years on the timeline and got to work on the first instalment which was called Mythology: The Perfect World, only for it to evolve after my backpacking travels of Western and Eastern Europe in 2016 into The Ancestral Odyssey: The Utopian Dream, a story focusing on two protagonists, a young General, Lethaniel Presian and a spiritual Star Caller, Isabelle Verano - two characters who fight on the same side but in very different ways. Lethaniel relies on his swordplay, his military strategy and brute force to survive, while Isabelle depends upon her magic, her faith, and mysterious foresight. These two characters at times cross paths, but ultimately there are two different stories that orbit around finding one’s place and one’s purpose in a beautiful yet unforgiving world, a world called Equis, where word spreads fast and mercy is something of a rarity.

JBC: Out of all your characters, which one is your favourite? What makes this character so unique to you?

DG: I do have a soft spot for one character in particular, someone who I will detail as to why in a moment, but before I get there, I have to say that this question is like asking someone to choose your favourite film, book or band, sure you have a handful you immediately think of, but every so often the order switches around and you just need "that one" for that moment in time.

I feel that Alexius Marsay, Lethaniel’s best friend, is a favourite. The feedback I’ve gotten suggests people like him, and having re-read The Utopian Dream recently in preparation for the audiobook, his lines are witty, he often succumbs to his vices and adds some much-needed comic relief to an otherwise bleak story. I feel like Alexius is someone the everyday man can relate to, he loves to smoke, he loves to drink, he loves to eat and sleep in, he enjoys the company of women, he usually says what everyone is thinking and yet somehow, despite it all, he delivers each and every time, becoming that guy you can rely on, fighting with a ferocity that matches those of a knight's status.

Counter to this is Ridian Messiah, a character who fulfils the role as one of the Odyssey's key antagonists, and this guy I believe steals every scene he’s in - for example, the scene where he makes himself known to Lethaniel and his group, appearing rather casually before a burning cathedral, standing up to our heroes with a quiet stoicism, an unwavering confidence enriched with fiendish cunning, which gets the better of Lethaniel time and time again, exploiting his weaknesses that go beyond his ability to wield a sword, a skill that Ridian too is highly proficient with.

The character that is unique to me, though, I think is and always will be Isabelle. She’s special, because when I made the decision to shelve Seeds of War and write The Utopian Dream, that takes place two decades earlier, Isabelle was the character that more or less guided me through this world, and what I find even more peculiar is that I wasn’t the only one she guides, creating a narrative that wasn’t intentionally planned, but one I am thankful that formulated. Isabelle will always be special in that regard.

JBC: If you wanted to choose a new genre outside of fantasy, what would it be and why?

DG: Horror is actually my favourite genre for a plethora of reasons; it even trumps my love of fantasy. Horror is almost always the genre I turn to when it comes to selecting films to watch, books to read or games to play. There is something oddly fascinating and daring about exploring those parts of your psyche that genuinely disturb you, whether this involves an external tormentor or something that comes from within. The genre is fluid, it is malleable and when it’s done right, when a piece of horror well and truly finds you, it has the power to keep you in that space for hours, and in some cases, days.

I’ve also learned when thinking, studying and writing about larger-than-life topics, these steps inevitably slip into dark and disturbing places. If you don’t like the horror genre, of course that’s acceptable, but whether you like it or not, horror exists all around us, it is never far away, you cannot avoid it forever; the genre is but another avenue to explore a very real presence of the human condition, and that is important.

Please, do not misunderstand, I write in fantasy because it suits a personal desire, a need that can only be satisfied with the creation of a world married to a massive landscape with many characters to navigate, and when it comes to consuming fantasy, I’ll certainly indulge. I also feel like I’m better at writing fantasy than horror; just because I find horror more compelling in most cases does not mean I’m better at crafting it, fantasy comes out on top in that regard. However, I find that horror is easier to digest: where fantasy is an occasional visit, horror is something weekly. Some of the best examples of horror I can think of include the short story called "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream," written by Harlan Ellison in 1967. The video game Soma, developed by Frictional Games and released in 2015, is easily up there as one of the most disturbing games and concepts I’ve ever played, and as for House of Leaves written by Mark Z. Danielewski and published in 2000, what can I say: never in my life have I ever been terrified of a blank page, but this book achieved it. It’s unsettling to say the least, expertly written and furthermore, it can only exist in a book format, which makes it fascinating.

JBC: Lately, we've been seeing a rise in book-to-screen adaptations. What's your take on this trend? Do you envision The Ancestral Odyssey being adapted into film one day?

