Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "The Lady of Atlantis" by Constantine

 

Atlantis is one of those stories so deeply embedded in the imagination that it can be difficult to approach it without the weight of everything that has come before. We think of a lost civilisation, catastrophe, mystery and the irresistible possibility that somewhere beneath the myth there may have been a real place. In The Lady of Atlantis, Constantine takes that familiar legend and brings it back to human scale. 

The novel is inspired by the archaeology of Akrotiri and by what the author describes as his own interpretations of Minoan writings, but its real strength lies in the attempt to imagine what such a world might have felt like from within. Thira is not presented merely as a doomed civilisation waiting to become archaeology. It is a living society, with its own beliefs, customs, relationships, expectations and hierarchies, inhabited by people who naturally assume that their world will continue. 

At its centre is Sa-ra, a young priestess who has always heard voices. Within her culture this gives her a particular spiritual authority, yet the novel is interested in more than the mechanics of prophecy. Sa-ra’s gift is connected to intuition, judgement and an ability to perceive what other people sometimes cannot articulate for themselves. This gives the spiritual dimension of the book an appealing ambiguity. The author does not simply reduce ancient belief to superstition viewed through modern eyes, nor does he demand that everything be understood in straightforwardly supernatural terms. Instead, belief is allowed to exist as part of the fabric of Sa-ra’s world. That, for me, is one of the more interesting aspects of the novel. The prose has a deliberately simple, formal quality which suits Sa-ra’s world and helps maintain a sense of historical distance. There are moments when that register may require a little adjustment, particularly for younger readers, but it also prevents the setting from feeling overly modern. Importantly, it is balanced by humour, warmth and moments of very recognisable human behaviour. 

Historical fiction about the ancient world can sometimes make its characters feel suspiciously contemporary. Here, there is a genuine attempt to imagine a society operating according to different assumptions. The place of women, religious practice, ideas about marriage and social responsibility are not treated simply as curiosities but as ordinary elements of Sa-ra’s experience. At the same time, the emotional concerns remain immediately recognisable. People love, doubt, worry, desire approval and try to understand what their futures might contain. In one early episode, a woman seeks Sa-ra’s guidance over which man she should marry. What matters about the scene is not the prediction itself, but Sa-ra’s understanding that prophecy cannot remove the uncertainty inherent in human relationships. Marriage, she recognises, will always contain both unforeseen hardship and unexpected happiness. It is characteristic of the book’s wider approach: grand ideas are repeatedly brought back to individual lives. 

Of course, that becomes especially significant because the reader knows something the characters do not. The world of Thira is unstable. The mountain is stirring and catastrophe is approaching. Yet life continues around it. People make plans, form relationships and imagine futures. It is this contrast between the enormous scale of what is coming and the ordinary lives being lived beneath it that gives the story much of its poignancy. There is something particularly affecting about treating Atlantis not primarily as a mystery to be solved, but as a home that people believed was permanent.

The novel also raises interesting questions about the relationship between myth and history. Atlantis has accumulated centuries of speculation, reinvention and fantasy. By rooting his version in Thira and Akrotiri, the author imagines the legend as a possible echo of real experience: a prosperous society, a natural catastrophe and memories transformed in their transmission. We tend to encounter ancient civilisations after their stories have ended. We know which cities disappeared, which cultures changed and which disasters came. The people themselves possessed none of that hindsight. They experienced their lives forwards, surrounded by all the uncertainty, hope and expectation with which we experience our own. The Lady of Atlantis understands that distinction. Its most affecting idea is therefore also its simplest: before Atlantis became legend, it was somebody’s present. And Sa-ra’s world matters not because we know it will be lost, but because to her – and to everyone around her – it is still entirely alive.

About the reviewer
Paul Taylor-McCartney is a writer, researcher and lecturer. His interests include dystopian literature, queer studies, YA fiction and initial teacher education. His poetry, short fiction and academic articles have appeared in a wide range of print and electronic media, and fiction titles he recently worked on as commissioning editor have won regional readers’ and publishers’ awards. His debut novel, Sisters of the Pentacle, was published by Hermitage Press in 2022, and his first non-fiction title, Cornwall Uncharted: Mapping Cornwall’s Queer History of Concealment, Culture and Creativity, was published by The History Press (June 2026).

