Broad Moor – Alison Moore
NIGHTJAR PRESS 2019
My previous reviews of this author: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/tag/alison-moore/ and https://nullimmortalis.wordpress.com/2012/10/23/the-lighthouse-alison-moore/
My previous reviews of this publisher: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/tag/nightjar-press/
When I read this work, my thoughts will appear in the comment stream below….
2 thoughts on “Broad Moor – Alison Moore”
Jutland – Lucie McKnight Hardy
NIGHTJAR PRESS 2019
My previous reviews of this publisher: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/tag/nightjar-press/
When I read this work, my thoughts will appear in the comment stream below….
One thought on “Jutland – Lucie McKnight Hardy”
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Just as an aside, the Nightjar pamphlet — accompanying this one through my letter box near the North Sea — I happened to real-time review yesterday here, while this one today takes place in a different part of the North Sea and has more obvious gulls, less need for the reader to merely infer them, not necessarily either a good or bad thing, but the similarly symbolic eggs are again crushed before they bore the living properly? In the one yesterday the egg(s) never fertilised, and today’s fertilised if with negative results. An interesting but inadvertent subsuming synergy between the two pamphlets.
“; he is certainly broader, the width of his shoulders suggesting a boy caught between infancy and childhood.”
JUTLAND is about a woman with a baby called ‘it’ and a toddler son with silence as a speech impediment, echoing in shape the haunting figure she keeps seeing, after arriving to rent a cottage on Jutland along with with her painter of a husband. That’s how he is defined, by his art. Her art frustratingly takes a lesser berth in life than her husband’s (so-called), her art that is writing, inspired by the elusive words in her dreams, an art that is blocked, bath-blocked or staunched by a mother’s post-natalism, I infer. Bordering on retrocausal anti-natalism, I again infer. I was deeply affected by the nature of the outcome of this situation. Naturally given birth by her words.
Just as an aside, the Nightjar pamphlet — accompanying this one through my letter box near the North Sea — I happened to real-time review yesterday here, while this one today takes place in a different part of the North Sea and has more obvious gulls, less need for the reader to merely infer them, not necessarily either a good or bad thing, but the similarly symbolic eggs are again crushed before they bore the living properly? In the one yesterday the egg(s) never fertilised, and today’s fertilised if with negative results. An interesting but inadvertent subsuming synergy between the two pamphlets.
“; he is certainly broader, the width of his shoulders suggesting a boy caught between infancy and childhood.”
JUTLAND is about a woman with a baby called ‘it’ and a toddler son with silence as a speech impediment, echoing in shape the haunting figure she keeps seeing, after arriving to rent a cottage on Jutland along with with her painter of a husband. That’s how he is defined, by his art. Her art frustratingly takes a lesser berth in life than her husband’s (so-called), her art that is writing, inspired by the elusive words in her dreams, an art that is blocked, bath-blocked or staunched by a mother’s post-natalism, I infer. Bordering on retrocausal anti-natalism, I again infer. I was deeply affected by the nature of the outcome of this situation. Naturally given birth by her words.
“; he is certainly broader, the width of his shoulders suggesting a boy caught between infancy and childhood.”JUTLAND is about a woman with a baby called ‘it’ and a toddler son with silence as a speech impediment, echoing in shape the haunting figure she keeps seeing, after arriving to rent a cottage on Jutland along with with her painter of a husband. That’s how he is defined, by his art. Her art frustratingly takes a lesser berth in life than her husband’s (so-called), her art that is writing, inspired by the elusive words in her dreams, an art that is blocked, bath-blocked or staunched by a mother’s post-natalism, I infer. Bordering on retrocausal anti-natalism, I again infer. I was deeply affected by the nature of the outcome of this situation. Naturally given birth by her words.
…bag, dug, leg, this is the story of Drew a woman whose twin sister is in a coma in hospital after a difficult sapphic affair, and a mother with dementia, both who depend on her visits, and Drew is drawn off on an inferred Norfolk spa holiday with friends, but nor are one’s folk more than just inferred when out of sight if not out of mind. Out of signal, out of petroleum, lost. Another difficult sapphic engagement? Or a squashed or comatose garden bird representative of what? Lost or unfertilised eggs, cold or warm? The gulls are inferred, meanwhile. The guilts, too. Drew’s drawn out guilts. Facebook comments, notwithstanding. The whore of North Sea’s cross-body enticement. And a dyke that leads to Horsey Mere, one of the Norfolk Broads. Who knows how such intriguingly implicit stories draw us to inferences true and false alike?