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Mrs Death Misses Death by Salena Godden Book Review

Mrs Death Misses Death Book Review Horizontal

Mrs Death Misses Death is the must-read book of 2021 and Tales from Absurdia’s Book of the Year. 

It’s a modern masterpiece that transcends form and genre. This is perhaps part of the reason that, despite having read Mrs Death Misses Death over 6 months ago, I’ve been mulling over the best way to review a book like this. Because this is, undoubtedly, a difficult book to review.

Salena Godden, a UK poet of great renown, wrote sections of her debut novel to music. This is especially apparent if you read the audiobook. At times, the narrative unfolds as prose. Other times, it manifests itself into Godden’s more familiar form of poetry. 

The tale of Mrs Death even transforms into a screenplay/radio drama of sorts for a brief period. There’s a fluidity to the writing that refuses to be pinned down and categorised by a mere review.

But don’t be mistaken – there is no pretense to Godden’s novel, nor is this an overly complicated book, requiring only ‘high brow’ tastes in order to read. This kind of exclusivity is what Mrs Death Misses Death rails against. 

Godden is merely inventive and explorative in the way that she imparts her tale. It’s clever, thrilling, and never gets in the way of the novel itself.

'Spoiler Alert: We all Die in the End'

Mrs Death Misses Death features two central characters. Wolf Willeford is the first; a poet and aspiring writer whose mother died in a fire when their block of flats went up in flames, echoing the tragedy of Grenfell Tower.

And then there’s Mrs Death herself. In spite of her name, she is not the wife of Death but death itself.

Wolf, author of the in-text Mrs Death Misses Death, transcribes the stories she imparts whilst reaping souls on her journey through history and time.

‘Mrs Death is the woman we hardly see, the woman we do not care to see. She is the person we ignore, she is the pause in the silence, she is the invisible woman. She is the refugee at the border. She is the cleaner. She is the backing singer we never bother to learn the name of.’

Salena Godden, Mrs Death Misses Death

But Mrs Death, a shape-shifter who reconfigures her appearance throughout the novel, is tired of reaping the departed. She’s saddened by the deaths in Syria, and the suicides of people gone long before their time.

This is a dark tale of violent imagery, crippling poverty, and sexual exploitation. The Tale of Tilly Tuppence is particularly emotionally challenging to read.

Ir’s also an essential book for the modern reader – Godden raises a mirror, forcing a confrontation between the reader and the injustices they’ve witnessed in life, and probably ignored.

The pronoun ‘we’ is used persistently throughout, thrusting culpability upon the reader, not dissimilar to the way Albert Camus’s Jean-Baptiste in The Fall scolds the reader for their hypocrisies.

It’s deeply personal, and deeply unsettling.

'Mourn the dead and fight like hell for the living'

In spite if the unsettling content here, it’s worth mentioning that Mrs Death Misses Death is not a nihilistic book in the slightest.

After all, this is a novel penned by the writer of Pessimism is for Lightweights: 13 Pieces of Courage and Resistance.

“Mourn the dead, and fight like hell for the living”, Godden inscribes in the front of the cover, urging us to look forward and focus our energies on improving the lives of the living, rather than lamenting the dead. Because ultimately, this is as much a novel about life as it is death.

Mrs Death Misses Death is also hilarious, alarmingly so considering the subject matter. The introduction, punctuated with witticisms such as ‘Spoiler alert: we all die in the end’, is quite possibly my favourite passage in literature – let alone this year.

This wry, acerbic humour punctuates the entire book, reminding the reader that finding humour in adversity is one of the greatest emancipators of our species.

Conclusion

What makes Mrs Death Misses Death book of the year, outstanding name aside, is its poignancy.

The final pages of the novel are left entirely blank, reserved for the reader to write down the names and dates of loved ones passed on.

In the context of the time that this book was published, at the height of the COVID pandemic, this is a remarkable gesture and testament to the novel’s mature treatment of both life and death. 

Given the scale of loss we’ve suffered collectively as a species in recent years, this is particularly poignant. In pathos, Mrs Death Misses Death encourages us to celebrate life – and cherish the things we love. 

That’s a special kind of optimism we all need right now.