You can read more about The Lady of Atlantis by Constantine on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Pam Thompson of "Skinship" by Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana

 

Skinship is Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana’s second collection after Sing me down from the dark (Salt, 2022) and is both a development and continuation from the previous collection. Corrin-Tachibana lived in Japan for ten years, experienced two marriages and the challenges of coming to terms with cultural expectations, not least judgements by in-laws, and indeed her own mother.

Skinship (its meaning in Japanese, "skin-to-skin contact") sees the narrator returning to Japan after a fifteen-year absence. Candid personal narratives are delivered via a variety of forms, predominantly variations on the zuihitsu and haibun. 

A zuihitsu draws together loosely-connected fragments of different types of writing. It allows narrator and reader to travel through time and place and to grasp several understandings about an overarching subject. Take the opening poem, "Skinship: a zuihitsu," which flickers through various memories around the birth of the narrator’s son, "Our son was born in Kalamazoo Hospital," and signals aggressions she meets along the way: the nurse who seized her nipple and "shoved it" in the newborn’s mouth; the mother-in-law who insists she eats an omelette which makes her sick, the increasingly ominous significance of a song, "I’ve Got a Gal in Kalamazoo! Recorded in 1942 by Glenn Miller and His Orchestra." 

The Forward-prize shortlisted" ‘Madame Gout: a zuihitsu" draws its title from the writings of Benjamin Franklin in his dialogue with the Gout:

                                                                       Madame Gout. You know my 
          sedentary state and on that account, it would seem, Madame Gout,
          as if you might spare me a little, seeing it is not altogether my fault.

The rest of the poem is diverting and entertaining, beginning with accounts of the rich food the poet has eaten leading to the "foot twitch" on the train journey when she is talking to the "tattooed Norwegian." As we learn about famous gout sufferers, for instance, and the word’s derivation, "from the Latin gutta, a drop of liquid," we also sense the poet’s frustration at her husband’s repeated statement that "gout is common in Japan." The final couplet stings and conveys much about the relationship: "Your husband asks how is your foot? For the umpteenth time. / He is happy you are in the house when he returns from golf."

A haibun combines a section or sections of prose with one or more haiku. Traditionally the prose sets a scene, perhaps describes a journey while the haiku provides an oblique commentary or reflection on the prose. There are harsh times certainly but "Haibun from East Lothian," with its precise details of landscape, of plants and birds and joy with a lover, temporarily blots out other concerns even as the haiku hints at warning:

                                                                The spiky cockle I carry back
          from the bay, held sideways, is a pair of birds nestling their
          heads. Upside down it is erotic. And for a few days, in a
          whitewashed cottage, I do not think of your spoilt daughter
          … my teenage son … or of the stranger husband, in the spare room.

above marram grass

quartering short-eared owls

pursued by corvids

A "burning haibun" usually has a darker intent. In at least three sections, an act of erasure is performed on the initial prose which is then reduced to a haiku. "Fishbones: A Burning Haibun" gives insight into the narrator’s fraught relationship with her mother. She was "Rarely praised" and "there were plenty of stories about the trauma of having me." The poet "yearned, even as an adult, to hold her attention." The prose section ends with "She hates me cooking Dad fish. Throws open the lounge windows. Has no patience. For fishbones." The haiku which emerges from the erasure encapsulates chillingly what the broader narrative has conveyed:

I diluted her –
she spat words,
fishbones

The inclusion of the Japanese language, its phrases and characters, adds an extra visual and aural dimension. The different layouts of the poems are a visual treat too as is their attention to the nuances of social behaviour. I admired the shifts in tone, the balancing of heartbreak with resilience and sardonic humour and the narrator’s no-holds-barred approach to her material. There are so many more threads and features to be explored (e.g. music, literature, art – for instance the sharply poignant poems written in response to Yoko Ono’s Music of the Mind exhibition at Tate Modern) in this rich and inventive collection.

 

About the reviewer
Pam Thompson is a writer, educator and reviewer based in Leicester. Her latest pamphlet is Sub/urban Legends (2025, Paper Swans Press). She is a Hawthornden Fellow.

