The underlying feeling that all is not well with the self-satisfied English middle class milieu of second homes on the Cornish coast pervades this masterful short story. A visit to that archetype of English heritage, the manor house, (built with sugar plantation and slave trade money) offers no relief.
This excellent short story is imbued with a sense of personal fracture, of dislocation, of unease.
A beautifully designed small chapbook from Nightjar Press which cost less than a pint of warm English beer.
Not only is Harrison a favourite writer, but a personal synchronicity abounds in this short story. Set on the north Cornwall coast not 30 miles from where I live. A passage also mentions characters getting lost in the country lanes deep in rural Shropshire, stopping at a phone box to get directions – and to my surprise, I know that phone box; it’s the one at the end of my parents lane.
KULCHUR KAT 