Review by Saleh Razzouk of "Strangers" by Rebecca Ruth Gould

Strangers is a collection of short stories by Rebecca Ruth Gould, some of which first appeared in an earlier version under the longer title Strangers in Love. This new edition retains most of the original stories, with significant additions. As Gould writes in her prefatory note, these are stories of "lost bonds, fleeting connections, and relationships formed at a distance." While the first set of stories explored civilizational tensions—particularly encounters across East/West divides, often mediated through encounters that occasionally evolve into fleeting love affairs with inevitable dead ends—the new edition expands the thematic scope in two key directions.  

The first is the treatment of the cities the narrator visits, ranging from snow-covered English towns to the layered cityscapes of Tbilisi and Damascus, and finally to the scorching heat of Abu Dhabi. Between these climatic and cultural poles, Gould introduces readers to foreign lands through both direct experience and deep scholarship. 

In one particularly striking story, "Hands," Tehran emerges as a dystopian space, where the private and the political collapse into one another: "Strange how acts of affection, expressions of love, can be made into crimes." The story’s atmosphere is reminiscent of the surveilled worlds of Orwell’s 1984 and We, the prophetic novel by Russian dissident Yevgeny Zamyatin. 

This symbolic geography reaches its emotional peak in "When You Are Old," where Gould expresses deep affection for Tbilisi while sharply criticising the forces that have historically drained it of vitality. The narrative casts Tbilisi as a wounded yet dignified space, caught between imperial appetites and regional violence. The Tbilisi setting  grounds this historical imagination in architecture: "The blue and gold tiles covering the Blue Bath’s walls belonged to an age of peaceful exchanges between peoples of different faiths, languages, and ethnicities." The narrator’s voice here is not merely descriptive but accusatory, blending historical grievance with personal reverence.  

This shift does not mean that love has disappeared from the stories; rather, the love plots are increasingly shaped by questions of cultural translation, especially by the ways Arab and Middle Eastern cultures are represented, refracted, and sometimes misrecognised in English-language fiction. In "Speaking in Tongues," for example, intimacy itself becomes linguistic invention: "With time, they cultivated a language that only made sense to the two of them." The stories resist a superficial language of hybridity, in which East and West are folded too easily into coexistence, and instead insist on the  weight of historical and cultural difference. The story "Goodbye, Home" similarly underscores how the histories of peoples struggling under imperial appetites shape their present. 

The surface of travel and urban encounter, loosely bundled with love, politics, and culture, does not become documentary prose in the manner of Belarusian writer Svetlana Alexievich. Instead, it moves closer to the autobiographical and politically observant fiction of Egyptian novelist Sonallah Ibrahim, particularly his late novel Amricanly (2003), giving the autobiographical dimension greater informational density and archival texture.

A second dimension that sets this book apart  is its pedagogical impulse, which situates the individual within a longer cross-generational history. Gould’s characters are shaped by national histories, and guided not only by personal desire but also by conscience and civic duty. Her portrayal of the Middle East works through symbolic and affective registers. But the exile’s struggle to survive is often rendered through gestures such as a walk in the rain (as in "When You Are Old"), a few exchanged letters, or scripts written in what the story calls a "sleeping language." In these stories, languages do not simply die. They transform slowly, like energy, which neither disappears nor emerges from nothing.  

In this way, Strangers embodies both the outsider’s gaze and the passionate witness of a writer intent on preserving memory and dignity for oppressed peoples who have borne centuries of injustice.  

About the reviewer
Saleh Razzouk is a Syrian fiction writer, translator, and Associate Professor at the University of Aleppo. Born in Aleppo province in 1959, he was educated at Aleppo University and Gliwice Polytechnic in Poland, and also studied at Bolton Institute and the University of Nottingham in the UK. His first book was published by the Union of Arabic Writers in 1980, and his translations of contemporary poetry and literary criticism have appeared in Poetry International, Poetry London, The Bitter Oleander, and The Laurel Review.

Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "High Spirits: A Round of Drinking Stories," ed. Karen Stevens and Jonathan Taylor

At first glance, High Spirits appears to be an anthology united by a simple premise: stories in which alcohol plays a central role. Yet what soon becomes apparent is that this is far less a book about drink than it is about the people who drink, and the complicated lives that unfold around them. 

Stevens' and Taylor's comprehensive introduction is a critical essay in itself and hugely informative, in which they argue that "drunkenness is itself often a story," complete with a "beginning ... a middle ... and an end." It is a perceptive observation, for throughout, alcohol is rarely the subject itself. Rather, it becomes the catalyst through which loneliness, desire, memory, grief and hope are revealed.  

The anthology brings together an impressive range of contemporary writers, including both editors, Louis de Bernières, Jenn Ashworth, Alison Moore, Bethan Roberts and Desmond Barry, each bringing a distinctive voice and treatment of the premise. Some stories are comic, others unsettling; some quietly elegiac, others darkly surreal. 

One of its greatest strengths is its refusal to moralise. Drink is neither glamourised nor condemned. Instead, it’s presented as part of ordinary experience: a celebration, a habit, an escape, often a consolation, sometimes the beginning of connection and, more pointedly, the cause of its collapse. The emotional range is striking, allowing humour to sit comfortably beside vulnerability and loss. Jenn Ashworth's "Jackie Kennedy and the Widow" offers an unflinching meditation on grief, while Michael Stewart's "Painting the Walls White" explores memory and disorientation through themes of forgetting and losing one's way. Melanie Whipman's "Tasting Notes" provides another distinctive voice, demonstrating how drink can become less a subject than a lens through which relationships and identity are examined.

What emerges is a portrait of contemporary life in all its contradictions. These are stories of imperfect lives, where moments of celebration sit uneasily alongside loneliness, regret and longing. Shared drinks become occasions for confession, confrontation and reconciliation; solitary ones speak of absence and loss. Throughout, alcohol functions not as the subject but as a catalyst, bringing into sharp relief those fragile aspects of ourselves we usually keep hidden. 

It’s easy to see why High Spirits won the 2019 Saboteur Award for Best Anthology. It matures beautifully as it unfolds. Individual stories possess their own distinct flavour, yet together they create something richer than the sum of their parts. Like a conversation that grows more candid as the evening wears on, these stories remain in the mind long after the final shot, inviting readers back for the richness of their voices and the truths they quietly reveal about what it is to be both human and fallible. Intoxicating stuff. 

About the reviewer
Dr Paul Taylor-McCartney is a writer, researcher and lecturer. His interests include dystopian literature, queer studies, children’s 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), to great acclaim.

