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“… stay under the radar.” #readindies #corylusbooks

February 23, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 16 Comments

I’m happy to be able to share my thoughts today on a book from a really interesting indie press – Corylus Books. As I mentioned when I reviewed another title they released, “Black Storms“, they specialise in bringing new voices into English, with a specific focus on European crime which might not usually get translated. I very much enjoyed my earlier foray into their fiction and they very kindly sent me another title at the time. It’s taken me this long to get to it, but it was equally engrossing and not the usual kind of book I read.

“Rodolfo Walsh’s Last Case” by Elsa Drucaroff, translated by Slava Faybysh, is set in Argentina in the 1970s, and the focus is on the titular man who was a real person; a writer and journalist of Irish descent, he’s apparently considered the founder of investigative journalism in Argentina. In 1976, he published “Letter to my Friends”, which told the story of the murder of his daughter Victoria earlier that year. Walsh himself was gunned down a few months later. In her book, Drucaroff takes these events and explores them fictionally with a “What if…?” What if Walsh had investigated his daughter’s death, making this his final case as an investigative journalist? What would he have discovered? And what would have happened if he had shared the truth? The result is a work of historical fiction, a political thriller which is both gripping and, in places, heart stopping.

I admit up front that I have little knowledge of that period of Argentina’s history, but it’s obvious from this novel that the country was in the iron grip of a harsh military junta. Walsh moves in a world where people operate by aliases, no-one can really be trusted and violent death is an everyday reality. He’s part of the Montoneros group, considered by the regime a terrorist organisation, and is an important member of their intelligence team. However, it’s clear that within the group there are differences, with some elements considering victory likely whilst others are starting to believe there is no hope. We meet fledgling members of the Montoneros, young and optimistic; long-suffering wives and partners living every day on tenterhooks; and those in positions of power, often held precariously, and whose loyalties are unclear. As Walsh researches the differing reports of the shooting in which Victoria was involved, it’s uncertain what happened and whether she’s really dead. He needs to know the truth – but will he find it without compromising his colleagues?

I shan’t say much more about what happens in the novel as I don’t want to take away the impact for anyone who plans to read it, but it’s certainly a book which very effectively builds up the tension. I felt for the revolutionaries fighting to free their country, and feared for the consequences they would face (as brutality is certainly the modus operandi of the junta). The horrors of Argentina during this period were new to me, and very shocking in places. And as I mentioned, the novel is a political one, which inevitably meant some fascinating discussions between the characters about their beliefs and ethics. This was portrayed well, really capturing the speech of those who rigidly hold the party line whatever the circumstances. Walsh himself comes across as a man with a more nuanced and realistic outlook on life, and even though I knew his eventual fate I became very invested in this story and his investigation into the loss of his daughter.

“Last Case…” is a really powerful book, and one which delves deep into a horrible period of history. Drucaroff’s writing, in the present tense, has a sense of immediacy which builds the tension, and the insight the book gives into the revolutionary lifestyle, and how violently human beings can behave towards one another, is unforgettable. A striking and dramatic work, and proof again that indie presses are really bringing out important titles.

“The thought had flashed through his mind that he might not be the most eccentric person on the train.” #readindies #pushkinpress

February 20, 2026

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For me, February is of course Reading Independent Publishers month and all the books I share will be from indie presses of all kinds. However, it’s also Hungarian Literature Month, hosted by Stu at Winstonsdad’s Blog, and I was very keen to join in as I do love translated literature. I had a half-hearted rummage in Mount TBR, hoping that something which fitted would come into view but there was nothing obvious. Then a really helpful post from Emma here reminded me that the author Antal Szerb was Hungarian! Not only have I read a good number of his books, he’s also published by the indie Pushkin Press – and best of all, I knew had an unread collection of his short stories buried in the stacks after picking it up in the Oxfam bookshop. A quick dig revealed it – “Love in a Bottle” translated by Len Rix – and it turned out to be an excellent read for the month!

“Love…” is one of the older Pushkin Press classics, first published in 2010, and it contains six short stories and three early novellas, presented in two titled sections as follows (I’m giving this information for reasons which will become clear…)

LOVE IN A BOTTLE
Love in a Bottle
Musings in the Library
A Dog Called Madelon
The Incurable
Fin de Siècle
The Duke

THE TOWER OF SOLITUDE
The White Magus
Ajándok’s Betrothal
The Tyrant

Szerb was a wonderful writer, although his career was short – his first work was published in 1922, and he tragically perished in a labour camp in 1945. I’ve read two of his novels (“Journey by Moonlight” and “The Pendragon Legend“) as well as a collection of travel writings (“The Third Tower“), all published by Pushkin Press and all excellent, entertaining and beautifully written. This was back in 2014, and although I picked up “Love” in 2021, it hadn’t made it to the top of the pile until now. I don’t know why – I love his writing. Anyway, more about the contents.

