It’s hard to believe that this is for real: a poem about Trump written by an American, riffing on the orange one’s Scottish heritage (which, I’m sure it’s fair to say, embarrasses our entire nation). Indeed, something in the headline gives me pause: why would The Scotsman describe it as …
So, The Book of All Hours is finished. And fine, fine stuff it is, too. This volume seems somehow more polished than the first , but perhaps not as exciting, as startling. The story is brought to a conclusion of sorts, but as you might expect, it’s ambiguous, open to …
I finally get to read Vellum, then. I’d been waiting for the paperback for a while, as I said back in Book Notes 7. I’ve pre-ordered the sequel, Ink, in hardback, though, which should be recommendation enough. We are, once again, in the territory of myths walking the Earth. This …