You can read more about Skinship by Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Emma Lee of "Not Even October" by Tim Relf

Not Even October is a collection that looks back on the ordinary moments that shape lives, while hoping that life still has more to offer. In "Time is running out" a "welcome home" banner feels celebratory until the poet learns it’s "for someone you later heard was coming home for the last time" which gives it an extra poignancy.

There are poems that push at what poets are "supposed" to write or not write about, e.g. in "Roadkill," where "poets must not linger by dead objects in the road" and those who claim there are rules are 

          the people who claim prose poems don’t exist then spend hours picking
          at the bones of line breaks. You’ll find them staring off –
          heroically and tragically – in their author photos as if they’re trying
          to see beyond joy and love, beyond moons, shards, flowers, geese,
          lambs, crows, cow parsley, beyond the whole damn kit and caboodle
          of clichés.

The frustrations of bureaucracy and "computer-says-no" scenarios feature too. "Proof of life" drips with the exasperation of those captcha tests. 

The title poem is about lighting the first fire of the year as the chill of autumn begins, memories of "sleepovers, beaches, bike rides," and ending "I’ll sit and watch / today go up in smoke." "May" deals with the superstition of bringing hawthorn into the house, as the poet breathes "in a shower of speckled blossom. So much for that stench: / it’s a myth. If this is how death smells, well, perhaps / there’s nothing to be afraid of, after all."

There’s a wry humour and Relf relishes poking fun that those who impose restrictions while championing those who rebel, demonstrating how humans connect and evolve. Not Even October probes the everyday, asking readers to see the extraordinary in the ordinary and look again at what seems familiar in these lively poems.

About the reviewer
Emma Lee’s publications include a novel Stalling an Ambush (Pegasus 2026) and poetry collection The Significance of a Dress (Arachne, 2020). She co-edited Welcome to Leicester (Dahlia Books, 2016) and Over Land, Over Sea (Five Leaves, 2015), reviews for magazines and blogs here. She is Treasurer for Leicester Writers’ Club.

You can read more about Not Even October by Tim Relf on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Lee Wright of "On Memoir: An A-Z of Life Writing"

Blake Morrison’s early ambitions did not include becoming a life writer. Then his father died, prompting him to explore parts of his relationship with him that he had never considered before. Death was the trigger for memoir. "For others it might be a disturbed childhood, or addiction or mental breakdown, or the threat to the environment, or displacement to a new country, or the chaos of the political world," Blake says. 

In my case, a film was the "trigger" and the realisation back in 2020 that I had things to say about how this film had set me on the path to becoming a writer. As far back as I can remember, I have felt a compulsion to create. As a boy, I’d invent stories in my mind, not to share with anyone, but just to entertain myself. The stories played out like films, since they all grew out of cinema I had watched. Something shifted in me when I watched a film – like a wave dragging me under, and with it, a desire to see a new world below the surface. Even now, films can still spark that urge, though in adulthood the catalyst sits more with literature than cinema. My PhD, which became a memoir, was set in motion by a particular film.  

Let me explain. 

I remained stuck, essentially, in illiteracy until the age of fourteen, at which point I first encountered John Carpenter’s The Fog (1980). I avoided reading at school, where children like me were mostly overlooked. I acted like I understood, although I never attempted to decode the words. I was ignorant and lazy. At the time, I probably felt more indifference than shame about it. There was no belief that reading could unlock anything, not the way films seemed to. It also felt like a waste of time, a door I didn’t need to open. Reading had no place in the life I was expected to live. The Fog, however, left me with questions I wanted answered. It felt layered enough to make me keep coming back to it. Some of the scenes in it changed how I saw my future. 

That, I thought, was enough of a reason to embark on a memoir. The difficulty was that it proved harder to write than I had initially imagined. Yes, I did my research, devoting the next six years to reading memoir after memoir and British Film Institute book after BFI book, trying to discover the secret ingredient that would make the combination pleasing to the reader. Yet every draft I produced left me with a bitter aftertaste. Most of the self-help books about writing nonfiction failed to help. I see now that I was looking for something like an A-to-Z: much like the road map of Great Britain my father kept tucked inside the seat pocket of his car. His advice was simply: "Never set off without a map."  