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "Monstrum" by Lottie Mills

I read Lottie Mills’ debut collection Monstrum in a couple of sittings. The stories are that good! They explore what is monstrous, and what we may perceive as otherness. They challenge the reader and society to re-examine all of our deep rooted assumptions. Every single beautifully crafted story is an eerie, gripping and alluring message to our world. And each is unequivocally strong in its own right, unique but connected through the theme of disability and the monstrous, because Mills shows us that being different doesn’t mean we are worse than what might be perceived as the norm. It might be that Monstrum isn’t for every reader, but it is worth every reader having a go. 

"The Mirror" shows a young girl doing the shopping for her supposedly monstrous mistress. Through her small acts of kindness, she makes the relationship work and rejects this conception of monstrosity. There is an implied sexual relationship in the story, and a poignant ending. 

"The Changeling," the opening story, sticks with the reader long after they finish and we can see why it was a prize winner. It’s a sublime, ethereal tale about deformity and physical change, and asks what are our expectations of what we see as normal. The writing is evocative and clear. 

In "The Cuckoo," as the title implies, we are confronted by a strange child who infiltrates a household, and removes the protagonist from her own life with weird ease. This is psychological horror story demonstrating the terror of being replaced, unseen, unprotected. 

"The Body" features a particularly belligerent attitude towards disability. It is set in a world where you can ask for, or purchase a new body. The main character in this story finds it difficult to let go of her old body and struggles to cope with the physical changes that come with a new non-disabled body. When she uses her old wheelchair, it is a particularly discordant moment. She finds that her new, whole body no longer has the muscle memory her original one had, and she is forced to relearn much of what used to be  habitual, her own "normal." Mills never takes the easy way out. She examines how this is not an easy solution and the myriad struggles that it brings with it. The main character is confronted when others find out about her original disabled body, and the complex relationship she now has with the new body.

Mills has shown the reader a world where inhumanity often comes from the ordinary, and where we can see kindness and warmth in those that we have been taught to fear. The result is a beautifully strong collection of stories that are heartbreaking at times as well as being intellectually rigorous, and written in prose that is so pure that it is almost perfection. Monstrum is a critical, politically sensitive piece of disability literature disguised as gothic nightmare, grotesque theatre. Mills invites us into her darkness, and we cannot escape, demanding we see the beauty, potential, power and provocation flourishing there. It is a dazzling, remarkable debut.

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.

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "Salt & Stone" ed. Adriana Ciontea, Maella Cottin and Sam Stone

This is a collection of emotive short stories by Cornish writers. Salt & Stone is a beautifully textured anthology that masterfully captures the rugged, dualistic spirit of Cornwall. This striking compilation explores the profound tension between the region’s shifting maritime elements, salt, and its immovable, ancient heritage, stone. It is a perfect evocation of Cornwall and its magical, mystery world that has been woven into contemporary Cornish life. We see how Cornwall breathes. We see the intoxicating beauty of the coastline and inland, working men and women at sea and at leisure, newcomers and residents who have endured over time.

Salt & Stone flourishes with its vivid description of place. This is all important and is pre-eminent in all the stories. All the writers examine the daily realities of Cornwall’s landscape and history. The "salt" of the collection is real and we can almost taste the invigorating Atlantic winds and rain as they drench the earth; we live amongst the fishing communities, and can imagine through the writer’s creative process the exhilarating beauty of the shoreline. In contrast, the "stone" elements anchor the book in Cornwall’s granite permanence, exploring the enduring legacy of old tin mine workings, megaliths, and the deep-rooted identity of the people who work the land.

What makes Salt & Stone particularly compelling is its stylistic diversity. Seamlessly transitioning between contemporary realism and folklore-infused lyrical prose, the collection ensures that every turn of the page offers a new perspective on Cornish life. The anthology excels at capturing subtle nuances, the balance between traditional heritage and modern regional challenges, the power of the landscape, the charm of the villages, all making it a deeply resonant read for both locals and outsiders.

I adored the way in "Lamorna Glass," I was drawn into the writer's world immediately and with such ease. The prose is perfect, seamlessly inviting us to take part. "Saltwater Grounding" is beautifully written: so sad yet eventually with a renewed purpose, we meet a recent widow reflecting on her life. "The Shifting of the Bar" begins with an expressive description of the local pub before delving into the mystical world Cornwall is famed for. This is an excellent modern-day fairy-tale in every sense.

It was a shame that some of the sublimely written passages were rather shorter than one would have hoped, leaving the reader wanting more. But maybe that is a good thing; we can search for these writers' other works online or at the library. Salt & Stone is a poignant, sensory tribute to Cornwall. It is a highly recommended read for anyone wishing to experience the true, unyielding pulse of the austere southwestern coast and the exhilarating inland scenery through the authentic voices who know it best. 

When you next visit, take it with you.

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.

Review by Siobhian R. Hodges of "Scablands and Other Stories" by Jonathan Taylor

Each story  in this collection was uniquely captivating, and the various lengths created an overall pace that matched the book's genre, a kaleidoscopic symphony of its very own. With such a busy life (like most of us have) and not nearly enough free time as I'd like, the book was perfect for me to dip in and out of. It may sound clichéd but Scablands and Other Stories truly was the type of book that I could not put down.  

Every night for the past week, I found myself wanting to read "just one more story" - like my daughter regularly asks me at the end of one of her Disney bedtime stories. Being an adult, however, I was able to make my own (hypocritical) decision and would continue reading Taylor's book long into the night, enjoying the fully immersive worlds and (mostly) endearing characters.

I especially loved "A Sentimental Story," "Heat Death," and of course "Scablands" - the final story that will stay with me for a long time, just as, I imagine, the memory of Mr Chandler will stay with the boy-who-is-no-longer-new.

Thank you to the author for this collection of bittersweet escapism. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work!

 

About the reviewer
Siobhian R. Hodges is a Leicestershire multi-genre writer, author of the supernatural thriller Killing a Dead Man and coming-of-age anthology Untitled Decade. She has an MA in Creative Writing and was shortlisted in 2021 for the Page Turner Book Awards. She lives with her graphic designer husband, their two chalk-and-cheese children, and their dog-like cat.

Review by Mithila Dutta Roy of "Supporting Cast" by Kit de Waal

It’s been months since I cried over a book, and short stories rarely do that to me. But Kit de Waal’s Supporting Cast made me tear up a bit on a bright Saturday afternoon. 

As the whole world is running around flaunting the idea of being the "main character" with the Pinterest-style life, glorious cafes and extravagant nightlife, there are still many who feel like the supporting cast in others’ stories. And Kit de Waal has brought their stories to life with such precision. Their losses of all kinds - time, age, love, lovers, children, sanity, legs - that form their imperfect lives are staged in a voice that is empathetic and truthful. That’s the mastery these stories needed and got.