…a protective calm in the ordered, reliable, studiously innocent world that is scholarship, of which the library is the outward and visible embodiment. How comforting it is to know that everything is in its place, and all so aloof and impersonal. Moods and desires come and go, like so many restless tourists, but the folios remain in place, waiting benignly to be read by succeeding centuries. Buses, taxis and metros rush us about at frantic speed; placards bawl out every grubby little change in our material lives: the library stands for what is pure and true.

The short stories are an interesting collection, range from works which deal with myth and the past (Love in a Bottle, The Duke) to ones which come closer to the setting of Szerb’s life experience. He spent some time living in Paris and London, in particular haunting the reading rooms of the libraries, and these feature in a number of his works. Often these stories are narrated by a young man who could well be Szerb’s alter ego, and he’s a man who struggles with his love-life! There’s a dry wit in all of these tales, with the narrator often very tongue in cheek, and they make for humorous reading. The Incurable was particularly entertaining, telling as it does of an author who is unable to give up writing, despite being provided with all he needs to live in comfort. Writing and living in poverty because of it seems to be the only way he can exist!

Fin de Siècle takes a different tangent, exploring the artistic world of the turn of the century and drawing in characters like Wilde and Yeats, alongside a strange set of Tarot cards, the use of which has odd consequences. It’s an effective story, as are all of his works, with a lighter exterior concealing darker undercurrents.

The three novellas are from the earlier part of Szerb’s writing career, and each has a historical/magical setting. White is a story of the attempts to revive a beautiful princess by a magus, and the strong call of living. Betrothal tells of a mysterious stranger who appears at a mill and captivates the young girl who lives there. Although she’s convinced he’s the man for her, the truth will reveal that this is a match which could never be. And The Tyrant explores power, control, and the thin line between love and hate. All are satisfying reads, and all are thought-provoking.

I loved reading this collection as I enjoy Szerb’s writing so much. He seems to take modern or older settings as it pleases him, and the results are always engrossing. He has a deceptively light touch, and it’s only after I’ve finished reading him that the depth of his work starts to hit me. However, now things get interesting! Intriguingly, I discovered that a collection under this title was released a few years later by Pushkin with a more modern cover:

I possess a digital version of this edition, which was from 2013, and the contents are set out as below, including two extra stories which are in bold type:

Part One. 1922–23
Ajándok’s Betrothal
The White Magus
The Tyrant

Part Two. 1932–43
Cynthia
A Garden Party in St Cloud
Fin de Siècle
A Dog Called Madelon
Musings in the Library
Love in a Bottle
The Incurable
The Duke

So the order of presentation of novellas and short stories is reversed, and two extra short pieces are added. Certainly, the order makes more sense, as the older novellas come first and then the later shorter works which are set more widely in Europe. I didn’t have an issue reading the works in the order I did, but I *was* intrigued by the extra stories and of course had to read them too…

Cynthia is described as a fragment, and it encompasses the narrator meeting another scholar in the British Library Room, trying to find a present for the titular lady, and deciding after spending some time with her that she’s in fact incredibly stupid! The tone is often Wodehousian and I wonder where Szerb would have take the piece had he finished it.

A Garden Party in St Cloud is again focused around the narrator’s love-life and his pursuit of a number of different ladies at the party of the title. Alas, he once again seems to get nowhere fast – Szerb’s narrators really are hapless lovers!

…Gábor wasn’t my friend in the sense that we had any shared intellectual interests. I loved the way everything about him was so impressive, so flamboyant, from his name to his way of speaking. His tall, somewhat stooping form had the silent dignity of a Transdanubian poplar; his physical movements suggested the graceful lines of a classic limousine, and in his permanent lack of cash I detected the devil-may-care attitude of the true gentry. I adored him for the fact that he despised books and could still like me, which seemed to show that there was something more in me than mere bookishness. I adored him because women doted on him. Wistfully I contemplated that do-or-die quality he possessed that I so clearly lacked. These ‘negative friendships’ do sometimes happen, like that between the crocodile and the ibis in the world of nature. (St Cloud)

The translator’s introduction to the newer version of this book explains the reasoning behind the changes; the main one being to allow the reader to follow the chronological development of Szerb’s writing, as the various works are now presented that way. So the novellas come first and the additional stories (although not necessarily considered his best) follow that development to the later works. If I’m honest, I can see why the selection was revised and I think it definitely works better chronologically, with the sequencing of the writing reflecting Szerb’s development as a writer.

However, whichever collection you might come across, I would definitely recommend reading this book, and indeed anything else by Szerb. IIRC all of the Szerbs I’ve read from Pushkin have been translated by Len Rix, and I think he’s done a marvellous job. The stories are witty, entertaining and profound, and I’m reminded there is at least one other work by Szerb available which I haven’t read – so I may have to track that down!!

