The first two tales definitely are both sex and death, the remainder are chiefly the latter. There are echoes of ancient myths and glimpses into strange futures. Moving has an atmosphere worthy of the classic horror writer M R James, while My Emphasis is a comic, sundrenched farce.
I stand on the steps in a white silk dress, which reveals my breasts and blows against my thighs. The sea shifts beneath me, evil in its caress. I look out. And there, coming towards me through the banana plantations, out of the boiling dark, is the single silver disc of light from a black motorbike.