Before starting the short story collection I didn’t know that these were the characters in the background of her earlier works. But it didn’t matter as I went from one story to another and found each character becoming a whole, with their nuances, flaws and introspection. Each story stood out as a complete piece, which was fascinating. 

It’s a book that talks about a woman who, on her divorce day, remembers her husband rescuing a boy during their honeymoon; a mother who says goodbye to her newly-wed son and starts thinking about how the bride never thanked the mother who loved him first - and then, in turn, realises that she never thanked her adopted son’s mother. It’s a book about the blind man who passes you by in a crowded street, and what he is still grateful for. It’s a story of an already grieving woman trying to form stories to make her dying father less uncomfortable.

These stories delve into deep human emotions and inner conflicts, while keeping the plot poignant. Some of the stories break what some would call the rules or conventions of short fiction, but even in breaking them there seems to be a purpose, and that is an achievement. Overall, Kit de Waal has done a wonderful job in giving the supporting cast the highlighted stories they deserve. She has given them the closure they might not have received in previous books, where they were only a part of the conversation but not the whole conversation.

Now, which one of these stories made me tear up, or was it my unbalanced hormones? You’ll have to read this book yourself to figure it out, because I’m also just another supporting cast in your story talking about a book I enjoyed.

About the reviewer
Mithila Dutta Roy is a reader and writer with a keen interest in literary fiction and stories that explore human experience. She is pursuing an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester and is currently working on her first novel. She is passionate about storytelling and hopes to contribute her own voice to contemporary literature.

Review by Karen Stevens of "The Collected Stories" by Katherine Mansfield

I’ve been unable to read fiction for a few months now due to burnout. When that happens, I eventually re-energise by returning to The Collected Stories of Katherine Mansfield (Penguin, 1981 – my very battered copy). Every time I revisit her work, I’m staggered by her ability to capture the inner lives of people and the revelations that arise from the most trivial or seemingly ordinary moments. One such moment occurs in her perfectly crafted short story "At the Bay" - my favourite story of all time.

Linda Burnell, one of Mansfield’s most beautifully drawn characters, is alone with her baby boy in the garden of their seaside holiday home. It’s a rare moment of solitude; her life is almost entirely given over to her family. Here, she reflects on her real grudge against life: "She was broken, made weak, her courage was gone, through child-bearing … she did not love her children. It was useless pretending."

But then the baby turns over and beams at Linda, instantly testing and eroding her resolve: "'Why do you keep on smiling?' she said severely. 'If you knew what I was thinking about, you wouldn’t.' But he only squeezed up his eyes slyly and rolled his head on the pillow. He didn’t believe a word she said. 'We know all about that!' smiled the boy. Linda was so astonished at the confidence of this little creature … Ah no, be sincere. That was not what she felt; it was something far different, something so new, so … The tears danced in her eyes; she breathed in a small whisper to the boy, 'Hallo, my funny!'" 

In that exchange, Mansfield enables us to experience the sweetness and anguish that shape the pattern of all our lives – the essence of good - no, great fiction. 

About the reviewer
Karen Stevens is Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Chichester and lives in West Sussex. She is an editor, critic and writes short fiction. Her debut collection of short stories Brilliant Blue was published by Barbican press in 2025. 

You can read more about Brilliant Blue on Creative Writing at Leicester here.

Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "The Subtle Art of Short Fiction" ed. Isabelle Kenyon

 

This is a concise, well-focused companion for creative writers who already understand the fundamentals of crafting short fiction and now want to work at the level of nuance, treating it as a form defined by compression and consequence. The emphasis is not on shortcuts or formula, but on the deliberate choices that allow a story to suggest a larger world while remaining tightly controlled.

One of the anthology’s strengths is the authority and range of its contributors. Essays and writing exercises from Daisy Johnson, Matt Wesolowski, Kerry Hadley-Pryce, Sarah Schofield, Jonathan Taylor, S. J. Bradley, Mahsuda Snaith, David Hartley and Farhana Shaikh offer a multi-perspectival account of craft (including an illuminating introduction by Paul March-Russell). The variety of approaches prevents the collection from becoming prescriptive. Instead, it reads as a series of intelligent, practice-based reflections on what short stories can achieve and how they generate their distinctive force.

The technical focus is consistently strong. Several chapters attend to subtext and micro-tension, showing how emotional pressure often gathers not through explanation, but through what remains withheld and unresolved. The discussion of sensory minimalism is equally effective, returning to the difficult question of when to render detail vividly and when to imply, allowing the reader to complete the image. Structure is treated as an area for experimentation rather than compliance, with contributors encouraging alternative narrative frameworks and more considered thinking about pacing, revelation and the placement of the final turn. 

Crucially, each chapter includes helpful writing prompts and exercises that bridge literary theory and creative practice. These are not incidental add-ons, but carefully designed invitations to test ideas on the page, and to translate conceptual discussion into specific decisions about language, scene and shape. I have recently returned to the short story form myself, so engaging with this book has been both timely and beneficial in deepening my own understanding of the genre, while also offering practical stimulus for new work.

Isabelle Kenyon’s editorial hand keeps the collection coherent while allowing each voice its own texture, and it is the gravitas and insight of those voices that gives the anthology its remarkable depth. The result is an anthology that sharpens attention, both to the craft of short fiction and to the pleasures of reading it closely. This is a thoughtful, highly engaging and genuinely useful book, and one that rewards return, particularly for writers intent on refining control, precision and resonance.

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

You can read more about The Subtle Art of Short Fiction on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "Brilliant Blue" by Karen Stevens

 

Karen Stevens’s debut collection transports the reader straight into her fictional world with a tag line that sounds both like a warning and an invitation: "Welcome to the infamous Duncock Estate." In nine tightly structured and beautifully written stories, she conjures a coastal council estate that hums with life: chip-shop queues, neon-slick pavements, gossip passed over fences like contraband. The world is so sharply etched that you feel the salt sting off the Channel each time you turn a page.

What makes these stories sing is the way Stevens pairs raw circumstance with a fierce, steady compassion. Her people have worries that could crush them, yet they keep reaching for connection, however fleeting. The prose itself flashes, but there’s precision beneath the sparkle. Sentences are lean, images exact; a chipped sink or a scrawl of graffiti serves as both social backdrop and inner weather report. You sense the author’s quiet fascination with ephemera: half-heard remarks or slivers of stored memories resurfacing in adulthood. Each becomes a seed that flowers briefly on the page before drifting off, leaving ripples in the reader’s mind. In "Where You’re Heading," the narrator remarks, "Thing is, Owen, since the dream I can only imagine you in space, and that’s how I want to keep you – hanging in blackness and ready to sing for me."