DG: I think Hollywood is in a spot of turmoil right now. I’m not exactly sure when it began, but we’ve been through approximately fifteen to twenty years of non-stop superhero movies adapted from old comic books. Some of these films are very good and adapted faithfully, most however are fun watches that ride that line of mediocrity, but the more recent ones have just been content for content's sake. They’re forgetful and are like to media junk food, that’s the vibe I’ve been getting when browsing the web or talking amongst friends, and I cannot argue with that. The era of the superhero flick is coming to an end. Sure, there will always be one or two sprouting up here and there, but I think we can all agree that the peak of superheroes was the Avengers finale. Since then, it’s just been on a downward spiral, and Hollywood must know that this once-deep well is running dry.

So, where do they turn to next and what can they capitalise on? Books have and always will be the best resource Hollywood can dip into, and I think that is the answer to their problem in the hunt for new ideas, because I don’t know about you, but I am getting sick of all these remakes. I am seeing a lot of popular video games being adapted to the screen, The Last of Us, Resident Evil, Fallout to name a few. I’m not opposed to this, I love gaming, so long as the material is treated with respect, remains true to the source material and is crafted by people who know what they’re doing, to make something that honours the artist or artists that made it originally. Therein lies our problem, film makers these days and their writers often don’t know what they’re doing - whether they lack the wisdom and knowledge to translate the source material to the screen or are in thrall to the committee, the board of directors, the suits (as I like to call them) who are only in it to turn a profit, caring little for the actual art. Either way, what used to be exciting news, hearing about a classic game or book being adapted into a film, is now something to dread. Yes, I’ve been hurt far too many times now to get excited, and this segues nicely into my thoughts on a TAO (The Ancestral Odyssey) adaptation, if there ever was one.

There was a time when this was all I could think about; the fantasy, the idea of TAO being adapted into a film or perhaps a TV show, seeing this world and all these characters coming to life that mirror their personas on the page - this was something to aspire to; it would be exciting, and a dream come true. However, in the current climate, and with what I have seen with other book to film adaptations, I’m not so sure it would ever be allowed or could work if greenlit, from both a bureaucratic and practical point of view. In order for it to work, the project would need to be managed by people who genuinely cared, by people who are talented artists in their own right and would want to make the best collection of movies possible, because if anyone knows anything about movie making, it's that it is a team effort, no one man or woman can do everything, and only when everyone is singing from the same hymn sheet can you then hope for the best outcome, which is a well-written story, coupled with flawless acting and magnificent visuals. Also, and I am not even sure that this is possible, but I would want to organise a contract where I am on the board, to be part of the writing team, involved with the casting and would have a say on the direction of the story. This is my vision, after all, and of course I want what’s best for it. So, if by some miracle this does get the attention it needs, to be adapted onto the big screen by a dedicated, passionate team, and if by another miracle I’d have some executive power, then yes, let’s go, let’s get it done, let’s minimalize the inevitable heartbreaks and let’s make it into the best it can be, and I promise you it would be something spectacular. But if not, if it is to fall into the wrong hands and my power over the decision making was severely limited or, worse, stolen and undermined, then no, it’s never going to happen. I’ll be happy with just the completion of the books and have them sitting on a shelf collecting dust.

JBC: We know that you're working on an audiobook for Volume 1. How is the process going so far? And do you think audiobooks are becoming more appealing to readers today?

DG: It’s frustrating. Working on an independently made audiobook really locks you into your workstation. Once you start working on a session, you quite literally cannot be doing anything else, you need your eyes, your ears and 100% of your mind focused on the task at all times, and before you know it, that glorious welcoming morning sun is gone and it's night time, and to make things worse, you’ve not eaten anything and most of the tea and coffee you made has gone cold. You might be thinking that the solid stretches of work would yield something to be proud of and justify the days lost to the project, but when you analyse what you’ve accomplished, it’s not nearly as much as you hoped for. In fact, more often it's the case that you’ve achieved very little for something that is at best, satisfactory. I suppose because I am fresh to this new media, because I am still learning how to use the software and figuring out what works best, it’s reasonable to think that my frustrations thus far might be down to simple growing pains, especially when it comes to using AI voice techniques. That being said, the voice I am using does belong to a real voice actress, all I’ve done is recorded, cloned, and trained the voice to save on time (ironically) and money, money that I simply do not have in 2025. Had I the resources to do this the traditional way, then absolutely I would be all over it, but that is not the reality I live in, so with said advancements in AI, I’ve met the technology half way, meaning I’ve worked with someone talented, a singer-songwriter Emmy Lila, and with her consent (of course) cloned her voice, so I don’t have to be in studio for hundreds of hours. I did think despite the setbacks, I was making headway, but alas I learned that the voice needed a little more range. So, I contacted Miss Lila and to my delight, she came through with some more recordings; however, when the voice was updated, I needed to pass another verification checkpoint, and the only way to do this was to contact Emmy again, but tragedy struck! A death in the family has ground this project all the way down to a halt, and it could be weeks, perhaps some months, before work proceeds. It will take a long time, but when the audiobook does release, it will be presented professionally, the voice will read the work beautifully, it will come with sound effects and musical transitions, all of which besides the voice clone will be independent from AI.

Do I think that audiobooks are becoming more appealing? Yes, even though we live in an age where a lot of our basic needs are taken care of, people are busier than ever, and attention spans are dwindling due to the onslaught of social media. Everyone I have spoken with recently openly admits that they’re not reading as much as they’re used to and are turning to audiobooks instead. Reading will never cease, there will always be readers, but it would be naive of me to say that audiobooks aren’t having a huge impact on the industry as a whole.

JBC: Can you tell us about your upcoming projects? What awaits readers of The Ancestral Odyssey? And are you working on a new book outside the series?

DG: The Ancestral Odyssey will have five episodes in total under this name. The first episode is The Utopian Dream – Volumes 1, 2 and 3. The sequel, Rise of the Black Doves – Volumes 4, 5 and 6 - was completed last year, while work on episode three, Seeds of War – Volumes 7, 8 and 9 - is underway. I am thoroughly enjoying the story thus far, it certainly has an interesting opening and what will be a fantastic ending. I’m unsure about the middle due to all of the moving parts, but I assure you, there will be some surprises in this next instalment. The lead villain is dark and dangerous; someone you’d least expect to challenge this selection of characters. You’ll get an expansion on some of the technology, the magic, the Celestial’s will make their most dramatic appearance yet, and we’ll just get to continue with all these different stories left over from Rise, stories that I hope will capture the reader's imagination. Progress is sadly slow due to the demand of my day job and other projects, such as editing shorter stories, writing articles for the blog, a horror book I have in the making that needs attention, and the preparation of the re-release of The Utopian Dream, it all takes its toll. Episode four, Rainbow Dawn, and the final episode in the series called The Chosen Kindred will be undertaken when the time comes, but that will not be for some time yet.

While slaving away on The Utopian Dream's audiobook, I decided that a clean-up of the material was necessary, so in the coming months we will see it removed and swiftly re-published. The story will remain the exact same, nothing will be changed on that front, but its structure, its grammatical errors will be ironed out where needs be on all current formats, from Kindle, Paperback, and Hardback. The same will follow with Rise of the Black Doves, because after my enormous review/analysis of this monster of a book, a review titled "A Thought on Rise," an essay stretching to 100 pages long published on my blog on the 23rd of August, I did pick out a few mistakes that need adjusting, but it is less of a priority at the moment.

I am in the throes of writing my own speculative fiction, a story that’s separate from TAO called Viewer One, and it will wade into the murky waters of H. P. Lovecraft and lonely psychological horror. We’ll see how that turns out as it’s something of a side project right now. If you’d like to know where to find me, my website is the best place to start. From there you have access to articles, artwork, videos and a list of my books. 

Thank you for your questions, I hope my answers satisfied, it’s been a pleasure.

About the interviewer
Joyce Bou Charaa is a Lebanese writer and editor. Her works are featured in Aniko Press, Tint Journal, The Indiependent, Newpages, Wijdan platform, and other outlets. She covers culture, books, and literature. Her recent work is featured in Shadows of The Mind anthology. You can find her on Instagram: Joyboucharaa/ and on X: @joyceboucharaa.

Review by Julie Gardner of "Football, Fighter Jets, Flowers & Everything in Between" by Ellistown Primary School's Year Six Students

 

As the title suggests, there is variety here. Thirty-two year-six pupils from Ellistown Primary School share their knowledge and interests. And what a knowledgeable and interesting group of individuals they seem to be! 

One piece is inspired by Shakespeare’s Macbeth, another by the award-winning short film Little Freak, by Edwin Schaap. We read a fictionalised account of Catherine of Aragon overhearing Anne Boleyn and Henry Vlll. A labelled diagram explains why the Eurofighter Typhoon is so unique, and an illustrated description of Japan Football Trials makes for a fascinating read. A Victoria sponge recipe is a lovely tribute to a nan who baked "so many different things." 

Recurring themes across the collection are ambitions for the future, the importance of friendship and hobbies. There are some spooky stories, eight poems and some impressive illustrations, including a fierce looking Aslan, a dolphin and an abstract interpretation of the school’s houses. A Lego enthusiast contributes a photograph of a model which was made with 2352 pieces and a photograph of a clay and paint model of an ice-cream cone was inspired "by hot summer days, when the SATs are over and we’re having fun." 

Credit goes to the teachers who have encouraged this creative and diverse project, to Constantine who edited the collection, and to the Coalville C.A.N. Community for making the publication possible. I suspect the children will remember this work long after their SATs results are forgotten. As the headteacher writes in the foreword, the children have been given "permission to embrace their own individuality and to find a voice they may not have known they had." 

About the reviewer
Julie Gardner is studying towards a PhD at Nottingham Trent University, focussing on Silence and Voice in the poetry of Vicki Feaver and her contemporaries. Her poetry pamphlet Remembering was published by Five Leaves Publishers in 2024.