“…poets are the greatest of all lovers.” #readindies #michaelwalmer

February 18, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized 16 Comments

Today I want to share my thoughts on another book from Michael Walmer; my last post was on one of his older titles, but today’s is on a brand new release, and an interesting one at that! The title is “The Worshipper of the Image” and the author is Richard Le Gallienne. I’d come across neither author nor title before but was keen to explore this book as the blurb makes it very tempting. Digging about online, I found that he was a poet as well as an author of prose (which makes total sense, when you read this book) and was associated with the Decadent movement, even having a brief affair with Oscar Wilde. He published prolifically between 1887 and 1936, though from what I can see is pretty much out of print – which, based on this book, is a shame!

“The Worshipper of the Image” takes as its inspiration “L’Inconnue de la Seine”; this is the apparent death mask of a young woman which became all the rage at the turn of the century (you can read more about it here). Le Gallienne takes this concept and runs with it, weaving it into a dramatic, romantic and tragic tale of Antony, a poet who becomes obsessed with a death mask he stumbles upon in a sculptor’s shop in Covent Garden. The image bears a striking resemblance to his beautiful wife, Beatrice, and so he buys it and takes it home to the quiet cottage in a valley where the pair live with their daughter, little Wonder. Beatrice is struck by the resemblance, but unsettled – and it soon becomes clear that she has plenty to worry about.

Antony becomes completely fixated on the mask which he names “Silencieux”. It inspires his poetry; steals him away from his everyday life; and eventually causes a rift with his family. All of his time is spent in his lodge, away from the cottage, conversing with Silencieux, writing poetry to her, and pledging his complete devotion. She reveals her past, the loves she has had, and a more sinister side becomes obvious. When little Wonder is threatened, Antony temporarily seems to come to his senses (although somewhat too late); but once in the clutches of this supernatural being, it seems there is no way out for him…

Though all who since the world began have been the makers of beautiful things have loved me, I love my poets best. Sweeter than marble or many colours to my eyes is the sound of a poet singing in my ears…

On the surface, then, this is a romantic and somewhat dramatic tale, and as such, it’s very effective. Laced through it is Antony’s poetry, and the darkness of the story, the atmosphere it conjures up and the creeping presence of Silencieux is really memorable. However, there *is* more going on here than just a scary story, as Le Gallienne uses his work to explore the role of beauty in life, whether the image is more important than reality, and whether creatives should choose between the purity of art or the reality of living humanity. From what I’ve read about him, these are issues which turned up in other works of his and it’s certainly a conflict which artists have faced over the years.

How frail is our happiness, how suddenly it can die! One moment it seems built for eternity, marble-based and glittering with towers,—the next, where it stood is lonely grass and dew, not a stone left.

Interestingly, I did wonder about Le Gallienne’s choices of name in the book; Wonder, of course, is instantly recognisable as a romantic choice, signifying the joy and blessing of having a child. However, Beatrice’s name suggested Dante to me, and of course his Beatrice was a idealised woman representing divine grace and purity. That choice between a real, earthy woman and some unrealistic vision of what womanhood should be has troubled artists over the centuries; and so it was interesting to read Le Gallienne’s exploration of the topic here.

“Worshipper” is a short book (under 150 pages, and small ones at that) but it certainly packs a punch and leaves you thinking. Le Gallienne’s style is romantic, sometimes florid, but very compelling, and I found myself racing through it – worried about what was going to happen to Beatrice and little Wonder, angry with Antony and his stupidity and chilled by the evil of Silencieux. This is a fascinating book; a great way to explore this kind of literature, very engrossing and a narrative which will definitely stay with you. Kudos to Mike Walmer for bringing it back into print, and I’m going to have to do a little digging to see if I can track any more of Le Gallienne’s books!

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks!)

 

“I have measured out my life in used books…” #renardpress #readindies

February 16, 2026

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One indie press which needs no introduction here on the Ramblings is Renard Press. I’ve been a huge fan of their books for years and am happy to support them via monthly subscription. The range of works they release is always impressive, from new works, lost classics, essays and poetry to non-fiction – their books are always interesting as well as being beautifully produced. Renard is a proudly climate-positive publisher and main man Will Dady is behind the Indie Press Network – you can check them out here. Obviously I was determined to read one of their books this month, but the hard part is deciding which one when you have an embarrassment of riches to choose from!

In the end I plumped for a recent arrival and an intriguing one – “A High Calling” by John Greening. A large format paperback with French flaps, the book is subtitled “Where Do You Get Your Ideas From?” and states that it intends to help the reader with ‘navigating poetry’. Now, I do love poetry but I’m sure I don’t know it as well as I should, so the book sounded ideal. Greening has had a long and prolific career as poet, playwright, critic and teacher and I confess to feeling very ignorant about his work, as I only came across his name when Renard started issuing his books – I have one by him and anthology co-edited by him on the TBR. So I was very keen to explore further…

Truth be told, the title does perhaps give the impression that the book is simply something of a self-help book, but it’s actually a lot more than that. Greening takes the subject of poetry and explores it from multiple angles, building in criticism, autobiography and a genuine search for an answer to the question as to why humans *do* actually write poetry! So the chapters, with titles like things like “Why?”, “Dreaming”, “Walking”, “Genius” and the like, allow plenty of scope for Greening to look at the many different aspects of writing poetry, what inspires it and what drives the poets to keep on composing. Because of the structure, he’s able to meander all around and through his subject, and this makes the book an exhilarating read.

