All of the poems are conversations, of sorts: a dancer talks to the floorboards; a dressing gown talks to itself; an old man talks to the radio in his sleep; men and women talk, and talk without talking. Joan Fleming’s empathetic imagination gives voice to the hidden conversations happening beneath our notice.
Emma Neale called me "eerie" and "cavortingly optimistic" in The Listener.
Cliff Fell wrote, "a rare originality at work...one of last year's most startling debuts."
Hamesh Wyatt said I know how to be vulnerable (a wonderful compliment).
Mary Cresswell called the book "a study in dislocation."
Lindsay Pope was carried into "strange and rarified places."
Harry Ricketts said, "to enter these poems is like entering into a dream."
Cliff Fell wrote, "a rare originality at work...one of last year's most startling debuts."
Hamesh Wyatt said I know how to be vulnerable (a wonderful compliment).
Mary Cresswell called the book "a study in dislocation."
Lindsay Pope was carried into "strange and rarified places."
Harry Ricketts said, "to enter these poems is like entering into a dream."
