The Wives of Bath, by Susan Swan

“The ghostly woman on the giant tricycle stared down at me like an old firend. Only “Stared” is the wrong word. The lids of her eyes were collapsed inwards – puckered the way a pair of lips look when all the teeth are removed.”
And so begins The Wives of Bath, with an unexpected gothic [...]

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Orlando, by Virginia Woolf

My redmist book is Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, the acme of Bloomsburyish poppycock, a self-flattering appropriation of English literature and history, distilled from Woolf’s temporarily addled brain by the heat of her infatuation for the aristocratic Vita Sackville-West. Should be sold with a sick bag attached.
Tarquin Hall, writer
The preceding quotation comes from the article in my [...]

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