literary rhapsodies, emotional outbursts, bad puns and creative output from a slightly distracted and highly disturbed mind with a big heart and an occasionally dark sense of humour
Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. Middlesex is Jeffrey Eugenide’s second novel. After the much promising The Virgin Suicides, it was not surprising that his…
Confession: I suffer from slugophobia. Not sure that word exists (yet), but I use it anyway to describe my very unnatural abhorrence of those slimy little bastards. Shell or no shell, slug or snail – doesn’t matter. I see one, I freeze, I panic. Molluscophobia is the proper name for it. I was scared of…
In 1946, a young couple sets off on their honeymoon. Fired by their ideals and passion for one another, they plan an idyllic holiday, only to encounter an experience of darkness so terrifiying, it alters their lives forever. Quoth the blurb. It’s my fourth Ian McEwan after Atonement, Solar and The Children Act. When I…
Ah, Netflix and me. What an intense relationship. Netflix, always checking up on me. “Are You Still Watching You?” when I binged the first season of You must have been the freakiest question I ever read on a screen and almost as meta as Black Mirror’s Bandersnatch episode. “Yes, Netflix, I do. I still watch…