That devastating moment when you are confronted by the fact that someone you believed to be good at heart is, in fact, weak and contemptible, a liar willing to do and say anything to disguise their lies, and you realise how utterly stupid you were to ever help and believe in them. That single moment of recognition when the wrongs done you by this person come at you in a great wave and there is no longer any escaping their nature: you, who have been making excuses for them forever, to friends and family, wanting to believe in them, justifying their cruelty, can no longer avoid the reality of being failed by this person in the most profound of ways. That terrible moment when you have no option to address the fact that they are, and always were, ruined.

Earthly Immortalities: How the Dead Live on in the Lives of Others

“The issue of identity, whether living or posthumous, remains pivotal to any discussion of memory. With death, rebirth. Through extinction, individual identity metamorphoses from a singular material form to the plural – as Moore writes, “social immortality is bestowed in and through our collective commemoration.” The real question is this: does death strip the spirit of its humanity? Can a spirit be human, or is humanity a quality kilned and housed in the body? Could humanity in itself be a thing independent of and accessed by the body?”

– from my review of Earthly Immortalities, out today

Future Cities: Architecture + the Imagination

“The imagination is politicised by definition (‘as a faculty that only flourishes when set free, it inherently resists … subjugation’), and in the anarchy of this spirit is its potency and efficacy. Using the works of Dickens as an example in our understanding of, and feeling for, the city of London, Dobraszczyk observes that the carnivorous global scale of urbanisation has rendered cities impossible to comprehend without an overriding fictional projection. “

from my review of Future Cities: Architecture and the Imagination, out today

Lethal White / Robert Galbraith

I’ve just had the rather odd experience of discovering that my review of the latest Robert Galbraith aka JK Rowling was actually published last year, which is why I’m posting now:

” The novel has been described as Dickensian, but is actually more like Victor Hugo in its radical intent. Dickens was gentler, more amusing and significantly more susceptible to the ornate lyricism of Victorian Romanticism, whereas Rowling, an outwardly respectable matron, is a punk rocker at heart. She wants to smash the system. “

– from my review of Lethal White @