Greening’s erudition is impressive and you might have gathered from the number of post-its sticking out of my copy that I have been left with all manner of interesting names and nuggets to explore further. In fact, reading “High” made me realise how woefully inadequate my knowledge of modern poets and poetry is, and I’m going to make a conscious effort to find out more about name of the writers Greening mentions. His other passion, alongside words, is classical music and this is a thread which also runs throughout the book, with the author often comparing the two arts and how they interact. In fact, one whole chapter is devoted to some of Greening’s contemporaries and his generous words about their work made them jump to the top of the to-be-explored list!

The various chapters in the book are interspersed with Greening’s poems, and these really spoke to me; he’s what I would call an accessible poet, which is the kind I like, and so I’m glad I have at least one collection of his verse to hand. Interestingly one chapter contains the “Asheville Journal 2002”; an account Greening made of a period when he was in North Carolina for the staging of a play he’d written about the Lindbergh kidnapping. This gives a fascinating insight into the difficulties and rewards of being a playwright, and Greening is always complimentary about the efforts everyone on the production put in to make it come to fruition. His subject matter, too, and his thoughts on the kidnapping sent me off in another direction and may had added yet another book to the TBR…

The Contraflow anthology and a Greening collection, both from Renard

Greening is an engaging narrator with a life’s experience in and around poetry. “High” is packed with fascinating nuggets of information, absorbing reminiscences of his time in Egypt and Scotland (amongst others), insights into the art of poetry and the difficulties poets face, and much, much more. Full of riches, it makes engrossing reading and the book is enhanced with many illustrations scattered throughout the text. I’ve only really touched on the depth of the book – for example, Greening is very clear that it’s almost impossible to make a living out of poetry and realistic about the fact that many writers are only recognised after their deaths. I have to say that this book has been one of the highlights of #ReadIndies for me, and kudos to Renard Press for releasing it. If you have any interest in reading, writing or poetry, I highly recommend it – a wonderful read!

“I just have a queer streak.” #readindies #godlike

February 13, 2026

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One thing I often find about indie presses is that they’re great at picking up books which might have otherwise gone under the radar. Whether a new title or a reprint which didn’t get the attention it deserved, so many works are saved from obscurity by indies. Today’s book is a case in point, as it’s one I would have picked up on its initial release, but it somehow passed me by; now, however, it’s been rescued by NYRB Classics and was reissued on 10th February: “Godlike” by Richard Hell.

Depending on your background or interests, Hell may be a name you know or one who’s completely new to you. He’s best known for his musical career, being one of the founders of US punk as part of the band “Television”. He split from that band fairly early on, mainly due to creative conflicts with the lead singer/songwriter Tom Verlaine, and Hell went on to front and perform with many other bands over the years. However, he seems to have also developed a parallel career as a writer, and “Godlike” was his second novel. Bearing in mind Hell’s own life, the book makes fascinating reading!

I may be in the loony bin but I am not an unreliable narrator.

The setting for much of the book is New York’s East Village, around 1972. Here, the well-known poet Paul Vaughn produces his work and attends readings, in amongst the downbeat occupants of the area. Into the Village comes young Randall Terence Wode, known as T.; sixteen years old and a budding poet himself, he erupts into Vaughn’s life, causing the latter to fall instantly in love with T. and the pair embark on a torrid relationship. They drink and take drugs; argue about life and art and sex; and of course write poems together. As Paul has a pregnant wife, staying in his apartment is impossible for the pair, and so they drift through squalid hotels and cheap apartments. Paul is in love with T. and their affair is sometimes consummated; but who knows what T. is or wants? The pair flee New York and take a trip to Memphis – but it is very clear that things will not end well…

Some of the names and events might give you a hint here, but as the blurb on the back cover makes clear, Hell has taken the story of the affair of Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud, transposing it into a world he knew, and the results are dazzling. Interestingly, the narrative is not a linear one: the book is subtitled ‘The Hospital Notebooks of Paul Vaughn, incorporating his memoir-novelette of R.T. Wode’. Parts of the book are set in 1997, where Vaughn is in hospital and looking back at his encounter with T.; others are in the third person, telling the story of their encounter in the 1970s. The book switches between the two at will, yet never loses the reader, and builds up a compelling picture, in particularly, of the Village in the 1970s.

The room was so thick with grass smoke it seemed it might condense and coagulate on you. A couple of sexless breathers in faux-chivalry and beads tinkled from the stereo. The poets dressed either in peasant corduroy and faded cotton, or pop star suede and satin, flaring velvet, itsy-bitsy flower prints. They were grad students, small-time drug dealers, bookstore clerks, artists’ assistants: eyeglasses and no haircuts, soft waists, pimples. But they were young and smart and many of them had produced memorable poems.

