I've fallen off the book diet in a big way, thanks to Cynical Ben's recommendations. I've just received several parcels. They're second-hand, but that's not the point.
Oh well - I'll not buy any next week. Ahem.
Anna Minton's Ground Control - about the fight for public space between citizens, local authorities and corporation;
Maggie Gee's The Burning Bush (ex-Hegemon, kids);
Paul Murray's Skippy Dies - a comic-dark tale of Irish adolescence;
A. S. Byatt's A Whistling Woman;
Henry Sutton's scabrous take on Blair's Britain, Thong Nation.
Plus Gruff Rhys's latest CD, The Terror of Cosmic Loneliness; Treeless Plain, In The Pines, Calenture and Born Sandy Devotional by The Triffids, and Kristin Hersh's Hips and Makers. Mmmmmelancholic. Last night I listened to Emma Pollock's latest, which grows stronger and stronger (and is clearly a break-up album), the new Paradise Motel, which turns out to be a meditation about Australia through the lens of the Dingo Baby story, and The Other Two's The Other Two and You, which is brilliant: a bit like St. Etienne in that they use shiny happy pop-dance to express the sadness and emptiness of our lives.
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