There’s a problem that faces authors trying to write characters with a mental illness. Being inside the head of someone with a psychological condition doesn’t necessarily make for an interesting experience for the reader. The Beginning of the End, a debut novel by Ian Parkinson from publisher Salt, runs slap-bang into this problem. The main
No place I have ever visited celebrates the authors it has produced with quite so much gusto as Ireland. The English habit is to adduce Wordsworth and Shakespearewith the same smugness with which you then profess never to have read them, while in the U.S. the title of any major novel is rarely mentioned without
The coastal town of C, half an hour drive from Lisbon, looked cheerful on the TripAdvisor photos, and her choice of the summer holiday was made quickly. She arrived in C in oppressive August heat, high on expectation. She would go straight to the beach, large and deserted as it was in the photos, isolated
The sheer volume of flowers at Amé’s sugar daddy’s repast implies a wedding rather than a funeral. I imagine the florists being confused when delivering to the church, arms overflowing with expensive bouquets and fretting, “These are for the funeral? Are you sure?” Everyone is dressed from head-to-toe in an expensive shade of black. Dry
Sam and Lana leave their Prius on this ninety-nine degree day and half run to the entrance. On opening the metal and glass door, they are hit with a blast of arctic air that removes the sweat from their brows. The Five Star Diner: Mecca to hungry Jersey folk seeking a cheap but filling meal.
The air was hazy. It had a sticky, good-time feel to it. Girls wearing high heels and short skirts danced with too-old men and flirtatious laughter harmonized the salty tone of the music. Red velvet lined the tables, infused with the stains of old smoke and spilt whisky. ‘Make it a double.’ The tall man
Walking, exhausted and alone into the midnight hours. Stumbling on heels too high, under streetlights that burn too bright and stars too distant to be seen. It’s at times like this you have to be honest with yourself; he was a lecherous bastard with an ego complex bigger than God and you never really loved