Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "The Therapist's Daughter" by Megan Taylor

My usual thriller and mystery oeuvre is Nordic noir; apart from that I do love a Golden Age mystery thriller  I usually ignore British crime thrillers as I find them lazy, prosaic and trope-ridden. The alcoholic / womanising / heartbroken / secretive detective on a moral crusade is, for me, boring and a concept that it seems writers cannot avoid, so when I started reading The Therapist's Daughter I have to be honest it was with low expectations.

But the book defied my expectations. The Therapist's Daughter is an intricately woven, incredibly deceptive work that commands the reader’s attention.

My usual reading base is the cosy Royal Oak in Kirby Muxloe and on three visits I was chilled to the bone by the plot of The Therapist's Daughter. It is psychologically challenging as befits a tale about a psychotherapist's daughter. What an irony that the lead character, Caitlin, seems to be the most damaged of all the protagonists.

We are led down so many paths that at times it is hard to imagine where they lead, and that is the whole point, as through the multiple points of view and recollections of past and present, we are taken on a twisted journey to the final truth. Or is it? Even when we accept that we know the answers to the cleverly labyrinthine plot we are thrown off guard and off-kilter as a new avenue opens up.

There may have been a murder and a convicted murderer, but who is the true villain? Do we meet them at the end? Is a life-long love fulfilled or is it to be scattered into the air along with the protagonist's hopes and dreams? The misdirection is constantly bewildering, though never takes the reader away from the central plot lines. We have to discover our own truth as well as the characters'.

And there are so many characters, all so different, so roundly described and so easily shaped into the narrative. All are believable, most are easy to like, all have their challenges and faults, all make up the whole.

This truly is a "must read" book, well-written and easy to read. Challenging and welcoming, it interrogates the past and the present and as we career to the denouement, even in front of the Royal Oak's fire, we shiver and ask again. "Who was the killer?"

About the reviewer

Jonathan Wilkins is 69. He is married to the gorgeous Annie with two wonderful sons. He was a teacher for twenty years, a Waterstones’ bookseller and coached women’s basketball for over thirty years before taking up writing seriously. Nowadays he takes notes for students with Special Needs at Leicester and Warwick Universities. He has had a work commissioned by the UK Arts Council and several pieces published traditionally as well as on-line. He has had poems in magazines and anthologies, art galleries, studios, museums and at Huddersfield Railway Station. He loves writing poetry. For his MA, he wrote a crime novel, Utrecht Snow. He followed it up with Utrecht Rain, and is now writing a third part. He is currently writing a crime series, Poppy Knows Best, set at the end of the Great War and into the early 1920s.

You can read more about The Therapist's Daughter by Megan Taylor on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Tracey Foster of "The Path of Peace: Walking the Western Front Way" by Anthony Seldon

Establishing a path for future generations to tread in the footsteps of silent witnesses was the goal of Douglas Gillespie, a young officer serving at the front in 1915. Seldon, an author of historical books, had spent a long time researching the First World War and was particularly intrigued by a letter Gillespie wrote to his headmaster, expressing a desire that in the future, everyone should walk in the footsteps of soldiers of both sides of the war: a path of peace, a path of remembrance, a walk to honour those who fought for our future. Gillespie’s vision for Via Sacra gained some support in 1916 when his posthumous letters were published by his parents in the book Letters from Flanders. This was quickly dismissed after the turmoil unleashed on the countryside in the battles of the Somme and Passchendaele rendered it almost impossible.

Back in 2021, Seldon found himself at Kilometer Zero, during a pandemic, attempting to walk the whole Path of Peace. Recording the journey on his phone, he attempted to do two things, undertaking two walks in parallel: "One, through Covid-affected villages in the present moment, with flies and sweat, while trying to puzzle out the route; and two, walking a hundred years ago along the old front line, missing the flies and sweat, the fear and noise."

This is a walk that is unmarked, built on and bordered, a path that is hard to define, often blocked and private. Undeterred, Seldon battles along stretches of B roads, lined with ossified tree stumps and relics of war. He recalls entries from First World War diaries: "Here nature is disfigured by war. There is not a tree trunk which does not bear the trace of shot or shell; the bark of the pines bears gashes, other trees are amputated halfway up or cut close to the ground."

Seldon reflects, whilst walking, what the original aim of a path of peace was. Gillespie wanted hikers from both sides to walk this route to comprehend where war can lead. Seldon decides to ruminate on those he has offended throughout his literary career and concludes "it’s painful. But walks, like prayerful silence, can change us within."

Utilizing war poetry and archive diaries, the walk is undertaken with reference to strategic advances and losses and the personal correspondence of those that endured it. Kipling was one of those whose story parallels the sad fate of many British families awaiting good news back home. After pushing his seventeen-year-old son into war, he was later devastated by his senseless death in battle. John Kipling, inexperienced and naive, was an officer in the Battle of Loos, recklessly leading his men into a charge with a head wound. His death led Kipling to write: "I have many times asked myself whether there can be any more potent advocates of peace upon earth than this massed multitude of witnesses to the desolation of war."

The war cemeteries that line this walk bear witness to the numbers of silent witnesses who leave behind only a name, and for many more not even that.

Seldon finishes his work at the coast of Ostend still under Covid restrictions and worries that he may not be allowed back into Blighty. He returns in 2022 to cut the ribbon on his newly marked path where the word has spread about Gillespie’s Via Sacra, France and Belgium committing to maintain the route and add way markers: "A walk to enhance and deepen life, not to dwell on loss. A 1,000 Kilometer path along the whole Western Front, with people of all nationalities walking side by side, learning from the silent witnesses where war leads, feels like a drop in the ocean. But it is a drop which is becoming a stream, a stream which will become a mighty river, a roaring sea."