5/5

Mrs Death Misses Death is available at Bookshop.org in both paperback and hardback, or at Audible.co.uk for the audiobook.

Are Tolkien’s Books too Complex?

Tolkien Books too Complex Blog Header
Tolkien Books too Complex Blog Header

Something I’ve noticed about Tolkien is that he’s often criticised by readers both for being too complex and yet, paradoxically, too simplistic.

Evidently these two positions aren’t expressed by the same people, but it’s nonetheless an interesting contradiction.

Is Tolkien too complex? Too simplistic? Let’s dig into this further.

Tolkien's Reputation for Complexity

Anyone remotely aware of Tolkien’s work will be familiar with the criticism that he ‘takes X number of pages to describe a tree/leaf‘ – a charge undoubtedly deserving of the phrase cliché.

Only recently, I was chatting with a friend who has yet to pick up a Tolkien novel, having been put off due to this observation.

This is nothing new. 

I recall Tolkien’s attention-to-detail, specifically of the natural world, being called out as long as 20 years ago. Having given up during the Old Forest chapter – the litmus test chapter for readers of The Lord of the Rings – as a nine-year-old reader, I think I complained about the same thing after hearing it from an adult.

But here’s the thing – like most clichés, there may well be a pinch of truth in between the hyperbole. After all, Tolkien was undeniably concerned by creeping industrialisation. 

His writing certainly has an environmentalist bent to it, with the menacing fire & industry of Saruman standing in direct opposition to the aged, ethereal presence of the Ents. The battle for Isengard in particular pits industry in direct opposition to nature.

And yes, Tolkien is rather fond of trees. Most readers who give up reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time become ensnared in the Old Forest chapter, as I did, as of course did Frodo & his companions.

Yet, on the other hand, there are plenty prepared to line up to argue that Tolkien’s writing is too simplistic and lacking in real world details.

Is Tolkien's Writing Simplistic?

George R. R. Martin – another fantasy writer who happens to have R.R in his initials, and author of the successful A Song of Ice and Fire series, is one such person.

Martin, in an interview with Rolling Stone once remarked:

“What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles?”
George RR Martin, on Tolkien

Martin’s tongue was perhaps slightly in his cheek, but it does represent a prevailing view that Tolkien’s Middle-Earth is a bit ‘vanilla’, or basic in its plot resolution and character motivations. 

If somewhat nitpicky, this isn’t an entirely redundant criticism – aspects of Tolkien’s plots are characterised by  fate, circumstance, and a dash of good fortune.

Some characters lack complexity, and issues of power aren’t always explored in as much depth as they might be. (e.g. the people of Gondor want a king? Would Denethor really just give up the throne? Would Aragorn’s return not spark a civil war? e.t.c.).

Fantasy authors are amongst the most talented world builders in fiction. They painstakingly craft worlds populated with people, cities, and laws. To seek greater depth, and a stronger internal logic within a fantasy universe isn’t unreasonable. 

And yet I can’t help but feel that these criticisms over a lack of complexity miss the point of Tolkien’s writing. Nor are many other fantasy writers able to create the blend of beautiful prose, timeless lore, and scope of ambition within Middle-Earth. 

The Context of Tolkien's Writing

To explore this further, it’s worth looking into a wider historical context of Tolkien’s novels.

Fantasy was in its infancy

Consider when Tolkien was writing. The Hobbit (a book written for his children) was published in 1937 and The Lord of the Rings in 1954. 

There wasn’t a particularly large commercial fantasy market, mainly because fantasy itself was in its commercial and reputational infancy. Tolkien was,  of course, not the first fantasy author – a title greatly disputed and perhaps one for another day – but his writing stood largely alone in the mainstream (bar a certain author and friend C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia).

Fantasy in the 1930s looked very different to the contemporary landscape. It was more simple, rooted in the ordinary everyday, and this humbleness is a core message behind the hobbits’ journeys through the land of the big folk. 

Tolkien is more concerned with broader themes of good & evil, rather than the intricacies present in more contemporary sci-fi and fantasy books, such as power levels, magic systems, and so on.

Could this be mistaken as simplistic? Perhaps, but there is an undeniable beauty in Tolkien’s writing. 

Less concerned about the mechanics and politics of his world, Tolkien spends more time exploring the geography of Middle-Earth and the people who live there.