Running through the collection is a clear conviction that short fiction can do something uniquely powerful with brevity. Stevens trusts her readers to make imaginative leaps, to stand in the little gaps she leaves and feel the full weight of what isn’t said. The result is exhilarating: every story closes like a camera shutter, but the after-image lingers. In another moving story, "The Vigil," Stevens’ precise handling of atmosphere, setting and character is evident: "Already, the impression made by the old man’s body would be less distinct as snow fell soundlessly on snow."

Brilliant Blue is, above all, generous. It insists that hope can survive even the toughest postcode; that humour finds its way into the room, uninvited, whenever people gather; that ordinary lives are anything but. Step onto the Duncock Estate and you’ll leave painted the brightest, most unforgettable shade of blue.

About the reviewer
Dr. Paul Taylor-McCartney is a writer, researcher and lecturer living in Cornwall. His interests include dystopian studies, children’s literature and initial teacher education. His poetry, short fiction and academic articles have appeared in a wide range of print and electronic form. His debut children’s novel, Sisters of the Pentacle, was published by Hermitage Press (2022) and fiction titles he has recently worked on as commissioning editor have won multiple regional readers’ and publishers’ awards.

You can read more about Brilliant Blue by Karen Stevens on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Mike O'Driscoll of "Remains" Magazine, Issue 1, ed. Andy Cox

If the visual layout and content seem familiar, it’s because Remains is the welcome new venture from Andy Cox, the publisher and editor of Black Static, the superlative and much-missed magazine of contemporary horror fiction. It features a gorgeous cover and interior artwork from Richard Wagner, whose work also graced the pages of the former magazine, but the real test of Remains resides in the quality of its fiction.

There are seven stories, including ‘Cockatrice,’ a novella from Stephen Bacon, that starts out on familiar ground—an inquisitive child more taken with the monsters of his imagination than with the real ones much closer to home—before morphing into vengeful time travel tale with echoes of Terry Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys. The shifting perspectives in a narrative that touches on infidelity, the power of the imagination, childhood sexual abuse, and the struggle to unsee the horrors one sees, are handled with great skill and compassion by Bacon.

Giselle Leeb’s story ‘Inclusions’ is a subtle and suggestive take on the haunted house theme. It maintains a certain distance from its human characters—the last of a group of writers gathered for a weekend workshop—allowing us to observe their interactions through the indifferent gaze of the house itself.

‘Her Little Ray of Sunshine’ is the story that most clearly evokes the tone of Black Static—no surprise considering it’s written by Neil Williamson, a regular contributor to the former magazine. It’s an unsettling and thought-provoking piece, reminiscent of much Slipstream fiction of the 1990s, with its quiet sense of outrage, even despair, at the extent of the psychological and physical harm men perpetrate on women, and even more so the lies and excuses we deploy to justify our weaknesses to ourselves. 

Also recalling 12 Monkeys, but this time more explicitly, is Jolie Toomajan’s ‘A Heartwarming Tale of a Girl and Her Monkey.’ The tone here is elusive, even somewhat disjointed, such that protagonist Karyan’s motives in unleashing an apocalypse are never quite clear. Yet perhaps that sense of disconnection leads her to bond more closely with the monkey she liberates than with her human co-workers, which may be precisely the point.

The remaining stories range thematically from the delusion of overweening ambition (Rich Larson), to the peril of one’s life being exploited for fictional purposes (Anna Tambour). The final story, James Cooper’s ‘Nothing Special,’ offers a particularly bleak, noirish variation on the cynicism and self-loathing engendered by succumbing to the Hollywood dream.

About the reviewer
Mike O’Driscoll is a writer living in Swansea. His work has appeared in Black Static, Interzone, the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and numerous anthologies. His story ‘Sounds Like’ was adapted for a TV movie by Brad Anderson, as part of the Masters of Horror series. Mike blogs on different aspects of genre writing and film here. 

Review by Alan McCormick of "Precipitation" by Ailsa Cox, with illustrations by Patricia Farrell

Precipitation is the fifth in a series of small, illustrated story collections from the independent Manchester based publisher Confingo. Precipitation has three stories of frail characters from the city, faltering in alluring yet foreboding settings. There are echoes of David Constantine’s stories in the nuanced, empathetic characterisations and subtle lyrical handling of dramatic natural elements, the incessant rain falling through the ravines and scarred slopes of West Yorkshire and North Wales. 

In the first story, ‘Heavy Showers and Thunder,’ I was initially resistant to the seemingly novelistic back and forth cast of divergent characters, the multi-layered use of shifting time and back story. Within a few pages I was hooked. Luke seeks shelter on a desperate drenched cycle ride in the Calderdale hills with his ex-in-laws George and Barbara. He is escaping his new family home in the city. Middle-class and urban, he is an outsider in the rural landscape, in his ex-in-laws’ small village home. Tightly wrought grievances, social and political differences, and unquenched grief permeate their night together. Their daughter, Cass, Luke’s first wife, had died in a climbing accident years before and Barbara blames Luke. George and Barbara’s teenage granddaughter rarely contacts them anymore, and life hasn’t healed or moved on for them. Fuelled by a few drinks, George conveys Barbara’s resentment and blaming to Luke, who bridles, then retreats to the emotional ‘time-warp’ of Cass’s old moth-infested bedroom. 

Ailsa Cox is unafraid of putting a writer centre stage – the frustrated novelist Jason in ‘The Empty Quarter’ and the poet Fleur in ‘Stan’s House.’ Fleur came from Manchester with her partner (outsiders again) to live in Bethel Street, the same fictional Calderdale setting for ‘Heavy Showers and Thunder.’ Initially full of naïve optimism and excitement, the elements and surroundings soon close in and get the better of her. She encounters a malevolent old woman Yvonne, who she christens Miss Havisham. The old lady casts a spell, picking at her vulnerabilities, her aloneness. Initially repelled, Fleur becomes obsessed, her antennae piqued when learning that Yvonne once had a brother, a wild drunken poet called Stan – giving name to ‘Stan’s House.’ Fleur ends up as Yvonne had predicted, alone, when her partner moves out, the two women left somehow invisibly drawn together despite themselves. Stan and Fleur, two failing poets floundering in the exposing elements, also suggested Sylvia Plath’s grave in Calderdale’s Heptonstall, Ted Hughes’ family farm home nestled a mile away amongst the brooding escarpments.      