About the reviewer

Tracey Foster started off in a long career as an Art and Design teacher but wanted to refocus her creative energies into writing poetry and prose. After helping others find inspiration in the world around us, she took an MA course in Creative Writing at Leicester University and has not looked back. She finds inspiration in the past and the events that shape us. Previous work has been published by Comma Press, Ayaskala, Alternateroute, Fish Barrel Review, Haiku Foundation, Mausoleum Press, Bus Poetry Magazine, Wayward Literature, The Arts Council and she writes on her own blog site, The Small Sublime, found here.

Review by Tracey Foster of "Fewer, Better Things: The Hidden Wisdom of Objects" by Glenn Adamson

Reading this book reminded me of the adage: "Poets, we get it. Some things remind us of other things." 

All very amusing, but it doesn't explain why we have such an obsession with the objects we keep about us. While I write this, most of the human race is presently hunched over, worshiping at the altar of the flat screen, including myself.

Adamson investigates our need to accumulate and collect things and vocalize our appreciation of the world around us. He highlights the classification method used by Susan Stewart in her book, On Longing, in four categories: "The gigantic, the miniature, the collection and the souvenir." We name and claim large objects to bring them into our reach: mountains, oceans, planets and galaxies. We dissect and scrutinize our world down to the smallest cell or microbe. Then there is our need to catalogue and collect every variant until there are no gaps, and our desire to hold items once connected to our loved ones or historical figures. All these aspects make us human.

Our language is haptic-infused. Manual, manufacture, manoeuvre, we feel our way through life and have an impulse to touch objects to inherently understand them. The sixteenth-century art historian Giorgio Vasari said, "It is necessary to have the compass in the eyes and not the hand, because the hand works and the eye judges." Touch was previously thought the lesser of the senses, linked intrinsically to manual work and the lower classes. Helen Keller redefined how intrinsic our hands are to being fully cognizant of the world around us. Her book was the first to delve deeply into the importance of our fifth sense to fully see. 

Adamson spent time at the V&A museum and was director of the Arts & Design Museum in New York whilst writing this book. He is an advocate of moderation, reducing our world of stuff to just the essential or aesthetic. He explores William Morris' mantra: "Have nothing in your house that you know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." 

This book fully explores our relationship with objects, whilst maintaining a plea for living a life less cluttered. This seems a valid call following on from the excess of Christmas, the frenzy of exchanging goods and the aftermath of stuffing our homes with even more items we don’t really need. Museums are often guilty of acquiring masses of objects that spend their whole life in storage. Adamson spends one chapter exploring our multifaceted response to antiquities in museums, including paintings: "Any painting is an embodied moment of truth."

We bring our experiences and expectations when we visit museums. This can skew our reactions and temper our responses. Galleries lay out a default blank slate; cabinets are clear and clutter-free to allow us personal interaction with each object. Visitors experience a unique reaction, dependent upon race, gender, age and class, transforming everyday items into "cultural icons."

This book pleads for restraint when amassing items around us, a quick calculation of the carbon footprint we contribute to and collate in our world of stuff. Adamson is a believer of mend and reuse or, like the Japanese art of Kintsugi, the need to learn to live with the broken, as a memento of our time here on earth. The book is a call for a resurgence of material intelligence: as our stuff gets more technical, we become more removed from its creation: "Skin should be understood a site of intelligence." We should be more discerning with it. 

About the reviewer

Tracey Foster started off in a long career as an Art and Design teacher but wanted to refocus her creative energies into writing poetry and prose. After helping others find inspiration in the world around us, she took an MA course in Creative Writing at Leicester University and has not looked back. She finds inspiration in the past and the events that shape us. Previous work has been published by Comma Press, Ayaskala, Alternateroute, Fish Barrel Review, Haiku Foundation, Mausoleum Press, Bus Poetry Magazine, Wayward Literature, The Arts Council and she writes on her own blog site, The Small Sublime, found here.

Favourite Reads of 2024

At the end of every year, we ask readers to submit a micro-review of a favourite book they've read in the last twelve months. The book can be from any time or genre - the only qualification is that it has to be a book the reader found particularly memorable, striking or enjoyable. Here are the responses for 2024. Everybody's Reviewing wishes all its readers a happy new year of reading in 2025!

Kirsten Arcadio

John Marrs, The Family Experiment "is a dystopian thriller about a VR project that gives six lots of parents unable to have children the opportunity to bring up their own VR child for a year. A televised Big Brother-type show tracks their progress allowing viewers to vote couples out along the way until one is crowned the winner and allowed to keep their VR child forever. In a cruel twist of fate, each couple has a dark secret that knocks them out prior to the final vote, with devastating consequences. It’s a hugely entertaining and compelling read, blending dystopian virtual reality scenario with suspense using multi-layered storylines, dark secrets and tragedy, and of course, a sinister dose of dystopian societal control." 

Joe Bedford

Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace: "After over 150 years and the publication of several much longer novels, War and Peace continues to challenge us on the meaning and function of scale. Tolstoy shows us that scale is not just about size and scope but also about the complex relationship between the massive and the miniscule, between history and the individual. Ultimately, for Tolstoy, it is our tiny but powerful personal stories that make the great narratives of history mean anything at all." 

Kathleen Bell

Karen Joy Fowler, Booth: "I saw my bus pulling out of the bus station so headed for the warmth of the next-door library. Booth was on the shelf, a novel about the famous family of actors whose son assassinated Abraham Lincoln. I borrowed it on a whim, glanced at it while waiting for the next bus, read the first few pages while travelling, and couldn’t stop reading. It’s a thoughtful, subtle novel drawing on thorough historical research - and it’s sadly relevant to our times."