Tolkien as the perceived father of fantasy

Whether Tolkien is the father of fantasy or not, he certainly popularised it. So naturally, his successors have borrowed elements from Middle-Earth to greater or lesser extents.

This does mean that reading Tolkien for the first time can feel overly familiar. You’ve likely experienced Tolkien-esque elements in books ranging from Harry Potter to Discworld, or games such as the Warhammer Fantasy tabletop game or the World of Warcraft MMO.

Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, and Orcs are almost tropey races at this point, so it’s easy to feel jaded by the atypical mellowness of Elves, the grizzled bad-tempered dwarves, and the poor attempts to deviate from fantasy races such as Orcs by simply calling them ‘Orks’.

But this is a modern high fantasy problem – not Tolkien’s.

The Lord of the Rings is a quest narrative,
not a political intrigue

Due to the sheer creativity on display, it’s hard to read books written by C.S. Lewis and Tolkien, and not wonder ‘what if…’?

Does this mean that George R. R. Martin’s observations have merit?

Perhaps.

After all, Middle-Earth is a vast world, populated by a wide variety of beasts, birds, and beings. Dwarves, hobbits, men, elves, easterlings, orcs, wizards – and so much more. 

In some respects, these writings have fueled readers’ need for granular details. It’s not unreasonable to want to know, for example, how Aragorn was able to claim the throne with very little dispute.

The key difference between Tolkien and Martin’s books, or even Frank Herbert’s Dune, is that both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are quest narratives. They just aren’t concerned with palace intrigue and political deception of the above examples.

And that’s okay.

Tolkien’s stories were written for his children

The excellent The Lord of the Rings movies have somewhat skewed people’s views of the books. And who’s to blame them – they’re amazing films that have redefined how movies are made.

However, because of the epic visual scope of the movies, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that Tolkien’s writings were written primarily for his children.

Could he have written a fantasy novel with more gore and more political intrigue, akin to Martin’s A Game of Thrones? Sure – Tolkien fought in the Somme. He knows real war. It just isn’t the predominant concern of his writing.

Incidentally, Tolkien did start planning a darker sequel to The Lord of the Rings, provisionally named The New Shadow. He eventually abandoned it after deciding it wasn’t the right tone for his novels.

Prose versus Plot - The core issue?

In reality, Tolkien’s mixed reputation probably comes down to readers’ experiences of complex prose versus basic plot. I’m not certain that these are necessarily fair criticisms, but they do seem to be the prevailing views.

His prose is known to be rather flowery and, perhaps a little too over-descriptive in parts. Take this very brief example, highlighted by A Lent of The Lord of the Rings:

"Ling and broom, cornel and larch, cedar and cypress, tamarisk and terebinth, olive and bay, juniper and myrtles, thyme and various colored sages, marjoram and parsley, saxifrages and stonecrops, primroses and anemones, filbert-brakes and asphodel, lilies and iris-swords, briar eglantine and clematis."

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

Meanwhile the plot in his works (The Hobbit particularly) do tend to rely on pre-ordained fate, and in some cases a deus ex machina.

Most are familiar with the eagles plot hole, which argues that there was no discernible reason why the eagles couldn’t have flown Frodo & friends to Mordor. There’s a fantastic study by Sean Crist which came to the conclusion, using textual evidence, that there was no reason the eagles could not taken the ring to Mordor.

To conclude, it is possible that some are put off by the complexity his prose, whilst others are disappointed by his sometimes overly convenient plot resolutions. And whilst these aren’t criticisms I share, there is a sound logic behind both.

The Lord of the Rings is not a perfect trilogy of books (in spite of my tongue-in-cheek insistence that they are). However, they are timeless for a reason. Frodo’s journey is relatable on a human level, whilst the moral and ethical lessons contained within will endure for evermore.

What do you think? Do you find Middle-Earth to be a little simple? Too complex? Just right? Let me know in the comments below.

T is for Time Travel Book Review

T is for Time Travel Stanlei Bellan Book Review

T is for Time Travel is a curious collection of short stories by Stanlei Bellan that spans the fullness of space and time.

Included are a colourful array of stories that range from the abstract to the profound. And for a book that stands at circa 120 pages, Bellan is able to extract a bevy of interesting time travel-related hijinks and present them in a concise manner.