It was only a matter of time before Blake Morrison came to my rescue, just as he did in 2016, when he delivered a public lecture at the University of Leicester. I had never been in a lecture theatre before, and that experience prompted me to apply for the MA in Creative Writing. That course eventually led to my first published pieces and, later, to a PhD. 

Few writers can move so effortlessly between forms and make each book into a captivating narrative, but Morrison is one of them. I repeatedly come back to this moment in the story, the moment that shaped my growth as a writer. Three of Morrison’s works – Too True (1998), a collection of essays; The Last Weekend (2010), a novel; and Two Sisters (2023), a memoir – have made him one of the most important writers in my life. His latest book, On Memoir: An A-Z of Life Writing has further shaped my thinking. For me, it may well be the most significant of all his works. It’s not a rule-book or a teaching textbook, but a set of ideas, examples and suggestions assembled as an A-Z. The book’s categories run from "Addiction" all the way to "Zzz," prompting Morrison’s dry observation: "Unless it’s a guidebook for insomniacs, no writer wants to send people to sleep." 

Morrison discusses the mechanics of the form in a way that will reach every reader. As I devote myself to writing creative nonfiction, I have been guided – much like Morrison – by the work of other writers. "Writers find their way through other writers. They’re looking to be themselves but can’t get there on their own," says Morrison. By examining writers ranging from Samuel Pepys to Tim Lott, Maggie Nelson and Jenn Ashworth, the book reflects on the challenges of creative nonfiction and explores why the genre matters. 

Introduce this book in a Creative Writing class and it is likely to go off like a hand grenade, particularly through its discussions of plagiarism, offence, sex, and vengeance. Morrison has never been afraid to broach difficult subjects, as readers of his book on the James Bulgar murder case will know. Then again, as Morrison says, "Upsetting people is part of the business." Morrison has taught me not to fear the lethal shrapnel, and On Memoir can be our body armour. 

About the reviewer
Dr Lee Wright holds a PhD from the University of Leicester in Creative Non-Fiction and has had numerous pieces of short fiction and non-fiction published. 

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "Neon Steel" by Jennifer Maritza McCauley

I will start at the beginning with the "Episodes" as McCauley calls them - and what’s not to love, they entice you into the book and once there, you cannot escape. They are: 

Online

The Girl in the Bomba Dress

Afro Otaku

For August Wilson and Romare Bearden

The Text Message

OAV: Neon Steel

Viper/Sweet

Smoke Break

Romeo Must Die (Again)

Batman in Pittsburgh

The Con

Commercial Break: Writing Fiction

OAV: The Vampires of Pittsburgh

Commercial Break: The Day the Salt Ran Out in the City

Respect the Chair

Epilogue: Eat N’ Park

Neon Steel is an energetic, genre-melding collection that feels at once like a teenager's mixtape, a manga, and a missive to Pittsburgh. Jennifer Maritza McCauley blends magical realism, pop culture, and sharp storytelling in a book that vibrates with life.

All the "Episodes" are linked, despite their odd names. Neon Steel is a glorious celebration of the often-overlooked Black "nerd culture," Afro-Latina identity, and the process of growing up in Pittsburgh in the 1990s and early 2000s. It follows anime fans, vampires, indie rappers, robots, and pleasure-mongers as they move through their neighbourhoods, their friendships, and the bewitching otherworld reverberating beneath real-world stuff.

What makes Neon Steel remarkable is each Episode's fluidity. We are introduced to a secret coven of vampires hiding out in steel mills; we see an explosion into fireballs when a character’s rage becomes supernatural. These shifts cleverly show how fandom, imagination, and cultural hybridity shape our identity. McCauley moves fluently between realism and fantasy, often within one paragraph, creating stories that are dynamic and always unpredictable.

Neon Steel is bold and inventive, and it evokes a genuine, deeply felt response in the reader. It doesn’t fit with any one genre. The book uses magical realism and pop-culture tropes to chart the coming-of-age journey involving its central protagonist, Adrienne, alongside a cast of outsiders seeking identity and connection.

We discover the underground world of Afro Otaku, and we see a reinterpretation of The Terminator as a manga narrative featuring a purple-haired robot. The characters determine the core of the book: young people negotiating in-betweenness, racial, cultural, social, or personal. McCauley’s central figures are lifelike, intense and often flawed; they are real people searching for something. Themselves? Another world? Otherness? Pittsburgh is always there as a backdrop, yet also as a character: uncompromising, neon-lit, of course, and full of secret places and other worlds.