In ‘The Empty Quarter’ a hollowed-out novelist, Jason, can only think to escape his disappointing life and fulfil a long-held longing to reinvoke Wilfred Thesiger’s Arabian journeys, not by visiting there, but by imagining it from the lonely outpost of his writer friend’s neglected Welsh cottage. He loses himself in the mix, the incessant rain and isolation, a backdrop to his imaginary breakouts into the desert.

I was reminded of Tessa Hadley and Alice Munro (and then discovered Ailsa Cox has written a book about Munro) in the psychological depth of her stories that extend well beyond the page, so you think about the characters long after reading about them. So much is left unsaid, shadows creeping in from the past, from complex painful family dynamics. Life and feeling are brought naturally, three-dimensionally into the present, in these fragile characters’ thwarted attempts to maintain relationships, fulfil longings and escape disappointing lives. 

Shadowy pasts and character’s yearnings are skilfully invoked by Patricia Farrell’s accompanying black and white illustrations. It’s a wonderful mix and a great collection that left me enthralled and wanting more.

About the reviewer
Alan McCormick lives in Wicklow. He writes fiction and memoir. Recent writing has appeared in The Stinging Fly, Banshee, The Lonely Crowd, Exacting Clam, Southword and Culture Matters. His website is here.

You can read more about Precipitation on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Mike O'Driscoll of "The Study of Sleep and Other Stories" by Brian Howell

What a pleasant surprise to find that Brian Howell is still writing and publishing fiction. I first came across him years ago in UK literary journal Panurge, and he had at least one story in The 3rd Alternative. We both appeared in Nicholas Royle’s two-volume anthology Darklands, as well as in a best of Elastic Press anthology. That story, ‘The Tower,’ was the last time I encountered his fiction. His latest collection is a timely reminder of just how unique and obsessive—in a good way—a writer he is.

The title story, a novella, is the intricate and elliptical four-part portrait of Martin, a performance artist and aspiring writer, told from the perspective of Philip, a childhood friend, Martin himself, and Lenka, the latter’s former wife, but filtered through the narrative perspective of Julie, Philip’s wife, and herself possibly a former lover of Martin’s. The competing stories, as in Kurosawa’s film, Rashomon, both overlap and contradict each other, so that our take on Martin remains ephemeral and incomplete. This is the case even in his own narrative, where seven photographs of his abused lover, Chiara, at different stages of her life, also seem to offer an oblique commentary on his previous relationship with Lenka, which story unfolds in the novel’s third section, ‘The Decay,’ and which is itself Julie’s written interpretation of their marriage. In other hands, such intertextuality might appear an exercise in cold formalism, but Howell never loses sight of his characters, and in particular of their foibles. It’s the desire to learn the truth behind their yearnings and vanities that keeps us enthralled.

The intertextual play between the The Study of Sleep’s four parts is echoed in the remaining five tales, all of which, in their preoccupation with visual art—in particular the paintings of Vermeer, but also with cinema and the means of visual representation—seem to be engaged in a dialogue with each other. Some of them, particularly ‘The Vanishing Point,’ share the same unsettling mood as Martin’s self narrated tale in the title novella, and like it, lean more toward the macabre. Others—‘The Window’ and ‘New York Movie’—explore the extent to which art suffuses memory, how what we remember of specific works not only colours our memories, but shapes the narratives we create about our own lives. The final story, ‘The Counterfeit Smile,’ tells of Vermeer’s life, and of his search for the elusive face that has haunted him throughout his life, and of how it came to appear in one of his most famous works, ‘The Music Lesson.’ Not only is the story full of fascinating technical and biographical detail, but it offers a powerful and heartfelt representation of the artist’s motivations and desires. Just as Marquand, the protagonist of ‘Dutch Interior,’ finds himself falling into the rooms depicted in a mysterious viewing box, Howell’s elegant prose pulls us deep into the worlds of his characters and their obsessions.

About the reviewer
Mike O’Driscoll is a writer living in Swansea. His work has appeared in Black Static, Interzone, the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and numerous anthologies. His story ‘Sounds Like’ was adapted for a TV movie by Brad Anderson, as part of the Masters of Horror series. Mike blogs on different aspects of genre writing and film here.

Review by Rennie Parker of "Maps of Imaginary Towns" by SJ Bradley

I wanted to review this book because I’m particularly interested in new work which comes from my ‘home district’ in West Yorkshire. The author has evidently worked in Leeds for a time, because one of the districts is mentioned by name, and some of the cityscapes are oddly familiar. In fact the location described in her standout story ‘Discrepancy Matrix’ sounds / looks pretty much like where I grew up, and it’s a pleasure to read how the accuracy and empathy depicted throughout is at once both beautiful and empowering. 

And that’s the thing about this collection; no matter how clueless or downtrodden her citizens may be, there is always someone, somewhere or something which makes the struggle worthwhile. These characters are not being written about from the outside: they are sat along with, interacted with, and lived through. Take, for instance, the hapless council workers in ‘The Gordon Trask,’ who are having their premises and jobs wrestled away from them by costcutting bureaucrats. Everyone knows that the game is up, but they hang in there grimly until the end because they fundamentally believe in what they are doing, with ‘all of it together and nothing lost, and equipment staying where you had left it.’ Now, as someone who’s had jobs similar to the one in the story, I can tell you it is so believable and on-point that it could have been me in the office.

Bradley’s clarity of style and naturalistic dialogue hides a substantial talent in the ‘less is more’ department. She hits on the exact word for describing how a neglected child takes an apple core from a bin -  the picture is completely there in the word ‘draw,’ from the slowness, the concentration and the delicate picking motion. After all, you wouldn’t want your apple to touch the bin on its way out. Meanwhile, the entire background to Tan’s life in ‘The Stonechat’ is indicated with an admirable brevity just by mentioning his robes, the name of his former cult leader and his agricultural work. We know, by the end of three short paragraphs, that he was enticed away from a shopping centre when he was very young, but this information is delivered casually in passing, and from his point of view, as though yes this is what happens to people round here. On the surface, this lost / found young man might seem vague and unprepossessing -  but at the end of three pages I was rooting for him as he attempts to rescue a live bird being used as a prize on a fairground stall. 

The author’s vision of the near future is only a continuation of the broken-down present, according to this collection. No, it’s not a world of whizzy gadgets, flying cars and unlimited media - it’s a grungey land of unwilling house shares, allotment co-operatives and low tech, definitely post-industrial and without any competent system in charge. I expect she’s right. At times, stories might have been continued past their natural closure - ‘The Stonechat’ mentioned above being a case of this, although I can see why the lower-key ending would fit alongside others in the same collection. 