It’s thought-provoking without being complex – its simplicity belies the genius contained within.

T is for Time Travel
Overview

I’m sometimes quite suspicious of time travel in fiction. Too often it creates unnecessary complexity, and in the worst cases, problematic plot holes.

So what’s fantastic about T for Time Travel is that it leans into, and even acknowledges some of these shortcomings in the genre with a dash of irony, whilst still providing some genuinely fascinating tales. 

It’s evident that T is for Time Travel was, no doubt, a lot of fun for the author to write. And that comes across to the reader. It’s playful, self-referential, and emotionally satisfying. whilst still not taking itself too seriously – and that makes for a great read.

Bellan experiments with changes in tense, metacommentary throughout, and direct address to the reader – mostly with great success, making T is for Time Travel intellectually stimulating, whilst also spinning a good yarn or two.

The Tales of T is for Time Travel
Rapid-Fire Review

Most of T is for Time Travel’s ten short stories are highly entertaining. 

The first, Another Time, was a little abstract. However, later entries are progressively more interesting and build a wider metanarrative not unlike Cloud Atlas, albeit on a far smaller scale.

Particular highlights include Time Cleaners, which was uncannily reminiscent of the Disney+ Loki series, Wishful Timing, and Tempus Pompeius.

Another Time ⭐⭐

Time to Light ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Time Cleaners ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Wild Times ⭐⭐⭐

Time for Everything ⭐⭐

Better Luck Next Time ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Only Time Will Tell ⭐⭐⭐

Wishful Timing ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Tempus Pompeius ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Behind the Timestream ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Conclusion

T is for Time Travel is well worth your time (pun intended).

It’s smart, well written, and raises some genuinely fascinating time-related conundrums.

The inclusion of a crossword at the end, with clues littered throughout the text, was a particularly impressive (though unexpected) addition. 

Some may find this a little gimmicky; I think it’s a fun experimentation with structural form that encourages re-reading the book. It helps that the stories are, for the most part, well written and exciting to read.

If you’re remotely interested in time travel-related speculative fiction, then definitely give it a go. 

In any case, it’s only just over 120 pages – what have you got to lose?

4/5

T is for Time Travel is available at Amazon in paperback, hardback and eBook. 

Full disclaimer: A review copy was kindly provided by the author and publisher in exchange for an honest review.

Desert Island Lit | Episode 2 (Ross Lowe)

Ross Lowe Desert Island Lit Blog Header

Ross Lowe

Ross is a copywriter, author, and man of culture.*

His debut novel Step Forward, Harry Salt was released in early December, 2021.

*(Supporter of Derby County Football Club).

Welcome to Episode 2 of Desert Island Lit.

In this series, I ask my guests to pick five – and only five – books to take with them to the Island of Absurdia. A solitary island where one whiles away their days in joyful isolation, accompanied only by their favourite literature!

This episode’s guest is Ross Lowe, a freelance copywriter and published author with the excellent Bearded Badger Publishing Co. 

You can read more about his debut novel, Step Forward Harry Salt on the publisher’s website.

Ross's Journey to The Islands of Absurdia...

Ross has been swept away on an existential tide and finds himself in solitary confinement on the Isle of Absurdia.

And because we’re on the Isle of Absurdia, our esteemed guest will receive a copy of absurdist classic The Myth of Sisyphus, and a luxury item of his choice. In this case, Ross has chosen a coffee machine.

I’m stuffed without a decent cup of coffee in the morning, plus I always enjoy reading that little more with a nice drink to hand. So. A coffee maker. I just hope this desert island has power. And milk. And a fridge. Eek.
Ross Lowe, Author of Step Forward, Harry Salt

Ross Lowe's Desert Island Lit Picks

It was 1996 and I was in my second year at university when my housemate Martin gave me his copy of this book to read.

I’d not long seen the movie Trainspotting, based on Welsh’s first novel, which had absolutely knocked me sideways. I remember thinking how incredible it was to see a British film that stood head and shoulders above everything else at the time in terms of storyline, characters, direction – even the soundtrack – and wasn’t pandering to the needs of American audiences like so many things seemed to do back then. 