What makes the collection uniquely compelling is its clear structural framing. McCauley models the narrative after a season of classic Japanese anime, organizing the linked stories like television episodes complete with commercial breaks, interstitial sketches, and standalone OVA-style interludes.

At its core, Neon Steel analyses the intersection of Black, Afro-Latina and Asian pop-culture influences, delving deeply into the subcultures of youth who find community in spaces where they are historically underrepresented: anime fandoms, manga, cosplay, comic books, and arcades. Underneath the vibrant pop-culture parodies and speculative elements lies a tender portrait of youth, alienation, and the emotional safety found in chosen families. It’s a celebration of fandom, identity, and the communities we build when the world doesn’t quite know what to do with us. For readers who love hybrid fiction, magical realism, or stories that centre Black and Afro Latina nerd culture, this is an exceptional work from one of today's most exciting writers. McCauley has captured the nostalgia of night-time anime blocks and dial-up internet with a distinct, unapologetic voice. Ultimately, Neon Steel acts as an energetic, intensely personal, and stylish celebration of individual discovery for anyone who has ever felt like an outsider.

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 Neon Steel by Jennifer Maritza McCauley on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by San Lin Tun of "On the Bodies of Strangers" by Hannah Stevens

Having a tattoo on the body has a reason behind it, and it also seems that a tattoo has a story to tell. To use the theme of tattoos for a collection of short stories is significant, original and a daring attempt to bring meaning to life. One can see a tattoo as it is or one can assume that it is for bodily decoration, but in reality tattoos speak for themselves.

On the Bodies of Strangers by Hannah Stevens includes twelve stories and the author captures distinct and indistinct tattoos on human body and links them with human experiences and lives. People might get tattoos out of necessity or out of fancifulness, but indeed, they have interesting stories to disclose.

The author’s tone is not expansive, but short and precise, taking readers to the exact critical moment in characters' lives, one where they will be surprised with the twist she has used in her writing techniques. That is a skill only a few writers possess. Her characters range from adolescents, to adult men, women, jailors, etc. All of them have their own tattoos to characterise them. Some represent pure sensation, some are for curing trauma, some represent hope and a better future.

Reading these stories will leave behind thoughts, surprises or smiles on the face of readers. One can confidently say that Stevens executes the stories very well. She does not take much time to develop characters but readers can sympathize or understand the emotions, feelings, and sensations of the characters in a very short space and time. 

Among the stories, my two favourites are "The End of August" and "Naming of Bones" because they ended up with unexpected twists and many things to ponder upon afterwards. All of the others are very readable and enjoyable, too. After reading Stevens's stories, I am silently looking out for a person with a tattoo in real life, and trying to decipher the meaning of it, because of the magic spell of her writing is still prevalent in my mind.     

About the reviewer
San Lin Tun is a writer and acoustic guitarist living in Yangon, Myanmar (Burma). He is a Gold Olympiad Winner at the Guitar Olympiad 2025 and a recipient of Yorgos Foudoulis Culture Award 2025/2026 and has published over a dozen books and two music albums. 

You can read more about On the Bodies of Strangers by Hannah Stevens on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Sally Shaw of "The Longest Day" by Lisa Williams

The Longest Day is Lisa Williams's debut novella, each page holding exactly one hundred words. The one-hundred word stories are set in a tower block in Leicester: "Longhope House rises into an ecru sky with the railway station tucked at her feet. She looks tired, her concrete curves haven’t been tattooed with a fancy new mural." These words convey the status of the flats and the people that reside in each. The novella is set on 21st June 2019, the longest day of the year, and allows the residents of the tower block to speak.

The way Williams has formatted the book, each page having flat number, title and time reminded me of 253 by Geoff Ryman. As I read, I was curious to find out the relevance of the flat numbers, because Williams hasn’t set the stories in flat order: flat 204, for instance, is followed by flat 602. For me as I read, it was as though I was running up and down the stairs to each of the flats, to find their stories. I tried to hold each story in my mind's eye, searching for connections to individual residents, some of which I found, others I may have missed so fleeting were they. I liked the layout of each page: the words, page centre, enabled me to access each sentence and absorb their full impact. 

