My Year (in books)

January was dark. In January I spent the days looking for the light and counting the clock ticking a minute more of daylight for days on end. In January Olivia and I read Her Body and Other Parties, pulling it apart thread by thread on her bedroom floor. We marvelled at her terrifying articulation of femininity and […]

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Waiting for Spring

What I am reading whilst I (impatiently) wait for Ali Smith’s Spring (because we’re not even at the solstice yet), a list: The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot: is there a more iconic first line in poetry? April is the cruellest month. But is it? A month of riotous greens and pinks that shines light on just how […]

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The Silent Realms

Wakefulness, darkness that comes with the inability to sleep, “the silent realms” (as Virginia Woolf calls it). Insomnia. A romp through literature, culture, and her own bed, Marina Benjamin’s memoir Insomnia found me in the deep hours of the night, plagued by the pursuit of sleep. Not chronic insomnia, that awful mistress that so many suffer from, […]

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Killing Commendatore

A new Murakami is a strange and wonderful thing. A tome, destined to be read by millions and perfectly formed as a material object – bound in circles, that seemingly constant shape that seems to run throughout his work, and echoed across dust covers and paperbacks alike. How does one begin when writing about the […]

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