Review by Peter Raynard of "The Remaining Men" by Martin Figura

The word that kept coming to mind when reading The Remaining Men was generosity. Figura writes about many lives: his own, of course, which would make for an interesting film, not just because of the death of his mother by his father, and its impact on him and his siblings, but also the soldiers, workers, and NHS staff, who are contrasted with our leading Prime Ministers, and their many follies.

There can’t be many poets who were once soldiers, and there is a certain irony in Figura being a post-war child who joins the army; there’s always a conflict somewhere (Suez, Falklands, Iraq, etc.). Figura shows how the army is often the only avenue for working-class men and women to ‘see the world’ and are often ignored in the history books.

          After School came the coastal erosion of self
          as to what is on offer. His grandfather’s
          medal ribbons all lined up straight by the pull

          of the weight

He also writes about the impact on one’s identity of leaving a birthplace, travelling abroad, living elsewhere in the UK, but being still marked by the place you were born:

          Ask where I’m from, and I’ll say Liverpool
          in my woolly Northern accent, knowing we’d left
          for a better life when I was only two

          We were only ever visiting after that
          and I have no right to feel so proud

Personal and political history runs through the collection in a linear narrative form but is wide ranging in the characters it portrays. All of this is complemented by a series of black and white pictures. Figura is also a photographer and has a book This Man’s Army about his young life in the service.

The Remaining Men will make you cry, make you angry, and make you laugh in all the right places. ‘The Mower’ is a standout gem in this respect (think Burt Lancaster’s The Swimmer as an enraged man ripping through neighbours’ gardens on his motorised lawnmower). The generosity of this collection is most poignant in the poem ‘My Name is Mercy’ about an NHS nurse, 

          If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.
          today is the nineteenth of January, 
          it is difficult, I understand.

Figura understands the importance of these people very well, and how unvalued they are by politicians who are supposed to lead us, and for that we must thank his generosity and their service.

About the reviewer
Peter Raynard is a poet, who writes prose and edits Proletarian Poetry: Poems of Working-class Lives. His latest collection is Manland (Nine Arches Press, 2022). He has a poetry pamphlet, after William Hogarth, and academic essay on the poetry of Fred Voss and Martin Hayes, forthcoming in 2024.

Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "Punch" by Kate North

The short story form has received a lot of renewed interest of late, with many attributing this to our shortening attention spans, the form’s capacity for allowing authors to take stylistic risks, or the fact we can more readily squeeze a short story in and around our increasingly hectic lives. Whatever the reason, it’s encouraging that publishers – including industry heavyweights and small independents alike - are investing in it like never before. 

Kate North’s collection Punch is a tour de force that presents a range of voices that offer us fascinating glimpses into the modern human condition when faced with some sort of personal or existential crisis. At the centre of many of the pieces are couples or individuals who’ve reached a particular moment that will force them to make a life-changing decision, or act decisively, at least. In one of the collection’s highlights, ‘Lick,’ thirty-year old Paul discovers a small, fleshy protrusion growing from the palm of his hand: ‘It had started out like a blister, a ball of fluid skinned over. Then it firmed up, becoming the size of a small thimble.' Paul’s attempts to conceal this creature from a girl he has begun dating are comical, believable and fantastical, all at once. In this story and others, there are definite echoes of Kafka, particularly in North’s pursuit of exposing the ‘otherness’ inside all of us, as well as the ordinary human’s appetite and capacity for transformation. 

Elsewhere, the author proves she has a keen ear for everyday dialogue, producing scenes that are often rooted in the vernacular, and are all the more authentic for their inclusion. The bullies in another standout story, ‘Punch,’ manage to evoke scenes from our own childhoods with their ceaseless attacks on the protagonist, calling her a ‘lezzer,’ ‘monger,’ ‘fat dyke sister,’ and her brother a ‘spaz.’ 

But for all of North’s playful command of language and stylistic flourishes, these are never made at the expense of character, and this leads each piece to a satisfying conclusion. There are two pieces that would have benefited from being explored a little more deeply, in my opinion: ‘Beaujolais Day’ and ‘Fifteen Arthur Crescent’ contain the type of brevity that left me wanting more as a reader. Or maybe that is the author’s point: the fact we drift in and out of each other’s lives for the briefest of moments, without the ability to truly get under the skin of others unknown to us or standing at the margins of our world.   


About the reviewer
Paul Taylor-McCartney is currently studying for a PhD in Creative Writing with the University of Leicester, working on a dystopian novel entitled The Recollector. He recently moved to Cornwall to complete his research, continue with his work in teacher education and is planning to open a ‘retreat’ next year to support the work of fellow writers and artists. 

Review by Emma Lee of "Cloud River" by Charles Bennett

Charles Bennett's Cloud River explores the restorative values of spending time in the natural landscape. The title poem contains an invite: 

'Imagine stepping into, stepping onto,
a river in the sky: like a journey down a length of weather-music -
something being said without words.

Visible for a moment, then slowly blowing away,
a fusion of water and air, I make
a brief causeway across the blue.'

These are quiet moments of stillness, of being alone in nature but the focus and engagement is external. 

'Flatlander's Lullaby' makes effective use of consonance and assonance to give the poem an appropriately lyrical feel:

'Cruise my little skater across the pondback
              skim the dark water towards dawnlight.'

Later, a 'Fen Raft Spider' sits on the 

    'flimsy meniscus in a clockwork dance,
         until you read a beginning    
                         in the quiet deep. And then -

you open the page of water and do not stop
        until you have found out
                     what happens at the end.'

It's not the only poem to make a connection between nature and writing, exploring how close observation and the freedom of space allow creativity. These poems wear their craft lightly, drawing attention towards their images and messages so readers focus on what the poem is illustrating and conveying. Although all the poems are linked by theme, they vary in their rhythm, pacing and form so avoid the trap of similarity. Cloud River shows how quiet moments in the natural world open up a writer's mind to inspiration.


About the reviewer
Emma Lee’s recent collection is Ghosts in the Desert (IDP, 2015). The Significance of a Dress is forthcoming from Arachne. She co-edited Over Land, Over Sea (Five Leaves, 2015), reviews for The Blue Nib, High Window Journal, The Journal, London Grip, Sabotage Reviews and blogs at http://emmalee1.wordpress.com.