The stories within each flat are like flash cards that may show who the resident is, why they are there, their past, their sadness, age, family, work, personality, circumstance and more. Williams packs enormous detail into each sentence: "Renee is planning her funeral. She’s reading through the hymn-list again. She’s told no one about this but has detailed it all in a red notepad bought for 3/6 in Woolies. It still has the price sticker on it." In these three sentences I gain an insight into Renee’s age, that she’s a private person and holds a fear of death and her wishes not being known. As the story of each flat unfolds I find moments of humanity, conveyed by words that portray the underbelly of circumstance and uncover the predators waiting to pounce. Flat 505 "the mobile hairdresser" has a gentle beginning, and tells the story of Betty, her hair downy thin. The hairdresser sees the beauty of Betty, and doesn’t draw attention to "a peaches fuzz over a shrimp pink scalp." Betty is taken back to beehives, gossip and herself, in a story of untold truth and unfelt age. 

These stories can be read as isolated vignettes to reflect on, and yet as I mentioned earlier I searched for threads that pull them together. Flat 903 and 205 are threaded to flat 1305, the actions of whom cause harm and disappointment, demonstrating the ramifications of circumstance. Taken as a whole the stories form a collage of the lives of the people who dwell within the tower block. 

The Longest Day is a complex read, and there’s beauty to be found amongst the harshness and sometimes foul aspects of life for the inhabitants of Longhope House. I wrote down my thoughts after reading the last page. I discovered glimpses of community but in the main this had been stripped away, the post left in pigeon holes, the milk not delivered to flat doors, the demise of the caretaker. It made me consider how and why people are housed in run-down tower blocks. Are they selected because they are vulnerable, have no fight, no right to ask for better? Williams has provided an insight into the lives of those hidden away and maybe The Longest Day will bring these issues into the day light. 

The Longest Day is a book that can be read as a whole, or read story by story to be thought about, enabling you to see the individual people living in those tower blocks you pass rushing for the train.

About the reviewer
Sally has an MA Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. She gains inspiration from old photographs, history, childhood memories, and is inspired by writers Sandra Cisneros, Deborah Morgan, Liz Berry and Emily Dickinson. She has short stories and poetry published in various online publications including the Ink Pantry, AnotherNorth, Roi Faineant Press. Sally lives in the countryside. 

You can read more about The Longest Day by Lisa Williams on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Mariella Bucci of Edinburgh International Book Festival, Livestream 2026

In the third week of August, I had a fantastic and educational week attending a series of livestream talks by the Edinburgh International Book Festival. This accessible alternative to travelling to the city was reasonably priced with a Pay What You Want model, and straightforward navigation from email links to the website livestreams. Some highlights this year included The Front List with John Grisham, Lady Brenda Hale, and Maggie O’Farrell on her new novel, Land.

As a feminist fantasy lover, two talks stood out as the most engaging and interesting. Saara El-Arifi and Nikita Gill discussed their approach in their respective novels on the mythological figures of Cleopatra and Hekate from the hilarious and simple place of "rage." For El-Arifi as a Black British author, being able to reclaim Cleopatra’s narrative was important, and was met with the constant question – "but who is her great love, Mark Antony or Julius Caesar?" Without spoiling, El-Arifi’s justified response was found in another place entirely. Gill, meanwhile, illustrated how the moving story of Hekate crossing Hades to rescue her child bore striking resemblance to contemporary refugee crises, which gave her a powerful personal entry point into Hekate’s character. 

Samantha Shannon was a warm and encouraging voice to all aspiring authors, providing a wealth of advice from her long fantasy career. I really enjoyed her insight into the sticky moniker of a "strong female character" – after publishing The Bone Season, she was often asked why she’d chosen to write a "weak" female character, which Shannon pushed back on. She reflected how at the time, the two most popular female characters were Bella Swan and Katniss Everdeen, with the former branded "weak" but the latter "strong." Shannon theorised this is because the more emotional Bella is traditionally feminine, while Katniss embodies masculine traits, and argued that female emotion carries its own kind of strength that deserves just as much respect.