Laura Besley

Anna Wood, Yes Yes More More: "This short story collection sings and sparkles, shocks and delights. Some of the stories connect, but most are standalone, and all have a strong sense of place and are threaded through with a love of music. Wood's characters never compromise their uniqueness, yet also feel desperately relatable as they navigate their way through the perils of twenty-first-century living." 

Constantine

L. Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz: "I picked up the first one having finished the Mary Poppins books and finding I wanted more - more older stories of fairylands before the greats like Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. Baum shows what great depth and majesty can be found on such a canvas and the stories are more silly and fun. I wasn't expecting to find so much fairy lore here. Nor was I expecting to find things that Tolkien must have been influenced by (the hiding of Oz from the world at the end of Book 5 may have inspired the hiding of Valinor), and Lewis seems to have (if memory serves) borrowed the one-legged hoppers for one of the islands in Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I wasn't expecting to fall in love with Baum's world as much as I have. Also the introductions addressing the children and letters from them are wonderful. Try it. Just for fun."

Laurie Cusack

Flann O'Brien, The Third Policeman: "Comedy of menace and the ultra-bizarre haunt this astonishing novel. Throw James Joyce and Samuel Beckett’s texts into a metaphorical black hole and it might spew out Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman. Totally original, timeless and darkly hysterical, throughout. Pure dynamite, honestly. What more do you want from 2025? Hell, on a bicycle?"

Mellissa Flowerdew-Clarke

Amanda Montell, Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism: "Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by linguist Amanda Montell analyses the social science of cult influence. Montell examines the role language plays in the formation of controlled groups and cultish communities. Extending beyond the extremes of Heaven’s Gate and Scientology, Montell illuminates the pervasive influence cultish language has on us every day. From our Insta feeds to Lululemon leggings, #bossbabes to #beastmode, read this book and your fanaticism spidey-sense will tingle in overdrive. If you think you’d never join a cult, this book may show you that you already have..

Gus Gresham

Sue Thomas, Hello World: Travels in Virtuality: "In this fascinating travelogue / memoir, the author invites us to look upon cyberspace experiences as being as real as any other experiences, to question how we really see ourselves and others, to ask whether our identities are flexible or sacred. 'Just like our bony skulls and meaty brain matter,' she says, 'the hardware is only ever just the shell which houses a greater essence.' 

Felicity James

Kiley Reid, Such a Fun Age: "This is a reinvention, part-homage, part-subversion, of the nineteenth-century novel of manners, with Emira Tucker, Philadelphia babysitter, as central character. The novel opens with Emira accosted in an upscale supermarket with the white toddler, Briar, she's looking after, and it goes on - sometimes excruciatingly - to take apart social expectation and prejudice. It's a knowing novel about language, conversation, what it means to listen in to the stories of others. It's appropriate that I came to the book through the School of Arts book group, which was set up in Covid - we're giving it a rest now we don't rely on online conversations so much, but it's such a privilege to be a part of a community in the School and the Centre for New Writing of readers, and this is just one of many recommendations from colleagues and students I've enjoyed."

Alexandra Harris, The Rising Down: Lives in a Sussex Landscape: "This was my standout non-fiction book of the year: a beautiful, creative reinvention of local history. Focussing on a small square of Sussex, with the River Arun running through it, this is a book alive with detail and purpose. We go deep into the local record office to excavate stories and connections which run from past to present, across England and the globe. We look into the hidden lives of the anchorite, the rabbit warrener, the water bailiff and the architect; we follow William Blake as he transforms Chichester into his Holy City, farm-workers as they set off to Australia carrying their dreams of home with them, Polish settlers and Canadian soldiers. 'Everything was stranger and more full of life than I’d had the wit to imagine,' writes Harris, as the great political and social sweep of the world unfolds, in her joyful prose, from a speck of Sussex chalk." 

Tina Jay 

Susan Fletcher, Eve Green: "A beautifully written debut novel, and whilst this year wasn’t the first time I’ve read it, I wanted to include it as it is probably the most re-read book on my bookcase, and one which I would highly recommend. A story of love, loss and mystery through the eyes of a child, powerfully threaded together in a perfectly crafted style, which immediately captures the reader, through its poetic vivid prose and a need to unravel the truth. As the writer herself says, the book was signed with an agent, a publisher and a book deal within a month, and on reading it, I wasn’t surprised! Not only an engaging thrilling story, but a piece of narrative art."

Mary Ann Lund

Eleanor Parker, Winters in the World: A Journey through the Anglo-Saxon Year: "This book made me think differently about time. Parker takes the reader around the cycle of the Anglo-Saxon seasons, told through generous helpings of literature: from the 'fetters of frost' of midwinter to the summer solstice ('sunstede' in Old English) and back again. There's a beautiful, earthy rhythm to poems about greening leaves, bounteous harvests, the dying and regenerating of nature. And there's ancient wisdom in them too."

Aarini Mehta

Coco Mellors, Blue Sisters: "a beautiful story on loss and navigating through life afterwards, told from the perspective of three sisters. After reading the author's debut book, Cleopatra and Frankenstein, I knew this book would not disappoint and it is a book no one will forget for a long time after reading it."

Jennifer Lynn Barnes, The Inheritance Games: "a thrilling book about a girl whose whole life changes after being mentioned in one of America's richest men's wills. It is a book full of riddles and secrets and will keep you enthralled until after it ends." 

Sarah Moritz

Ewald Arenz, Der große Sommer: "This book is a beautifully written coming-of-age novel set in the 1970s. The story follows the thirteen-year-old narrator, who, over the course of a transformative summer, navigates friendship, family, loss and self-discovery. Arenz captures the innocence and complexity of adolescence with vivid descriptions and a nostalgic, yet thoughtful tone. The novel is both a poignant exploration of personal growth and a reflection on the quiet moments that shape our lives. Its relatable themes and tender storytelling made it a compelling and heartfelt read."