It was fiery, frightening and grim but a beautifully real and experimental piece of work and such a culture shift. At least, it felt like that to this excitable 19-year-old. But I can’t think of a moment in cinema that has affected me and so many others in a way like that since. Everyone had the poster of Ewan McGregor with the ‘Choose life’ mantra on their walls, or felt something whenever Born Slippy came on in a club.

ANYWAY. Off the back of all that, Martin gave me Marabou Stork Nightmares, Welsh’s second novel, to read. Again, I was excited by its grim rawness and loved getting my head into the world (or worlds, in this case) that he built. It’s a very experimental novel once again, this time from the point of view of a man in a coma, struggling to deal with the conflict caused by the real world above the surface, and the fantasy world in which he exists while unconscious down below, hunting for the elusive marabou stork. 

I loved the way he played with the text in this novel, the sinking and rising of his consciousness represented visually with the words (incidentally another book that does this brilliantly is The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall which, randomly, according to the very last page, appeared to be set in Spondon, a place just up the road from where I was brought up in Derbyshire.) 

To me, the in-your-face delivery and unorthodox visual style, along with the fact that I had to work at getting my tongue around the dialogue (written in Edinburgh Scots dialect) made for a reading experience unlike any other I’d had up until then.

I can recall a lot about Marabou Stork Nightmares quite vividly, including how I felt when reading it, despite the fact I haven’t picked it up again since (it wasn’t my book after all, and I think Martin might’ve been a little pissed off if I didn’t give it back).

So, this one is coming to the seaside with me so that I can experience it all over again and see if it still has that impact, while finding out if it really is as good as I seem to remember it.

This is the fourth book in the fantastic series ‘The Dark is Rising’ by Susan Cooper.

I read the series in completely the wrong order to begin with, but it didn’t matter. I started with The Dark is Rising (book 2) and then went to this one, before going back to the start and reading all five in sequence.

I bought The Grey King second-hand for the lofty sum of 20p from a small seaside café at Osmington Mills in Dorset on a family holiday when I was about 10 or 11, and devoured it in days.

There are so many things I love about this book. There’s a really dark, unsettling mood that runs through every page which I totally loved and it had me gripped from the beginning. It probably goes some way to explaining why I eventually grew up to be an ardent Radiohead fan.

Susan Cooper describes the Welsh landscape as if it’s alive, breathing and seething to a point where even the weather appears conscious. Will and his new-found friend Bran are two boys caught in the middle of something much bigger and more terrifying than they can possibly imagine, something that spans history and the universal powers of the Light and Dark. 

Set in the modern day it felt so relatable to me back then; the boys were my age and having adventures that, although supernatural, felt completely real and possible thanks to Cooper’s ability to treat young readers with respect while not shying away from scaring the willies out of them. 

I have read and re-read The Dark is Rising sequence so many times over the years and its power over me is undiminished. This book is by far the best of the five for my money (20 pence, for heavens sakes! Bargain!)

This book turned my world, my universe even, upside down. My Mum bought it for me to take on holiday when I was around 11 or 12 I think, and she said “I think you’ll like this.”

Mum, you nailed it. Thank you.

As a kid I was very much into surreal comedy; the weirder, dafter or more subversive the better. My parents plied me with the stuff: from Monty Python, Spike Milligan and Peter Sellers through to Kenny Everett. I was also mad keen on anything to do with space, so when this book landed on my lap I gobbled it up.

I love the fact that, as I’ve grown older, the book has grown with me, so that I’ve uncovered and appreciated more and more every time I’ve read it. All the facets of the human condition (particularly the more dreadful or interminable ones) are here, each disguised as a planet or race of beings: the Vogons are defined by bureaucracy and terrible poetry, while another race subscribes to a religion that says the universe was sneezed out of the nose of a creature called The Great Green Arkleseizure, while they subsequently live in perpetual fear of a time called The Coming of The Great White Handkerchief. 

There are characters with names like Magikthise and Vroomfondel. A quest to understand the ultimate question of Life, The Universe and Everything. And at the middle of it all, a completely normal bloke from Somerset called Arthur Dent who just wanted his house to not be demolished, and thought his friend Ford Prefect was from Guildford (and not, as it turns out, from a planet in the vicinity of the star Betelgeuse).