A final, funny thread that wove between both talks was how all three authors, to quote verbatim, "had beef with" different male historians from their research. For El-Arifi, it was the hypersexual, seductive version of Cleopatra written by Plutarch in Parallel Lives; for Gill, the poet Hesiod who vilified every goddess except Hekate because she stood by Zeus; and for Shannon, the Elizabethan writer Richard Johnson and his racialised, misogynistic portrayal of the princess in the tale of George and the Dragon, from which The Priory of the Orange Tree was inspired. All these anecdotes served as a reminder of two things for any aspiring writer: the importance of research, but also the ability to read between the wider context and find a fresh perspective on historical interpretations.

Overall, I had a great time at all the talks I attended, with these two as the standout highlights. I would recommend anyone who has the opportunity to go to the Edinburgh International Book Festival in person to do so, as I did myself a few years ago, especially when the festival is on at the same time as the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Between the sublime shadow of Edinburgh Castle and the sparkling interiors of Holyroodhouse, independent theatre bursting from every alleyway and authors philosophising in halls and libraries, Edinburgh in August is a vibrant cultural mosaic every creative should experience at least once in their lifetime.

About the reviewer
Mariella Bucci is a writer and creative based in the West Midlands. She is drawn to the understanding and analysis of what makes a compelling story in any medium, from her work in the film and television industry to essays and reviews on her Substack, @mariellamusings. Offline, you will most often find her nose-deep in a novel between sets at the gym.

Review by Zbigniew Mirosławski of "Równolegości / Parallelism" by Anna Maria Mickiewicz

The release of the 40th anniversary of edition of this literary work is an important event. It is entitled Równolegości / Parallelism. The author runs the Literary Waves Publishing House. She is a member of the English and Polish Pen Club. She has been awarded the Gloria Artis Medal for Merit to Culture and the Cross of Freedom and Solidarity. Her poems have received awards in competitions in Great Britain and Italy. 

The introduction to the latest work is written by Amelia Serraller Calyo from Spain. It begins with the poem "they were not the ones." The unspecified "they ... ordered the trees to be silent" and "gagged the birds." This is a reminiscence from 1985. The next piece "my mother" is about hard work, serving to help others. The poem entitled "secret of the manuscript" written in Oxford is a reflection on the atmosphere at the ancient university: among flowers, fountains, courtyards. All this opens up "spaces deafened." "An Angel in London" tells about a meeting with a young seller of carrots and tomatoes. With a pale complexion, with "wings a bit chipped," he seems to be out of place. 

Human fates unfold differently. This angel still faces the challenge ahead of him: of discovering himself while abroad. Walking around London, we wander with Mickiewicz to Regent's Park. We come across the moment of a proposal. He is among the invisible clouds, she is "tangled by a rose muslin." Their time together will be measured by a clock on a Victorian tower. We will notice a jaybird "full of fear." 

The poet travels around the world, visits California, the Cornish moors, the blue-drenched hills of the Greek sea, and reads carefully Joseph Conrad’s English writings. We learn about the encoded emotions of a mother who lost her son; she writes about it sparingly, with great distance but also with pain that cannot be hidden. It is embedded in the description of simple actions. What did he do, what did he not do; he "did not even drink water / but fed the cat / said goodbye to his mother / he adjusted his suit." Is shrapnel of the day in Aleksandra Palace like grenade shrapnel? Is it the arrival of a spring or of a war? The streets rumble, the puddles light up. They sparkle. A blooming bouquet, a green tree are enough to create a spring poem. At Forty Hall manor "the platonic soul opens spaces," an ocean breeze appears, and "time strokes the air tenderly / the sluggish sun treads on the waves of the stream." 

The texts written abroad and those from home (memories or longings) create parallels. Now we know the reason for the book's title. The poem "Lublin counterpoints" recalls an old craftsman, Jan, who painted church arcades, and Stanisław, a carpenter. Their works have outlived their masters. Their silhouettes are remembered only by "the old ladies who peek out from behind the curtains." The action jumps to Manchester. Here we meet Chopin. We empathize with his mood. It is obvious that, suffering from lung disease, "he did not like the smog / … damp English weather," and crowded streets. Listening to the concert of the "Raindrop Prelude," we understand the loneliness of the genius, we admire the drops of music, like rain dripping "from his thin fingers, rapidly." In France, we get to know "walls of Aigues-Mortes." Ocne the only 13th century French port, it has now its moments of glory behind it. "An overgrown beach / a trodden grass / not knowing the scratching mowers' are a memento of departing into the void, like the crusades, the sixth and seventh, which set off from here. 