This was obviously a period when the hippie dream had died, but was still hanging on in the form of a kind of counter-culture in some areas – NY’s East Village being a good example. The picture painted is of a run down area, full of multi-cultural eating establishments, with ex-hippies mimeographing pamphlets, and a nascent 1970s music scene developing. Hell captures this brilliantly, and at times I felt I was there myself.

What also comes through in the book is a deep love of poetry; obviously, the characters are referencing two lauded French poets, but there is verse scattered through the book, some of it by or translated by Hell, and some by actual New York poets of the era (there’s info about these in the back of the book). There an almost frenetic feeling in the narrative at times, capturing the buzz and intensity of living through that period, and the parts set in 1997 are almost calm in comparison. Here, Vaughn spends much time contemplating his mortality and trying to come to terms with God, and it does seem that those experiences in the 1970s deeply marked him.

The older one gets, the more one’s drawn to the sky. And of course that’s where one is heading. The sky a kind of anti-admonition; a premonition. Not a threat but a promise. Heaven to flow in disintegration that way.

“Godlike” is a short novel (139 pages) but it builds up to a surprisingly emotive ending. And interesting, I couldn’t help wondering if Hell was also referencing his time with his own Verlaine in New York in the 1970s, and the time leading up to the period he spent in the band Television. Tom Verlaine obviously took his professional name from the French poet, so it’s hard not to suspect a little autobiography from Hell!

However, whatever’s behind the story, it stands on its own as a fascinating glimpse of a place and a time, peopled with memorable characters. Lyrical, ribald, evocative and lively, it mixes the earthy and the profound, with its protagonists in search of love and meaning yet more often than not failing to find it. I’m really glad that NYRB has chosen to republish the book; an engrossing, unforgettable and surprisingly moving work!

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks!)

“…the inevitable limitations of music written on a page.” #readindies #discord #jeremycooper

February 11, 2026

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It’s entirely appropriate that I should read a Fitzcarraldo book for #readindies, as this event grew out of a previous one, Fitzcarraldo Editions Fortnight, which Lizzy and I co-hosted back in 2020. Both of us had a great love of their releases, and in fact I do still have some unread volumes hidden in Mount TBR. However, today’s book is a new title (published tomorrow), and it’s by an author whose work I’ve read and loved over the last seven years – “Discord” by Jeremy Cooper.

Cooper’s first book for Fitzcarraldo was “Ash Before Oak” which I read back in 2019; a novel which takes the form of a diary, it tells of a solitary man living on a secluded Somerset estate, attempting to wrestle with his mental health issues. His next two, however, to my mind form a kind of trilogy with the new one. “Bolt from the Blue” (2021) is an epistolary novel which explores the visual arts, and the much-lauded “Brian” (2023) has as its focus the art of film. With “Discord”, Cooper takes on the world of classical music composition and the results are exhilarating.

The book follows a year in the lives of composer Rebekah Rosen and high-profile saxophonist Evie Bennet. Rosen has been commissioned to write a piece for the following year’s proms; Evie Bennet has been suggested as the soloist-collaborator by Rosen’s agent Piers. The two women are, however, like chalk and cheese. Rosen, an emotionally buttoned up person with a complex attitude towards her Jewish heritage, suffers from a crippling lack of confidence and many strange sensitivities; Bennet, on the other hand, is a buoyant northerner, left-wing and feminist and not easily intimidated. The book explores, from both of their viewpoints, the year of collaboration. Will there be accord or discord? Are their differences too much? Will Rebekah succeed in corralling her vision into a work in which Evie can perform? And will the work be a success, or, frankly, does that matter? “Discord” interrogates these issues, and many, many more, and makes for a fascinating insight into the creative process.

Each woman in the book is a powerful and individual creation. Rebekah, married to Chris Carter and living in Devon on his farm along with his son Simon, is in many ways troubled. Although she loves the farm and the countryside, she’s reaching the age of 50 somehow at odds with it all. The sounds of the area call to her, particularly those of the sheep, and she tries to incorporate these into her work, which is obviously experimental. Evie, young enough to be her daughter, is the current star of the commercial arm of classical, performing and recording all over the world as much as she can. Based in London, she still has strong connections with her family back in Scarborough, including her boyfriend from school George. She seems initially the more grounded of the two, but that’s not necessarily the case.

The months of work with Evie had lightened Rebekah’s step. She had not become a different person, of course not. Life was not a fable. Rebekah still felt excluded, banished to the musical shadows This may have been the reason for her feeling comparatively at ease in foreign countries, unimplicated in their problems or successes, able to take pleasure in her own narrow interest, attending without fear of criticism to the music and musicians she came across and the unfamiliar architecture. Reading the British newspapers on her phone on the train back to Amsterdam, Rebekah was disagreeably reminded of a journalistic habit which irritated her, the insolent claim to speak for everyone.