Just wonderful and again, a book I can read over and over and totally lose myself in every time.

This little gem is much more recent, and something I enjoyed for the first time earlier this year. I’d heard plenty of chatter about it in the more bookish quarters of social media, and after reading the blurb I thought I’d give it a spin.

I’m really glad that I did.

On the surface, it doesn’t sound particularly remarkable – a story about gentle folk, in particular two thirty-something men who are each still living with their parents (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, alright?) while trying to navigate 21st century life.

But, right from the amazing first line (which has to rank as one the best openings to a book ever EVER), this amiable little novel both soothes and amuses while still managing to ensure you care deeply about the two misfit protagonists. Rónán Hession clearly cares about them, and never patronises either of them when it would be all too easy to go down that road. As such, we care too: we really want them to be okay.

I was chatting recently to Paul Handley, the hairy genius at Bearded Badger Publishing, when he told me that he felt this book should be available as an NHS prescription. I’d say that’s a fair wish. It is medicinal, and for that reason I’d want a copy of Leonard & Hungry Paul with me on a desert island. For even if I was miles away from anyone and everyone, the knowledge that they, and people like them, are out there quietly doing their thing, would be enough to make me feel better about the world.

I have Hession’s latest book Panenka in my pile of books to be read, and I’m looking forward to seeing how much time he spends discussing Wayne Rooney’s cheeky chipped penalty for Derby County against Fulham at Pride Park in 2020.

My suspicion is that it won’t be a lot, as he’s a Watford fan anyway.

Right, here’s a really personal one for you. My Shoulder to the Wheel is the autobiography of Welsh author, poet, journalist and editor Meic Stephens who was, among a great many other great things, my journalism lecturer during my three years at the University of Glamorgan back in the mid-to-late 90s.

Out of all the teachers I was ever lucky enough to learn from (and I owe a lot to so many), Meic is the one that always pops up in my consciousness for all kinds of reason and at all kinds of moments. He truly inspired me, and a couple of years ago I felt compelled to google him and see how he was, and was sad to learn he’d passed away in 2018. However, I was glad to see that he’d written his autobiography.

He instilled in me and the rest of his students the need for seeking truth; not just in news reporting but in being true to one’s self, and following your heart. He was quietly spoken but a very passionate man, proud not only of his Welsh heritage and the language of his country but also of his more immediate locality (the university campus in which he taught me in Treforest, Pontypridd, was only a couple of streets away from the very house in which he was born). He was worldly-wise too, living for periods in the French town of Brittany and also Utah, USA.

There’s a famous piece of graffiti that appeared in the 1960s on the wall of a ruined cottage in Ceredigion that reads Cofiwch Dryweryn (“Remember Tryweryn”), in response to the decision to flood the Tryweryn Valley to create a reservoir to supply the city of Liverpool, over the border in England. 

It was sanctioned for Liverpool City Council by Westminster despite numerous protests and without the consent of Welsh authorities. As such, many centuries-old communities including Capel Celyn were lost forever under water. It turns out it was young Meic himself that scrawled the graffiti, which has since gone on to become a prominent slogan in Welsh politics and a bit of a mid-Wales landmark. Thanks to Meic, Tryweryn has never been forgotten, which is pretty cool.

And for extra coolness points, he’s also the father of the brilliant radio DJ Huw Stephens, and uncle of Super Furry Animals leader and utterly unpredictable musician Gruff Rhys. When he revealed his family link to Gruff in one lecture, he sang the opening to “If You Don’t Want Me To Destroy You”, which caused me and my dear friend Claire Heat to slide off of our chairs in paroxysms of joy. He gave us a very cheeky smile and seemed very pleased with our response and we still talk about that, and him, to this day. I have very fond memories of my time in Wales, and a lot of love for the Valleys and the people there. It’s a magical place, with real soul.

So for me, I’d take this book with me to remember someone I was lucky enough to be directly inspired by, and to remind myself to stay true, never give up, never let the bastards win and always try to give of my best. Cheers, Meic.

A massive thank you to Ross for getting involved with Desert Island Lit. Do considering checking out his debut novel, Step Forward, Harry Salt.

And if you’d like to know more about this episode’s guest, do check out his website and Twitter below.