And Bradley is very good indeed when hinting at darker overtones without going all out to depress the reader. For instance, domestic violence and coercion lies behind ‘Dance Class,’ but the protagonist and her daughter find redemption and care through the escape mechanism she initiates for herself. The focus is ultimately on the happiness of the child, who can at last run free in the garden. The same theme runs through ‘Harmony Grows,’ where a seemingly impossible situation for Harmony’s Mum becomes more bearable as she discovers her wider network and reaches a point of transformation by the end. In ‘Coming Attractions,’ the would-be actor runs the risk of being ground down by his job at Cineworld, with the claustrophobic presence of his fast-tracked partner Alan being part of the problem. But no, the fella wins out, packing his bags at last and heading for uncertain lodgings in London. He’s going somewhere, unlike the similarly trapped northerner Billy Liar, who never actually leaves. Bradley gives us hope under the desperate lives. It is possible, no matter where you come from.

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

You can read a review of Balloons and Stripey Trousers on Everybody's Reviewing here. 

Review by John Goodby of "Friends of Friends" by Geoff Sawers

Friends of Friends is a series of connected, overlapping, parallel and divergent tales. These are narrative fragments - though without the bittiness that might imply. They range from single sentence flash-fictions to three or four page short stories. Each has its own coherence and narrative logic. Occasionally, two or three are related to each other in sequence. Usually, the linkages are more fugitive. A number of named characters re-appear – 'Sandra' and 'Nush' are in two tales, 'Nicky' in three, 'Mabel' in four, and so on. Recurring themes range from trivial to sublime: rain, buses (or forms of public transport), libraries, apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic landscapes. Scenarios repeat themselves, too; perhaps the most persistent is that of people who were separated in early adulthood, meeting up in middle-age, and trying to deal with the odd mixture of knowing and not-knowing, intimacy and distance, which colours and shapes such encounters ('The clutch bag' is one example). Ours is the age of Friends Reunited, Facebook, social media. This is now a common experience; we have become used to it, but it is relatively new and unprecedented, and no writer, as far as I know, has responded to it as variously or as imaginatively as Sawers. 

Friends of Friends is not set in the present; it is not 'set,' in any fixed sense, anywhere. In historical terms it jumps about, particularly at the outset, with tales in eighteenth- or nineteenth-century settings ('The Ticket' is explicitly set 'in 1859'), recounted in vaguely appropriate pastiche styles, as in 'Constance,' 'Green Eyes,' or 'Home from China'; socially, we could be dealing with countesses or beggars; territorially we might be in MittelEuropa, Spain, the USA, although it is predominantly England. The pastiche is a little contrived, deliberately it seems to me, because Sawers is concerned at all times to prevent us skimming, slipping into the complacency induced by naturalistic styles. In generic terms Friends of Friends is more wide-ranging; the first tale, 'The tree half in flames,' takes its title from the episode of a half-burning, half-verdant bush in The Mabinogion, there are Märchen elements in 'City Air,' and Irish legend in 'Yoss and Finn,' a brief, wittily-told encounter with the Salmon of Wisdom, while 'The Translators' reads like a parable by Zbigniew Herbert. 

Like the styles, the generic mix is often unstable; the nineteenth-century mode of 'City Air,' for example, has a counterfactual history in the form of an invasion of Britain by Russia and France, and 'The Ticket,' in a quasi-SciFi aside, tells of colliding galaxies. 

As all this may suggest, the liberties taken with fiction verge on poetry. Prose poetry in English, as many critics have observed, can tend towards pawky charm and rather voulu symbolism. Sawers's semi-disjunctive framework and disconnective practices mitigate against these dangers. The tales are often dreamlike, and hardly ever explicit - dénouments are partial or ambiguous, but always precise. The temptation is to use adjectives like 'Borghesian' or 'magic realist' at this point. But for one thing, so many stories are rooted in specific British realities: a student union building, a number 17 bus, Oxford Road. For another, the pieces often break into 'real' poetry; there are moments of genuine metaphorical power and originality, as in the close of 'In Blue': 'An electric river runs through her and it circles us now like a halo around the moon on a frosty night, and an odd delight begins to burn in my fingertips. I am caves of ice, I am the sun cracking ice in mid-afternoon, I am the jostling, lacerating glassy plates pressing up against the lock gates. Rivers never reach the sea. You haven’t heard me before.' 

Even the titles of the tales can be poems in themselves: 'After you die, you will never have loved me.' Sawers is a poet, too, in his ability to quickly conjure up mood and atmosphere, but lest this seem an over-Romantic definition, he is alert to the weight of words in a contemporary, experimental way. It's no coincidence that the opening sentence has mayflies 'sawing in the air,’ in a play on his own name, or that we find Sandra waking up to find herself 'a pear. Maybe a bear. She felt comfy in her new pelt ... she didn't miss having a waistline.' The humour of the waistline line is evident throughout; Sawers is a gifted comic writer when he wants to be. It is a sign that Sawers is a genuine writer, not a re-treader of old ground. This doesn't apply simply to mainstream fiction, but to modernism; a woman who wakes up and finds herself a pear is clearly a descendant of Gregor Samsa, but her metamorphosis does not lead to the angst and anguish in Kafka.

Angst and anguish there is, however, as in any genuine art, but it's of what we used to call the postmodern variety. This is a term that was overused for a long time. But it's wholly applicable to Friends of Friends, which ticks all the boxes; along with stylistic pastiche, generic hybridity, ontological uncertainty and linguistic self-consciousness, we get explicit finger-pointing, as when a 'panning camera comes to rest' on a discussion at a nineteenth-century dinner-table. The criticism of such writing was often that it was heartlessly playful. But that isn't the case here. Despite its fragmentariness, Friends of Friends has real heft: the whole is more than the sum of its brilliant parts. Large issues are raised, subtly yet powerfully, occasionally outcropping as questions - 'How can we resist the marketisation of ourselves?' – but usually by implication. At its heart is that old universal, namely a keen awareness of the brevity of life, and hence the urgency to connect, create,  be aware of others and other life-forms. Mayflies, traditional emblems of the brevity of life, 'swarm in the morning' in the opening story and return to 'swarm in the evening' in the penultimate story. The very final tale, a coda (we have passed through the wood to a mythic sea-shore), is another reverberating miniature which punches many times above its weight, an enigma I won't ruin, except to say it finds the words that 'don't mean anything' but are nevertheless, 'a path, a boardwalk,' for its readers.

About the reviewer
John Goodby is a poet and critic, and Professor of Art and Culture at Sheffield Hallam University. His new biography of Dylan Thomas, co-authored with Chris Wigginton, has just been published by Reaktion Books. 