Over the course the book, Cooper gradually builds up a fuller picture of his two main characters, slowly revealing parts of their life, often in passing. This was a technique he used in “Brian” and he handles it in a masterly fashion. As the narrative progresses, the reader begins to see that there are more similarities between the women than might have been initially obvious. Both are in relationships with men of the land which aren’t entirely satisfactory; both struggle to balance the personal with the creative; and both have darker sides to their nature than are shown on the surface.

But despite this, there is definitely discord between them; their attitudes to life are in many ways diametrically opposed; whether this is a class thing, because of race, due to their background or upbringing, they are at odds on art, composers, hunting and the treatment of animals, and definitely on politics. Evie remains staunchly working class throughout the story, whilst Rebekah often reflects on the shift of her views from the more critical time of her poor upbringing to her move to the right in modern times. The question is, how does this disharmony affect their art?

The answer Cooper seems to convey is that it works. Despite the differences, the women keep faith in each other and the composition comes to fruition, being performed at the Royal Albert Hall, and being performed well, to the relief of everyone. The year of preparation has definitely been a strain on all, and the somewhat open-ended conclusion was unexpected and yet exactly right, leaving me wondering where both women would go next.

As with previous works, the book is studded with cultural references (for example, the Proms, Wigmore Hall, the BBC, Harrison Birtwistle, William S. Burroughs) and these ground the narrative of two fictional woman into a recognisable reality and make the story even more compelling. Cooper’s fictions have interrogated different art forms to stunning effect, and although my knowledge of classical music is limited, I ended the book with a violent urge to go off and immerse myself in exploring it! That’s frankly always the effect of one of his books on me.

What’s also very striking about the book is the shifting viewpoints; each section is told from either Rebekah or Evie’s point of view, and this can be startling. The first time the narrative made that shift, and we saw Rebekah as Evie saw her, a whole other angle opened up on the character, and this happens all the way throughout the book. It’s brilliantly done and really captures the fact that our viewpoint is completely subjective; and also that how we see ourself is very different from how others view us…

There’s something really special about Cooper’s writing, although it’s hard to pin down what it is. I do know that in each of his books, the characters have really got under my skin, and that’s definitely the case here. When I wrote about “Bolt from the Blue”, and its mother-daughter relationship, I commented on how I felt as if I’d lived alongside the two women, immersed in their lives. That took place over a number of years, whereas in “Discord” the narrative follows only a year. Nevertheless, I reached the end and  felt bereft, saddened that I was no longer going to be spending time with Rebekah and Evie, following their lives and their artistic struggles. The insight into the creative process of classical music, the exploration of the balance between everyday life and the need to create, and the compromises needing to be made are all explored in this wonderful book, and it’s been lingering in my mind ever since I finished it. Another triumph from Jeremy Cooper and proof once more that indie presses really *are* bringing out the most interesting books!

(ARC kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks! “Discord” is out on 12th February)

“I will walk into the sea/with no drama…” #readindies #brokensleepbooks

February 9, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 8 Comments

A good number of the indies I follow issue poetry collections, and today I wanted to share a couple of slim volumes released by a press I’ve covered on the Ramblings before – Broken Sleep Books. I’ve previously read three of their titles and found them very varied and really thought-provoking; so I was hoping to find these new books as interesting. Spoiler alert – they really were!

Broken Sleep describes itself as “a working-class indie publisher putting access to the arts at the forefront of what we do”, which is a laudable aim indeed. Established in 2018 by Aaron Kent, a quick look at their website reveals a fascinating array of books, and I’ve not had a disappointment with them yet, despite the fact that the majority of their authors are new to me. The volumes I’m sharing today are a collection from a single poet, plus an anthology, and both made for thoughtful reading.

“Tides, Elemental” by Helen Taith Curtis (2024)

This is the author’s first collection, and contains a selection of works composed over a time when the author was dealing with new life and loss. Her writing is beautiful, sometimes opaque, always intriguing and her work seems to me to be rooted in landscape. Her imagery explores nature, and most noticeably, the sea – regular motifs pop up enveloping oceans and water. The title is apt, as the tides flow through her work bringing both grief and hope, and washing both away.

And here you are, even now,
when the world spawns plague –
you burst from dirt,
scent the air to pull in bees…

Curtis often seems to be grieving specific losses (I suspect a brother and one poem directly addresses the loss of a mother). But nature brings consolation, with tulips in particular bursting forth when least expected and bringing colour into the world. Birth (of all kinds) counteracts the losses and the circle of life is reflected here in all forms. There are occasional hints of pandemic in the background, but this never dominates. As I mentioned, there is an opacity to Curtis’s writing and meaning is not always clear. However, when it isn’t the language is still beautiful and musical, and I enjoyed meditating on her words and imagery. A lovely collection to spend time with and linger over – I’m happy to have been introduced to a new poet!

