by Jeanette Winterson

Darkness and bright light are shifting like the tide in this complex story, told by the young girl Silver. The wavy rhythm of the storytelling and the lyrical swell of the language made it a delightful and slow read. I could almost taste salt water and smell candle wax while turning the pages. The last part puzzled me. I think I have to read the author’s next book to look for answers.


I lived in a house cut steep into the bank. The chairs had to be nailed to the floor, and we were never allowed to eat spaghetti. We ate food that stuck to the plate – shepherd’s pie, goulash, risotto, scrambled egg. We tried peas once – what a disaster – and sometimes we still find them, dusty and green in the corners of the room.

Some people are raised on a hill, others in a valley. Most of us are brought up on the flat. I came at life at an angle, and that’s how I’ve lived ever since.


The Waves by Virgina Woolf
Anything by Angela Carter

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