Shelby Paddison

Catriona Ward, The Last House on Needless Street: "Ted, his daughter Lauren, and their cat Olivia live in an ordinary house on an ordinary street—if you ignore the fact that the windows are all boarded up, the doors have a triple layer of security, and the reclusive daughter never seems to leave. You’ll think you know where this is going—until suddenly, you don’t. Told from the perspectives of a drunk serial killer, a stolen child, an avenging sister, and a deeply religious lesbian cat, this book had me scared, baffled, amazed, and completely invested. Nothing else I read in 2024 came close to The Last House on Needless Street in terms of depth and quality. The less you know going into it, the better."

Karen Rust

Gabrielle Zevin, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow: "This book took my breath away. I've never read anything that so beautifully captures the reality of a relationship over time. As the reader, we know what Sam and Sadie think about each other, but they only see what the other says and does. As miscommunication and assumptions incrementally drive them apart, you find yourself shouting at the characters, particularly Sam, to say what they mean before it's too late. Not a love story, but most definitely about love. The gaming industry setting is uber cool and adds a layer of story within story. They should absolutely make this book into a film, and I'll happily curate the soundtrack for it!"

Maisy Summers

Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo: "I was intrigued to read this novel after absolutely adoring the songs from the musical, and it was a wild ride indeed. While the length was quite daunting (leading me to put off the book for two years), Edmond Dantes’ quest for revenge against the wicked men responsible for his imprisonment hooked me the whole way through, as his schemes begin to tear their all-too-comfortable lives apart. I kept a nice routine reading this, so as not to forget all the details within its page count, and was greatly satisfied as all of Dantes' carefully laid plans came to fruition. 

Xiran Jay Zhao, Iron Widow: "Inspired by the history of China’s only female emperor, the novel introduces Wu Zetian, who becomes a mecha pilot to get revenge for her sister’s death. In a society where the lives of female pilots are unjustly spent in battle in conjunction with their male co-pilot’s victories, Zetian’s miraculous survival unfolds into a spiral of revolutionary events, especially once she is paired with the infamous pilot Li Shimin. This book is very thought provoking, exploring many real-world issues within is fantastical setting. I liked all of the main characters, and their interactions embodied a wide range of emotion; I am looking forward to the sequel coming out soon."

Jay Kristoff, Empire of the Vampire: "An epic journey of action, revenge, love and justice begins as Gabriel de Leon recalls his enrolment into an elite monastery of vampire hunters upon discovering himself to be a half-blood. The narrative weaves together two stories of his past, relaying his first steps into becoming a silversaint with a much later adventure surrounding the mysterious identity of a young soul he is sworn to protect. I enjoyed the character development throughout the book, and there were many twists and turns that kept me guessing throughout. I would like to read the sequel soon and see what may happen to Gabriel and the others next."

Jonathan Taylor

Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine "is a beautiful, disorientating book where forms and genres mix like smoke. Somehow, it manages to intermingle memoir, novel, short fiction, poetry, horror, s.f., realism, children's story and adult nostalgia, all at once. It is all these things and more. It is joyful and deeply sad and I loved it."

Miranda Taylor

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar: "This book takes you through a profound investigation of women's mental health. It delves deeply into identity and societal expectations. Plath's writing stayed with me for months. It's a haunting narrative." 

Rosalind Taylor

Muneyuki Kaneshiro, Blue Lock: "As Japan is only seen as mediocre in football, the JFU creates a project called Blue Lock where 300 strikers are invited, with only one who will be successful in becoming the world's greatest striker. The difference between this and a normal sports manga is that players are told to play for their own egos, and the story doesn’t depend on teamwork. I really like this series and the protagonist as it shows an unconventional perspective on football as well as being very action-based."

 

Paul Taylor-McCartney

Alice Winn, In Memoriam: "a searing, stylistically inventive novel about a forbidden and profoundly moving romance between two WW1 soldiers. The optimism and vigour of youth is utterly transformed by the horrors and brutality of frontline battle. A testament to lost innocence, enduring love and a timely reminder about the impact of conflicts still taking place today. Breathtaking." 

Nakisha Towers

Paul Murray, The Bee Sting: "This really is my stand-out book of the year." 

Anna Walsh

Jenny Offill, Weather: "Climate anxiety slowly adds pressure to the everyday stresses of an empathetic librarian. Offill captures the essence of everything ordinary and no words are wasted as she weaves her themes through pithy, poetic paragraphs. Wonderfully written with no fill!"

Lee Wright

Stuart Maconie, The Full English: "Following in the footsteps of J. B. Priestley, Maconie's journey is an anti-venom to the snake bite that is modern day England."

Review by Debasish Lahiri of "The Face in the Well" by Rebecca Watts

Rebecca Watts is a collector of ephemera: natural ephemera. But ephemera that holds eternity in its vial, just as enormous skies can come to inhabit wells, though all one can see is the face that "was always there." 

The Face in the Well, Watts’s new poetry collection, is an unusual work. Its rootedness in the countryside, the delicate-filmed, layered transit of daylight as though through fine-spun silk or cobwebs, casting shadows like the keyboard on a piano, is recorded in precise, urbane lines. All that constitutes the days of night and the light of nights is poured with great care into the rut between the E and F on that great imaginary piano of her verse. And like a piano, Watts’s poetry has its notes and keys. A chromatic polyphony often pervades her poetry: "But one day I tired of the house’s shadow, / the grey rectangle of the afternoon."