The juxtaposition of Socrates and Jaspers implies a comparison of faith in miraculous events and the self. The former will return to us in poems – "Socrates' cold gardeners" and "About the mystery of time." Everything is short-lived. Drinking coffee quickly on the Berkeley hills, we can only pretend that "we are still sipping something aromatic." Truly, drinking it during a meeting that is at the same time a short farewell, we do not have a moment to lose. 

An experience that is incomprehensible to "those who did pass across" but also to those "who did not pass across" is the state of war, whether it is a coup d'état or spruces in the Estonian forest broken like matches. They can be compared to broken souls. Echoes of such experiences slowly fade away, and we "put on earmuffs / silencing wars," opening the borders of independence. This is a reminiscence from London in 2024, 44 years after 1981, after General Jaruzelski's coup. 

Several texts are dedicated to personal experiences, for example the poem "birthday sun," another entitled "Was it worth it?" as well as "My Victorian house," and "I will return to you." In sum, this is another interesting volume, giving an idea of the scope of the poet’s work. 

The section "With a Reviewer's Pen" complements the poems very well. Here, we find the statements of Prof. Urszula Chowaniec, who emphasizes the compression of the poetic stanzas. Katarzyna Kado, herself a poet publishing, among others, in the Lublin’s Akant, draws attention to the alienation visible in the texts of Anna Maria Mickiewicz. Krzysztof Muszkowski, a veteran of the 17th Lviv Regiment and the 300th Mazovian Land Squadron, but also the secretary of Mieczysław Grydzewski, writes about the poet's emotions enclosed in "poetic landscapes." Dr Teresa Podemska-Abt from the antipodes writes about taming the world, with references to Polish and European culture. Dr Tomasz Niedokos, literary scholar, lecturer, researching the history of England, British media, and historical inspirations for cultural texts, draws attention to adaptation in the new country, drawing from the experiences of two cultures. Ted Smith-Orr notices Mickiewicz's "London Manuscript" and writes about "an emigrant poet ... who looks at her new surroundings" and describes her observations as "enlightening and bold." Krystyna Konecka reviews the volume Between Lublin and London. Selected Poems, writing about memory, longing, their magical influence on poetry, the economy of language, refined metre, and lightness of impression. Prof. Jerzy F. Fert develops the theme of symbolism contained in a minimum of words. Tom Wachtel from London appreciates conciseness, conveying the specifics and atmosphere of places. Adam Siemieńczyk appreciates the conversation "with the crying Socrates," its ancient and contemporary references. David Clark captures this poetry by calling it the "snapshots of fleeting moments," and comments on the meticulousness and "world of the inner self" of the poet. 

In this distinguished choir of reviewers, I was delighted to find some space for a few sentences of my own. I am enchanted by the apparent distance, responsibility for every word, consummate mastery, faithfulness of descriptions and identification with Englishness. On re-reading the poems in the collection Parallelisms, I recommend them to all lovers of lyrical speech and experts in Polish-British relations.  

About the reviewer

Zbigniew Mirosławski, born in Wadowice in 1958, is a poet, historian, editor. He graduated from Jagiellonian University. He is the author of 21 volumes of poetry and the prose works Day by Day and Family Stories. His poems have been translated into 13 languages and published internationally in literary magazines and anthologies, including International Writer’s Journal (USA), The Polish Review (UK), Polonika (Austria), and World Poets (Serbia). He has received numerous literary awards, including the Honorary Certificate of the Guido Gozzani Competition in Turin (2023), and distinctions from literary journals in Greece and China. He is the editor of the literary magazine Aspiracje (Aspirations). His cultural distinctions include the Meritorious Cultural Activist Badge, the Badge of Honour for Meritorious Service to Polish Culture, the Medal of the National Education Commission (2025), the 100th Anniversary of the Battle of Warsaw Medal, and the Gloria Artis Medal for Merit to Culture, awarded by the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage.