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Unease sounds itself in the language of legend.  Images call on memory, on the monstrous self. In Helen McClory’s award-winning, daring debut collection, the skin prickles against sweeps of light or darkness, the fantastic or the frightful; deep water, dark woods, or scattered flesh in desert sand. 

Whether telling of a boy cyclops or a pretty dead girl, drowned sailors or the devil himself, each story draws the reader towards not bleakness but a tale half-told, a truth half-true: that the monster is human, and only wants to reach out and take you by the hand.

‘Angela Carter for the millennial generation' - Meena Kandasamy

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