There is an audible drop in semitone as Watts reaches back to recreate a childhood memory. As her words touch a flat, memory rises to a sharp:

          Esme draws a picture
          but it’s only a whisper – 
          the pencil barely touches the paper

As in the titular poem, the dally of water, its creation of depth, its tenacious measuring of time passed becomes that bread-crumb directing our navigation through her poems. There are four "Soundings" in the collection, surfacings and deep dives into time and experience. Shrieks become sibilant before they become sibylline:

           Can anybody actually hear me?
           I’m shouting through the car’s back window

           while the others stand around in the layby laughing
           at my act, which isn’t an act at all.

The nineteenth-century English landscape painter John Constable (who was like Watts from the South-East) is said to have told his engraver David Lucas that "when water reaches the roots of plants or trees the action of the extremities of their roots is such that they no longer vegetate, but die." He was talking about a pond at Stratford Mill. Watts imbues her poems with this instinct for seepage and quiet infusion, like water, like the well, sometimes inspiring life, but sometimes also touching absence and death.

           ...  Now 
           only a part of one wall

           and a couple of gear wheels
           hang on at the edge of the pool.
           Go down and you’ll find it

           where the water’s ferrous
           with rust, or blood,
           depending how you’re minded.

Like the twitter of swallows gathering in the sky at the end of John Keats’s "Ode to Autumn," the starlings gather around Annie at the end of the garden. Childhood memories, the shaping influences of poets and teachers, the vulnerabilities of becoming a woman in a patriarchal world blow through our ken like rolling of the fishing nets and hazelling of the fields. The Face in the Well is a force that drives a fuse through blood and water, nature and the affairs of humanity.

About the reviewer

Debasish Lahiri has six collections of poetry to his credit. His latest book is Legion of Lost Letters (2023).

Review by Rachael Clyne of "Janus" by Catherine Ayres

This is a thoughtful and beautifully crafted collection. Like Janus, Catherine faces both directions as she dips into memories. The months are in order, while the years skip back and forth. In her title poem, "January 2015 - a new sofa arrives":

          What might happen, never did.
          My heart’s a holloway, a healed wound
          but January’s naked on the lawn –

In February 2014, the narrator visits a Louise Bourgeois exhibition in "Spider" – a skilful villanelle circling around Bourgeois’ giant spider sculptures in her attempt to heal childhood trauma by "weaving her woman’s body into art." Ayres shifts from classic form to sharp imagery in "Ignoring Alicia":

          If I were you
          I’d have swollen eyes,
    a flick knife fringe

In March 2020 lockdown: "streetlights weep like snowdrops." Ayres delivers groceries to her mother who is gradually revealed behind the garage door, like Darth Vader wearing Sketchers. In May, she is a mother in a witty prose poem in Geordie dialect,  when her kids are berated by a neighbour for "hoying clemmies" (throwing stones). The poet then deftly shifts to June and a childhood friend in "Odbods," describing their bedrooms, "like conches, delicate and full of whispers." 

Ayres's poetry is grounded in love of landscape. September has descriptions of Gateshead’s "Dunston Staithes," and Ambleside’s "Dove Crag." October 2019 brings a recurrence of breast cancer and a second mastectomy, followed by a clifftop walk to a castle, where there is "no turning back from your wind-sucked gate, the grimace of its antlered mask." As we move through different spaces of her life, we glimpse it through Ayres' eyes. The book ends on Christmas Eve 2014 with "The single woman and the lights," as she untangles the mess of lights (and marriage breakup), then "slow dances" them round her tree. This is a book of courage, tenderness and subtlety.

About the reviewer
Rachael Clyne from Glastonbury is widely published in journals. Now retired, Rachael was a professional actor, then psychotherapist. Her prizewinning collection, Singing at the Bone Tree (Indigo Dreams 2014), concerns our lost connection with nature. Her pamphlet, Girl Golem (4word.org 2018), explores her Jewish migrant heritage. Her latest collection, You’ll Never Be Anyone Else (Seren 2023), is a journey of reconciling identity and otherness through childhood, relationships, LGBTQ and ageing. 

You can read more about Janus by Catherine Ayres on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "New Uses for a Wand" by Fiona Theokritoff

Fiona Theokritoff has a wonderful way with words that beguile, enchant, and beg for answers to so many questions. Science, myth and fancy intertwine in her poetic world, a world of warrior queens and sad aspiring mothers who mourn their loss, searching for an answer to their quest for motherhood. Then there are the shoes of all types and fashions, old and used, newly formed, hidden in walls, each with a fascinating tale to tell. 

A world of wonder is brought to us in perfectly curated poems in all shapes and sizes that show Fiona Theokritoff’s talent for words. From the Big Bang to Brian Cox, the pamphlet takes us on adventures in science, asking questions, demanding we investigate further as all good word-detectives should. Unknown words and phrases pique our interest, demand that we look further, her words drawing us into mysteries that we must unravel. Then there are poems of dancing, and motherhood: at last motherhood is achieved, the beauty of the child juxtaposed with the tawdriness of real life. 

We end with a mother’s death. A child was carried, a child was born, and "Cartographer" truly maps the matrilineal life of a family where the mother's flame is passed on to the new matriarch. Life goes on as it does, and words go on too, demonstrating the completeness of the family - completeness in just ninety words. In the words, we read of dreams and reality, past, present and yes, future - a future where words mean everything, where cultures clash, where dreams are dreamt and reality is faced. Indeed, the beauty of Fiona Theokritoff’s New Uses for a Wand is that her poetry allows us space as readers to magic up our own reality.

And finally: a huge shout out to Five Leaves who are introducing us to so many wonderful poets through their positive recognition of talent.