“Opening Line” edited by Aaron Kent (2025)

This volume is subtitled “An affordable anthology of contemporary poetry” and at a cover price of £3.99 it’s just that! The book’s stated aim is to “dismantle economic barriers that too often limit audiences from engaging with contemporary poetry”, which is laudable and I would say they’re succeeding admirably.

The book collects together 31 poems by the same number of poets, and the range is varied and impressive. Some names I knew – J.H. Prynne, Holly McNish, for example – but the majority were new to me, so this is a wonderful sampler to allow exploration of new poets. The variety of styles is fascinating too – from more traditional style to prose poems, the works cover all manner of subjects, from the personal to the political. The latter subject provides some moving reflections on the situation in Gaza, yet there are deeply personal poems which deal with ageing, nature and even the winning of a Rugby match!

… I lay out my
unrest like white lines on the slope, so that
something out of broken sleep will land
there.
(J.H. Prynne)

I can’t praise this collection enough, nor the ethos behind it. The arts should be accessible for all, whether you’re producing something artistic, or wanting to encounter and appreciate some art form. Class considerations definitely affect the arts, particularly when it comes to publishing and the Big Four; this is exactly why I’m happy to promote indie presses, as they’re the only ones who would release collections like this.

As I mentioned above, I’ve been impressed with everything I’ve read from Broken Sleep and would thoroughly recommend checking out their website here and taking a chance on some of their books. Buying direct from indies is another good thing we could do to support them, and you always have the possibility of discovering your favourite new poet!

“A truncated cone of flame…” #skyhigh #readindies

February 6, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 29 Comments

One indie press I’m always happy to spend time with is British Library Publishing; as is fairly obvious, I’m a huge fan of their Crime Classics and Women Writers imprints, and so #ReadIndies is the perfect time to pick up one of their books. A recent release sounded particularly interesting, and as it’s by an author I’m pretty sure I’ve not read before, I decided it would be a good one to try next – “Sky High” by Michael Gilbert.

Gilbert’s books seem to fall into the slightly later, post-WW2 category of GA crime and “Sky High” was first published in 1955. This setting adds particularly interesting elements to the book and to my mind makes for a fascinating read. Set in the village of Brimberley, the opening pages introduce us to the members of the choir, led by motorcycle-riding Liz Artside. Their main concern is rivalry with nearby village Bramshott and so intense practice is taking place. The choir is made up of a motley crew of locals, including the Hedges children, young Rupert Cleeve, Major MacMorris, Sue Palling and Liz’s son Tim. However, from the start there’s discord brewing; Tim is smitten with Sue, but the Major also seems to be interested. Money goes missing from the collection box at the Church. And the Major appears to be worried about anonymous letters. When his house suddenly explodes, matters become much more serious and of course the police are called in. However, Liz and Tim, plus Sue’s grandfather General Palling, seem keen to do some investigating too, and the plot will become complex and murky before all is made clear!

“Sky High” is one of those mysteries which draws on past echoes, and although events connected to the War play a big part, things go back much further; back, in fact, to a time when Liz was young and her husband was also killed in an explosion. Hints of espionage appear in the plot; there is also a spate of country house burglaries; and a visit by one character to an obscure restaurant in London leads to some dramatic action. How *did* the house explode? Is Tim Artside, an ex-Commando, a suspect, and what exactly is the job he’s doing in London? Where do Rupert Cleeve and his father Bob fit into things? And can all these fascinating and disparate threads be drawn together? The answer to the last question is a resounding yes, and Gilbert certainly has written a stellar and compelling mystery.

GA books, and in fact crime writing in general, is often criticised for its shallow characterisation, but I felt that Gilbert created a well-rounded cast here; they’re human, flawed and believable, and I became invested in the mystery and what would happen to them. He’s good at ramping up the tension, too, which builds as the book progresses. It’s certainly not clear who’s been doing what, and there is a feeling of anybody being a potential victim. And although the book is Village-based, the action often moves further afield (General Palling visiting some archives was particularly intriguing). I certainly didn’t get the solution as such, although I was glad to find out that one specific character who I found particularly creepy and unpleasant got their comeuppance!! More than that I shall not say…

So “Sky High” turned out to be a thoroughly absorbing and enjoyable mystery, and on the strength of this I definitely would like to try more of his books. There are some lovely set pieces which capture the period, and a wonderful section where Liz visits Charing Cross Road (full of bookshops, milk bars and contraceptive shops, apparently!) It was quite sobering, too, to be reminded that Tim had been out in Palestine post-War “protecting the Arabs”; it’s shocking to think that conflict has been happening in that part of the world for so long and is still nowhere near being resolved. A good number of the GA crime reprints I’ve read from the BL have had the added element of being fascinating pieces of social history; good novels of all sorts can do this, opening a reader’s eyes to what it was like living in these eras, and I always find that so interesting. A great read, a great mystery and a title I’d recommend to anyone who enjoys a crime classic with some extra elements!

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks!)

