D. James' genre-mashing/-defying debut is described (rightly so) as a postmodern noir-detective story, but it reads as much more than this. It is a pseudo-biographic study of the elusive, mysterious, multimedia, avant-garde artist, Ezra Maas: one of the strangest artistic geniuses to almost emerge during the late 20th/early 21st century. For such a prolific figure … Continue reading The Unauthorised Biography of Ezra Maas (Daniel James, Dead Ink 2018) – review.
Do not want to hear bells! Bells!?? Weather!! One wit wrote, Every time that bloody bell rings it gets foggy! Stop it! But he didn't control weather, he just wanted to warn the ships in the bay. My wife can't sleep! Turn that light off!
Kreuzberg. 08:00 Monday October 28th 2019. Soft electric light illuminates the calm room. Thirty-five tables. Each table set simply: some for lone diners, some for couples, a few for family; cutlery, white crockery, triangle of napkin, heavy, cool folds of cotton. Some settings will remain empty and some will be filled. I cross the wooden floor … Continue reading Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.
Tegel Airport, Berlin. October 27th 2019. Tegel must have left a strong impression on me last year because I pass through the arrival gate, through the crowds, through the airport gleam with barely a thought or care for direction and, with the sliding doors shushing behind me, I am, once again, giddy with the almost … Continue reading Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.
Penn Beacon. October 26th 2019 23:00 Home late last night from London. The train was slow, but I don't know or remember the reason given. I was exhausted from the journey, from the solid shape of work. I unpacked a bag and repacked it with different stuff. I downloaded my boarding pass, prompting the usual … Continue reading Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.
Dylan Thomas, in First Class, dispatching Rainbow Trout (tatties, peas and half a stout). There's scurf on the shoulders of his tweed ('Howell's of St. Mary St., Cardiff'). Mistook him for a Beatle. "Ringo's in the dining car!" "A cwtsh for a poxy autograph?" (Who's he think he is! Richard Burton?) … Continue reading rumbling over the severn, my belly thinking my throat’s been cut.