About the reviewer

Jonathan Wilkins is 68. He is married to the gorgeous Annie with two wonderful sons. He was a teacher for twenty years, a Waterstones’ bookseller and coached women’s basketball for over thirty years before taking up writing seriously. Nowadays he takes notes for students with Special Needs at Leicester and Warwick Universities. He has had a work commissioned by the UK Arts Council and several pieces published traditionally as well as on-line. He has had poems in magazines and anthologies, art galleries, studios, museums and at Huddersfield Railway Station. He loves writing poetry. For his MA, he wrote a crime novel, Utrecht Snow. He followed it up with Utrecht Rain, and is now writing a third part. He is currently writing a crime series, Poppy Knows Best, set at the end of the Great War and into the early 1920s.

You can read more about New Uses for a Wand by Fiona Theokritoff on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Interview with Louise Powell

Dr Louise Powell is an award-winning working-class writer from Middlesbrough. She is the winner of the Sid Chaplin Northern Writer’s Award 2023 for her novel-in-progress and was jointly awarded the Peter Lathan Prize for New Playwriting 2022 for a one-act play. Louise is the author of the Coal Face collections of verbatim poetry, published by Redhills in 2023 and 2024. Her scripts have been broadcast on BBC Radio 4 Extra and performed at nine theatres, including Live Theatre, The Customs House and The Tristan Bates Theatre. She has written short films and podcasts and her memoir essay was published in Kit De Waal’s acclaimed Common People anthology. Louise has a PhD in English from Sheffield Hallam University, and her research is widely published in journals and educational magazines. She also holds a Professional Greyhound Trainers Licence from the Greyhound Board of Great Britain.

Louise’s latest podcast project can be found here. And you can find out more about Louise and her forthcoming projects by visiting her website here. 

Interviewed by Kathy Hoyle

KH: Hi Louise. It’s a real pleasure to speak with you today. You describe yourself as a working-class writer. Although I also describe myself as such, I often find it quite a tricky thing to define. What does the term ‘working-class writing’ mean to you? 

LP: It’s a real pleasure to speak to you too, Kathy; thank you for having me! 

That’s such an interesting opening question. When I was on the Common People Professional Development Programme, Kit de Waal gave a talk about her writing and class identity. She said, ‘I’m working class, I feel it in my bones’ – and for me, the same sentiment applies to working-class writing. It’s writing which speaks to my life, whether through the characters, the turns of phrase or the setting. It’s writing with a truth to it; writing which doesn’t exoticise or denigrate the subjects. Writing which could be about characters who are in work or out of it; picking up a wage or receiving long-term benefits due to ill health.

I know that some writers, who grew up as I did in a family in receipt of benefits, like to use the term ‘benefits class.’ While I understand and respect that decision, I don’t use that term about myself because I strongly believe that class identity is about more than work. It’s also about values, communities; solidarity in the funniest and the grimmest of times. 

It’s about that feeling in the bones.

KH: Your work is fascinating, and it spans almost every genre, poetry, fiction, playwriting, podcasting and filmmaking. Do you have a preference for a particular creative outlet?

LP: I think it’s not so much a question of which form I prefer, but rather which form best fits the story to be told. If I’m working with a community, then I’ll think about forms such as verbatim poetry or audio, which foreground their voices and render me much less visible. If it’s a story which needs to be encountered in real time, I’ll think about theatre. More complex stories lend themselves to prose, while strongly visual stories need to be filmed. 

There’s so much to learn from working across different forms in terms of craft and audience. I like to have multiple projects in different forms on the go at any given time. I enjoy the variety and find that if one project gets stuck, immersing myself in a different projects in a different form really helps me to find the solution to it.

KH: My own research delves into oral history and regional dialect. I use oral histories to ‘capture’ authentic dialogue and use it in my work. You’ve also been involved in several oral history projects. Tell us about those. 

LP: I’ve recently worked on two substantial Arts Council-funded oral history projects: Dogpeople and Coal Face. Dogpeople uses oral histories to build a social history of flapping (greyhound racing at independent tracks) in County Durham. I grew up racing dogs at those tracks with my family, and the world has inspired a lot of creative work, including a novel which I’ll discuss later. Yet I wanted to carry out a project which allowed other people from within the community to tell their stories about the tracks. I worked the raw oral histories into an 8 x 20” podcast series. I also developed a Project Blog with Guest Writers, held a Community Exhibition at Wheatley Hill Heritage Centre and hosted Listening Parties, where participants could come together and listen to the podcasts.

Coal Face, meanwhile, uses oral histories to preserve the stories of coalfield communities in the words of the people are part of them. I take the raw interviews and weave them into a series of verbatim poems. Some of the poems tell an individual’s story, while others bring together all of the interviewees in order to present a wider narrative about such themes as the development of Washington New Town, the 84-85 Miners’ Strike, or what it felt like to work down the pit. These pieces have then been published by Redhills CIO in two books, in which my poetry sits alongside Sunderland photographer Andy Martin’s stunning portraiture. The writing and images have also been exhibited at Washington F-Pit Museum, and we’re due to exhibit new work at Sunderland Museum and Winter Gardens from 1 February – 15 March. Redhills will also publish a third book of writing and photography in time for the exhibition, and there will be a 6 x 20” series of podcasts featuring some of the oral histories, as well as a programme of community events.

One of the loveliest things about working with oral histories is getting to speak to such a wide variety of people. Each participant has a different – but equally fascinating – story to tell, and it’s a privilege to give them the space and the time to tell it. It’s also incredibly rewarding to see their enthusiasm for the finished outcome, be that a podcast, event or poem. There’s a great deal of trust involved in working with oral histories, and that’s something I’m always conscious of honouring when writing with them. 

KH: How important is a regional ‘voice’ to you and do you think publishers / theatre practitioners are becoming more open to dialect and regional narrative voices in stories?