“…none of Yermil’s plans succeeded.” #readindies #agreedypeasant

February 4, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 32 Comments

One of the things I love about independent presses is the wide variety of books they publish. Some will focus on new works which wouldn’t necessarily get a chance of exposure with a mainstream press whilst others will unearth older or lost works which definitely deserve to be rediscovered. Michael Walmer is one of the latter; originally based Down Under, he now operates out of the Shetland Islands and his list is impressive. One of his imprints is Zephyr, slim hardback editions of classics which have slipped under the radar; and “A Greedy Peasant” by Alexander Ertel (translated by his daughter, Natalie Duddington) is a great example of these!

Despite the fact I’ve read a lot of Russian literature, Ertel was a new name to me, and he lived from 1855-1908. In his relatively short life he published short works and two novels, and was apparently admired by Tolstoy; however, he doesn’t seem to be much talked about nowadays, so it’s good to see Mike reprinting this work. And the title really does reveal what this story is about!

Central to the story are two peasant brothers, Ivan and Yermil, and they are very different! Ivan, the elder, is a hard-working man, determined to support his family by working the last despite the fact that this is a struggle and money is always short. Yermil, unfortunately, is a lazy dreamer; instead of pulling his weight, he aims to make more of himself, and as easily as he possibly can. Mixing with merchants, he sees a way out of the peasant life, and gains a taste for the good life. Unfortunately, this greed will lead him to take drastic action – and his life will change forever, taking a totally different direction than he would have wished.

This novella is very obviously a moral tale, and that could perhaps be why Tolstoy admired Ertel so much! Nevertheless, it’s a fascinating read, as much as for the picture it paints of peasant life at the time, and it’s clear that the author is of the opinion that Yermil has lost his humanity and his connection to his natural world by taking on the life of a merchant. The writing is easy to read and yet some of the descriptions of landscape are very evocative; but despite Ertel seeming to laud the peasant’s lifestyle, I’m not sure it’s one that I would enjoy – the physical work is very, very hard…!

So an intriguing release from Michael Walmer, and one I’m glad I’ve read; I love to discover a new Russian author, although I don’t know that anything else by him is currently available in English, which is a real shame. A fascinating read, though – and do check Mike’s list out, as there are some great titles available! His website is here.

*****

As an aside, I was interested in the fact that the book was translated by Ertel’s daughter, and her Wikipedia page makes fascinating reading. Apparently she moved to England in 1905 (at the time of the first Russian unrest) and stayed here; she was a friend and colleague of Constance Garnett and the two worked together on many translations. Such an interesting life!

“…something painful twisted free.” #readindies @TheEmmaPress

February 2, 2026

kaggsysbookishramblings Uncategorized , , , 30 Comments

The first book I want to share for #ReadIndies is from a small, Birmingham-based outfit called The Emma Press. I’ve featured their titles on the Ramblings before, and like previous books, this one was a lovely gift from HeavenAli. It’s a slim work called “Hailman” by Leanne Radojkovich, and it’s a thoughtful and intriguing read.

The stories in “Hailman” (first published in 2021) are set in Aotearoa New Zealand, and the book collects together 10 short works, evocatively written and which explore points of crisis for the protagonists. The past comes back to haunt them; they try to come to terms with ageing parents, death and loss; infidelity and dislocation cause suffering; and each story is something of a vignette, capturing these characters at a particular point in their lives.

For example, in the opening piece “War Stories“, the narrator negotiates the impending death of a grandparent, one who has been a harsh influence in her life in the past. In “Double Dose“, Patsy returns to her home town, fragile after an operation, to meet up with her oldest friend Sharon who’s dealing with a parental bereavement. The women are obviously at different points in their lives now, and the visit triggers a pivotal memory from Patsy’s past.

I read book after book, skimming the lines until they turned into a kind of life raft. I read cereal boxes at breakfast, ingredients lists on biscuit packets and baked bean cans.

“Where the river meets the sea” is a particularly powerful story, with the narrator coping with her mother’s death and dealing with the aftermath. Again, the process triggers the resurrection of previous events and secrets which she’s kept submerged all these years. The protagonist in “Drive-by” has similarly buried the fate of her father, but visions of him come back at a crisis point in her life. Those are just a few of the titles which stood out, but they were all moving reads

The subject matter sounds, and often is, quite dark in these pieces, but Radojkovich handles them with a light touch. Her prose can be beautiful and evocative, summoning up the lush countryside or the same landscape under a drought. I don’t know much about her background, apart from the fact that she has Dalmatian heritage and was born in Kirikiriroa Hamilton; but some of her characters hail from Eastern Bloc countries, and that element of not quite belonging does slip through in a number of the tales.

“Hailman” is a book which is very much about emotions and feelings; responses to the world around the narrators and the events they encounter. The imagery in it is vivid, and the stories certainly linger in the mind for a long time after you’ve read them. These are real short stories but they convey so much in so few pages. This was a really thoughtful and memorable read, and proof of how indie presses are really bringing us the most interesting books.

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