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "Schrödinger’s Wife (and other possibilities)" by Pippa Goldschmidt

 

This is an extraordinary, inventive canon of work, made even more incredible in that all the stories are so unusual, so challenging, as they reflect a scientific bent from a female perspective. The forgotten female in so many cases.

Indeed, the intriguing title Schrödinger’s Wife (and other possibilities) is in itself a beguiling introduction. What will we discover when the book is opened? What will the first page tell us? In this case will the "wife" be alive or dead as per Schrödinger’s Cat conundrum? Indeed who does the "wife" personify and what do they represent?

In this collection of short stories we are led on a journey through the worlds of laboratories, observatories, hospitals, and even into outer space, discovering the stories of women, be they scientists, technicians, or doctors, as they deal with interrogating so many amazing adventures in modern science.

We watch as Margaret Bastock discovers the impact of genes on behaviour while facing up to anachronistic attitudes in the labs. 

We meet the nuclear physicist Lise Meitner who discovered the secrets of nuclear fission even as she escaped from the Nazis and how she had to put up with the most demeaning of new workplaces in Sweden. Demeaning because she was a woman. 

We meet a worker at the CERN laboratory who will not allow her photograph to be taken. Why is this? Another mystery.

Scientists from the old East and West Germany experience the fall of Berlin’s Wall while stationed on opposite sides of Antarctica and we read their unusual responses to it.

And we meet Schrödinger's wife who finesses his theory to get her revenge on her adulterous husband. 

One amusing story centres on a scientific theory who fusses, ironically, about the outlandish idea that it might actually be discovered by of all things, a woman. 

And through a piece of toast we are able to investigate the history of the universe.

Goldschmidt allows us to enter into the lives of real and imaginary scientists, and the world behind their discoveries - a world where women, despite their ability and achievement, are so often sidelined or ignored whilst the male of the species takes the laurels. Science seems to be a world where women are constantly having to prove themselves and their theories because they are women. Has this changed?

Through these beautifully crafted short stories we see this idea challenged through humour as well as searing critique. We can see the realities that women face and can only hope that works like this will chip away at the misogynistic attitudes that some scientists still harbour today.

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.

Review by Tracey Foster of "All Sorts of Lives: Katherine Mansfield and the Art of Risking Everything" by Claire Harman

 

Written in the centenary of the death of Katherine Mansfield, this book looks to explore the short life and short works of this writer. She lived with the shadow of TB in her lungs but the desire to taste and feel everything: "The passion I feel, takes place of religion - it is my religion - of people - I create my people - of ‘life’ - it is Life."

Mansfield pioneered "fragmented narratives" of so-called "small things." The immobility she faced through frequent bouts of illness slowed her to a pace of stillness, into a space of noticing. She found joy in the small, the personal, in intimate human interactions. Using notes from her diaries released posthumously, against her wishes, this book exposes the details, desires and delicious nuggets of her thoughts and experiences. We delve deeper into a fascinating life: living in many countries, Mansfield was friends with D. H. Lawrence and Virginia Woolf; she had many lovers of both sexes, a hushed pregnancy, and an affair in Paris in the height of WW1; and she even dabbled in walk-on parts in the early movies.

In this book Harman hand selects just ten short stories, unpicking the layers and running a real-time narrative of her life at the time of writing the piece. This gives the reader a valuable insight into the facets of life that affected and shaped the author. Her expedition into Māori territory in 1907, as only one of four females, was daring and enlightening for an eighteen-year-old girl in Edwardian times, but it gave her first-hand experience of the native peoples of her New Zealand home. 

Going out alone at sunset to admire the sunset she wrote about "the long, sweet steel-like clouds against the pale blue, the hills full of gloom, a little river with a tree beside it, burnished silver like the sea." Into this scene slipped a beautiful Māori girl, "her charm in the dusk, the very dusk incarnate." This material was later utilised in her short story "How Pearl Button was Kidnapped" and although the word Māori is never mentioned, the protagonists are dark in contrast to Pearl's white skin and blonde hair. Mansfield draws on the reader's prejudices of "others" and the use of an unreliable, infant narrator, allowing this piece to explore our fears and assumptions about race. This use of a third-person voice, allowing room for personal interpretation and allusion worked well for Mansfield and was adopted in other works to great effect.

Her marriage and the many relationships that Mansfield had through her life were a great source for her stories. This was a topic she dipped into in several pieces. All Sorts of Lives investigates one particular story, written in 1915, just weeks after she had made a reckless rendezvous in occupied territories to meet her lover, Francis Carco. "An indiscreet Journey" is a comment on war but with a unique female perspective.

Mansfield uses a mix of tenses to describe the journey into a war zone, so we get a real-time narrative of the character’s thoughts and emotions on seeing the effects of war. Never published in her lifetime, the posthumous piece gives an insight into the writer’s life. whilst in Paris, she experienced the first bombing raids of Zeppelin airships and later wrote: "The night was bright with stars … I never thought of Zeppelins until I saw a rush of heads and bodies turning upwards as the 'Ultimate Fish' passed by, flying high with fins of silky grey."

The contextualising of this story in relation to Mansfield’s life makes it even more poignant. She had also recently rekindled a relationship with her younger brother "Chummie," who then enlisted and went off to France. This closeness was short-lived as he was only there a few days before suffering a fatality when demonstrating a hand grenade. The shock of losing her brother so abruptly must have given an extra dimension to the horrors she witnessed in Paris and gives us a new perspective on the internal monologue of the character in "An Indiscreet Journey."

Harman also provides fascinating insights into the sour relationship Mansfield had with her loyal companion Ida. The dog-like devotion she held throughout the rough friendship and poor treatment at Mansfield's hands became the kernel of her story, "The Daughters of the Late Colonel." Mansfield wrote it at the end of her life, suffering in great pain. In a flurry of activity, she finished it in the middle of the night. Calling Ida to make them both a cup of tea she said, "Shall I read it to you? It's about you." A story about coercive control, lost youth and regrets, highlighting the inaction and loss of confidence that continue long after the control is gone, is not a complimentary piece to write about her most faithful friend, housekeeper and nurse: "She gave me the gift of herself ... I ought to have made a happy being of her. I ought to have proved my own worthiness of a disciple - but I didn't."

Harman says, "Being able to take what you need 'from life' and avoid, or resist, overstating it is an incredible power for a writer, and one Mansfield made use of time and again." The subheading of this book takes the nub of this idea, The Art of Risking Everything. Mansfield herself said, "The truth is one can get only 'so much' into a story; there is always sacrifice. One has to leave out what one knows and longs to use." The extensive inclusion, therefore, of diary notes, personal correspondence, family photographs and period details in this book helps to retell the wider story of Mansfield's life and loves and the creation of her "little moments." 