LP: I’m certain that if I’d had access to regional voices growing up, I’d have found a much more direct path to being a writer myself. Pretty much everything I encountered was Standard English and middle-class, which meant that I didn’t know that someone from my background could be a writer until I was in my very late 20s. Even though I now work as a professional writer, I still struggle hugely with believing that I deserve to be in this space. So much of my energy has to go into battling anxieties about not belonging and not being good enough, and that’s energy that would be much better spent on creativity. I share this because lack of regional voices has a deep and long-lasting impact, especially when it intersects with other forms of under-represented identities.

My 70,000+ word dialect novel has only been out on sub to editors for a week, so it’s too early for me to comment on publishing. In terms of theatre, I think that practitioners are becoming more open to telling stories in the voices or dialects of communities, especially in co-created work. I do still see an imbalance of representation within my home region of the North East, though. There’s definitely a preference for Newcastle-based stories, with much less interest in plays from places like the Tees Valley. Part of this is down to the fact that there are no Tees Valley producing theatres (theatres which can fund and commission new writing) for adult work, but it’s also down to a perception that Tees Valley stories are somehow of lesser value. 

t's a point which was being made to me again and again while I carried out my research for a project called ‘First Stage.’ I spoke to writers, theatremakers and other cultural professionals in order to explore the consequences of a lack of new writing and talent development in the Tees Valley. Going back to my earlier point about the deep impact of a lack of regional voices, my research found that Tees Valley creatives took longer to find out that they could have creative careers, and experienced significant geographic barriers as they tried to build those careers. I put forward a series of recommendations to address the issues and am hopeful that at least some of them will be implemented. 

KH: You hold a Professional Greyhound Trainer’s Licence and Greyhound Racing is the theme of your novel-in-progress. Tell us a little about the novel and why it’s so important to you to tell this story.  

LP: My novel is a work of literary fiction which tells the folk legend of a former miner who’s a big name at the ‘flapping’ or independent greyhound racing track of Easington. It’s set in the late 90s and written totally in the East Durham dialect. The opening 6,000 words won the Sid Chaplin Northern Writers’ Award 2023, which led to representation by my lovely agent Elise Middleton at YMU Literary, and on 13th November 2024 we sent it out on submission to editors. I can’t go into too much detail about the content at the moment, but it’s a celebration of community and family, as well as an exploration of post-industrial masculinity.

I’m incredibly nervous about the book going on submission because I’ve worked on it for almost six years, constantly experimenting, drafting and redrafting in an attempt to improve my craft. This novel also means a lot to me because I was born into the flapping community, but there’s only one track left in all of the UK now – Thornton in Scotland. The loss of our independent tracks has been devastating for our community, and I wanted to write a book which is worthy of the brilliant people who were part of it. I’ve had so much encouragement from people within my community, as well as my immediate family and organisations like New Writing North, and I really, really hope I can repay that by getting the book published.    

KH: You work closely with a variety of both regional and national groups to support emerging working-class writers and have been incredibly successful yourself to have received funding and support for several of your projects. What advice can you give to emerging writers about where to find support, both financially and creatively?

LP: That’s an incredibly kind thing to say; thank you. In terms of financial support, I’d advise emerging writers to keep an eye out for small pots of funding, often known as ‘seed commissions,’ which can give you the opportunity to try out an idea. If you get the funding and find that the idea doesn’t have legs, that’s absolutely fine, but you may find that the seed commission can be expanded into a bigger project, which may be eligible for a larger funding pot. A seed commission can also be a good opportunity for you to try out working in a new form (e.g. audio rather than flash fiction), or to test a collaboration with another writer or creative which may then bear fruit in a longer-form project. 

In terms of creative support, I’ve found X (which is still ‘Twitter’ in my mind) to be a really useful platform to connect with other writers. Networks formed through professional development opportunities or creative writing groups can also be incredibly helpful, as you’ll often find writers at a similar career stage to you. Emerging writers should also look towards their regional literature development agency as a means through which to find support, whether that’s through career advice, workshops or opportunities to meet other writers. I feel very, very lucky to live within the area which New Writing North covers, as I wouldn’t have a creative career without the brilliant team there. That said, all of the literature development agencies are doing brilliant work to support writers in a difficult climate. 

I also think it’s really important for emerging writers to know that there’s a huge disparity between the ways that organisations and institutions behave towards you when you’re commissioned or funded. Some organisations are absolutely brilliant, paying you on time and treating you like the professional that you are, while others pay you late and make you feel much less valued. I don’t say this to be negative, but because when I was starting out, I didn’t know about this disparity – so when I was treated unprofessionally, I thought it was ‘just me.’ It wasn’t until I spoke to other emerging creatives that I realised it’s sadly all too common to be undervalued and to go unpaid. 

It's a horrible situation for any writer, but particularly for one who is part of an underrepresented group. We struggle to feel like we belong to the creative industries at the best of times, and when our time and roles are undermined, it magnifies those feelings of impostor syndrome and low self-esteem which so many of us struggle with. It also puts working-class writers, many of whom are already in precarious financial positions, into real jeopardy with regards to paying the bills or covering living expenses. All of this has a knock-on effect on our mental health, our ability to create our best work and advance our careers – but often, we’re so grateful to be given any opportunity in a competitive industry that we don’t dare to say anything. I know I didn’t, for a long time.

Until I realised that by speaking up against unprofessional practices, I wasn’t just advocating for myself, but for other writers from under-represented backgrounds. If I’m unhappy with the way that I’m being treated while working under commission or receiving funding, I’ll now explain why, and work with the organisation not just to resolve the issue, but to ensure it doesn’t happen again. So my best advice for emerging writers who find themselves funded or commissioned is not to be so grateful for the work that you’ll put up with being treated badly. You – and your craft - are worth so, so much more than that.

KH: Finally, could you tell us about some of the regional writers who inspire you.

