‘There was something brutal about its fecundity’ (Elizabeth Bowen, ‘Ivy Gripped the Steps’). Above top is the ivy as shown here last April, finding its way through a gap at the top of the sash window. And then the ivy today, grazing the top of my desk, wondering which way next.
Next, from CBe, is this: in May, Are they funny, are they dead?, stories by Marjorie Ann Watts. (‘I love these stories – shrewdly observed and wickedly funny’ – Salley Vickers.) She told me this week that her grandmother didn’t write thirty-six novels, it was only twenty; but she did also found PEN, in 1921.
And then, in the autumn, Before Troy, poems by Fergus Allen; and Only Joking, a short novel by Gabriel Josipovici (alongside the publication of his new and selected stories from Carcanet). I’ll write more about each of these books later. I am, to put it mildly, proud to be publishing them.
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