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, Mausoleum Press, Bus Poetry Magazine, Wayward Literature, Zine magazine and The Arts Council and she writes her own blog, Small Sublime here.

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "The Calamity of Desire and Other Stories" by Judith Dancoff

I read this book in one sitting.

No, I tell a lie, part way through I had to email the author to tell her what a wonderful work she had produced. I’ve never done that before, but if you read this collection of amazing short stories you will understand.

This is a truly beautiful collection of stories, most of them part-inspired by artists and works of art. The one outlier is a tale surrounding Annie Oakley, re-imagining her life on a trip to Paris where we are able to discover the vulnerabilities of a woman who dragged herself from the gutter to being the world-famous markswoman of lore. This story delves deep into her upbringing and lifestyle while commenting on the morals of the time with criticisms of well-known contemporary artists. This re-imagining is so clever and takes a real talent - a talent that is replicated through the collection.

Many of the stories play on the emotions of the reader and allow us a vision that we would not have imagined. We play a part in the characters' lives and stories. We discover another life that Dancoff imagines, and who are we to tell reality from fiction? 

The way Dancoff can draw out the allusions and images she makes is nonpareil. She writes about the life of the Infanta, the subject of the artist Klimt, the work of Louise Moillon, a sitter for Renoir during the Dreyfus affair, a curator at a museum, and a Vermeer inspired artist searching for love. Each tale made me research the artists and artworks that inspired Dancoff, hence introducing me to another layer of interest. 

This window into another world is just one of the benefits of reading the stories. They are delightful. Poignant and revealing, in some cases enchanting. There is a wistfulness to many and diverse historical perspectives are showcased. A great deal of research has obviously gone into each story as each is grounded on fact. I thoroughly enjoyed The Calamity of Desire and wholeheartedly recommend it.

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.

Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "Hollow Daughter" by Katherine Hetzel

  

Readers already familiar with Hetzel’s previous output as author of children’s fantasy fiction, including the epic The Chronicles of Issraya series of books, will find much to enjoy in this collection of short stories that are aimed at adult readers but also draw their inspiration from the fantastical. 

The title of the collection, Hollow Daughter, is not only the story that opens proceedings, but also provides a unifying theme for the eclectic array of flash fiction and longer pieces that follow, chiefly, girls and women who face extraordinary situations that either serve to empower them or leave them at the mercy of more powerful forces. 

The collection contains a dizzying array of characters, settings and narrative styles, many of which offer the reader a mere glimpse of an alternative universe. Hetzel’s trademark economy of form is able to relay both an entire society and a turning point in a character’s much larger story. There are the familiar shades of Atwood’s Gilead in the title story, "Hollow Daughter," whereby a parent seeks the help of Mother Alish when her daughter fails to menstruate. "'We need your help, Mother.'” The Mother indicated the daughter. 'If her situation continues, there will be accusations laid against her, that she’s preventing her own fruitfulness.'" Hetzel leads the reader to many a satisfying cliff-hanger, shown to devastating effect in the title story, but also elsewhere in the affecting "The Pink Feather Boa Incident," "The Memory of Amelia Maybelove" and "Red Moon Rising." The last of these, along with the stunning "Miss Aveline’s Summerhouse," are so convincing and well-executed they hint at a potential future direction for Hetzel to pursue – the full-length ghost story.

I thoroughly recommend this collection. Hetzel’s stories surprise and delight in equal measure but are sure to leave readers reflecting on the nature of female identity and power, in its myriad forms. I look forward to seeing where Hetzel takes her readers next as she develops her skills as a writer of quality adult fantasy fiction. Any number of universes, as presented in this dazzling collection, would prove ripe for exploration. 

About the reviewer
Dr. Paul Taylor-McCartney is a writer, researcher and lecturer living in Cornwall. His interests include dystopian studies, children’s literature and initial teacher education. His poetry, short fiction and academic articles have appeared in print and electronic form, including: Aesthetica, The Birmingham Journal of Language and Literature, Education in Practice & Writing in Practice (National Association of Writers in Education), Dyst: Literary Journal, Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, The Crank and Bandit Fiction. His debut children’s novel, Sisters of the Pentacle, was recently published by Hermitage Press.

Review by Laura Besley of "Jokes for the Gunmen" by Mazen Maarouf

Jokes for the Gunmen is a short story collection by award-winning Palestinian-Icelandic writer, poet, translator and journalist, Mazen Maarouf. It was translated from the Arabic by Jonathan Wright. 

All the stories in the collection explore jokes and joking as either a means of exchange or a coping mechanism for the atrocities of living in a country at war. In the eponymous opening story, the father figure must make up jokes for the gunmen in order to avoid their wrath. ‘Of course, in front of a bunch of gunmen you have to be a good storyteller in order to win your freedom. Your story has to be convincing, enjoyable and very short, and it has to make people laugh.’ As a consequence, the withdrawn father and unruly son become closer as they both focus on the task of thinking up a new joke every day. 

In the story ‘Jokes’ there is another young boy trying to make up jokes. ‘I don’t have ready-made jokes in my head and I don’t remember any details of the few jokes I’ve heard. So I’m trying to sketch out the scenario for a joke in my head.’ On the flipside, the main character in ‘The Angel of Death’ doesn’t ‘have a sense of humour … and [doesn’t] understand why people smile.’ Throughout the story, everyone around him is trying to make him smile or laugh or giggle, but he is resolute. In fact, he gets angry when a man laughs at something he said ‘since [he] hadn’t intended to make a joke.’ In the story ‘Gramophone’ the father loses both his arms when a vacuum bomb strikes the building he was in, but jokes that it doesn’t matter; the gramophone is broken, so he doesn’t need his arms anyway. 

The sense of loss, both physical and emotional, runs throughout the collection. People lose limbs, eyes, loved ones; people are ‘pale, silent and thin’ and ‘hollowed out.’ Another theme rooted within the stories is violence, both inside and outside the home, and good use is made of the liminal line drawn between fantasy and reality.

In many ways this collection is a tough read; the depictions of war-torn families are heartbreaking. However, despite the losses these characters have to bear and somehow overcome, there are glimmers of hope on the horizon. Jokes for the Gunmen is a phenomenal collection.  

 

About the reviewer

Laura Besley is the author of 100neHundred and The Almost Mothers. She has been widely published in online journals, print journals and anthologies, including Best Small Fictions (2021). Having lived in the Netherlands, Germany and Hong Kong, she now lives in land-locked central England and misses the sea. She tweets @laurabesley