When I was sixteen, I read D. H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers, and it was like a match had been struck to light a fire inside of me that I didn’t know was ready to burn. It was the first time that I’d ever read a book which chronicled that fierce familial love which has underpinned my experience of working-class life, and did it in a way which was both poetic and prosaic. 

I saw something of my soul and my vocation in the first half of that novel, but I never caught another glimpse of it through A-Levels or all my seven years of University. While I studied modules on literature from the Renaissance until the present day, I was never set a text which showed the realities of working-class life that I could recognise. I’m absolutely certain that if I’d had a module which looked specifically at class, or even been made aware that such books existed, I would have found that spark before last year.

That fire was relit when I started reading the novels of Sid Chaplin. There’s such a mixture of strength and delicacy, of warmth and horror, in Chaplin’s writing, and his sense of voice is utterly remarkable. There’s a swagger and directness to the narration of The Day of the Sardine, and yet there’s a passage towards the end which is so raw and affecting that it gave me chills. I love how The Watchers and the Watched plays with the reader’s expectations of where the story will go, and I also love Chaplin’s short stories. They’re like sitting at the kitchen table, listening to an old friend tell a tale – and with oral storytelling being such an important part of my life and craft, that’s one of the highest compliments I could pay a writer.

Some of my other favourite regional books include Walter Greenwood’s Love on the Dole, as it’s one of the very few books that emotionally nails what it means to live below the poverty line, and you can tell that Greenwood was writing for his life. I’ve also enjoyed Jack Common’s Kiddar’s Luck and Thomas Callaghan’s A Lang Way to the Pawnshop, which remind me of stories I’ve heard growing up. I really admire Catherine Cookson’s The Gambling Man for how it plays with expectations of class and gender, and deeply appreciate how the dialect infuses TV adaptations of Cookson’s works. 

In terms of contemporary regional writers, I admire Benjamin Myers, whose novel Pig Iron made me realise that it was possible to tell stories in County Durham dialect. I also loved his book Cuddy not only for its stylistic ambition, but for the warmth and love which underpinned the whole work. I also love Kit de Waal’s beautiful, lucid, pinpoint-accurate prose, and deeply admire her for everything that she has done to help me and other working-class writers to develop. When Kit selected my memoir essay for publication in Common People, she set in motion a chain of events which has led to the development of my creative career, and I’d love to be able to one day pay that forward for other working-class writers.

About the interviewer
Kathy Hoyle’s work is published in literary magazines such as Northern Gravy, The Forge, Lunate, Emerge Literary Journal, New Flash Fiction Review, South Florida Poetry Journal and Fictive Dream. She has won a variety of competitions including The Bath Flash Fiction Award, The Hammond House Origins Competition and The Retreat West Flash Fiction Competition. She was recently longlisted for The Wigleaf Top 50 and her work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions, Best Microfictions and The Pushcart Prize. She is currently studying for a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester.

Review by Kathleen Bell of "The Iliad" by Homer, trans. Emily Wilson

Some months ago, when I was half-way through Emily Wilson’s new translation of The Iliad, I had to set it aside. This is not a criticism of her work but a tribute to its effectiveness. The accumulated violence and grief appalled me as it had never done before. I was sharply aware of the individuality of so many dying men, of the agony they suffered and the anguish their families would endure. I might attribute this in part to the accumulation of contemporary violence brought to our daily attention via TV, computers and smartphones, but I do not believe any previous translation would have had the immediacy that Wilson’s iambic pentameters offer.

When I first read Homer, it was in E.V . Rieu’s prose translation published by Penguin – a decent and accessible enough account. But I was not particularly moved by his account of the prince Asius, whose death is one of many recorded in Book 12: "He was a fool. He was not destined to evade his evil fate and drive back his chariot and pair in triumph from the ships to windy Ilium. In the spear of the sublime Idomeneus, Deucalion’s son, abominable doom was waiting to engulf him."

By contrast, Wilson offers: 

           Poor fool! He was not destined to escape
           his own black doom or ever leave the ships
           or ride back home again to windy Troy,
           proud of his horses and his chariot.
           The spear of splendid Idomeneus,
           Deucalion’s fine son, would bring him down
           and shadow him with death that dims men’s names.

The combination of the metre with clear language drew me far closer to the battle than Rieu managed. Through instances like this – and often more painful and much gorier – Homer takes us close to the details of war. Meanwhile the warriors exult in killing, crave loot as proof of merit, and long for a victory which will involve massacre, wholesale destruction and the enslavement of those few allowed to survive.

At times, as when the gods decide to involve themselves in battle or quarrel over the conduct of the war, The Iliad can seem very distant from our own time – until suddenly a river which is also a god enters the battle and becomes a great flood with effects familiar from reports of current ecological disasters. Meanwhile the macho boasting and posturing of the warriors who often take women as trophies has uncomfortable echoes today. Yet there are moments when a warrior might recognise and almost understand the horror in which he is involved, In Book 18, mourning the death of the man he loves most, Achilles says to his mother:

           If only conflict were eliminated
           from gods and human beings! I wish anger
           did not exist. Even the wisest people
           are roused to rage, which trickles into you
           sweeter than honey, and inside your body
           it swells like smoke …

Inevitably in a translation this long – the book with introduction and notes runs to 750 pages – there are occasional phrases and words which jar slightly. However, I have never read a translation of The Iliad that gripped and moved me so much. I was also delighted by the insights offered in Emily Wilson’s introduction and wished I had found something as clear and illuminating as this when, as an undergraduate, I studied Book 1 of the Iliad for one of my first-year exams.

About the reviewer
Kathleen Bell’s most recent poetry collections are the chapbook Do you know how kind I am? from Leafe Press and the collection Disappearances published by Shoestring (both 2021). She is currently preparing a manuscript that might be another collection while continuing to research and write poems about the engineer James Watt and his times.