Most short-story collections consist of what Kingsley Amis described as ‘chips from the novelist’s workbench’ – disparate pieces written years apart and yoked together for republication. The thirteen stories in D J Taylor’s Poppyland, by contrast, were written for publication in a single volume. This gives the book a pleasant unity of atmosphere and setting. Like much of Taylor’s fiction, most of the stories are set in his native Norfolk, which is rendered with picturesque lyricism: shimmering fields of poppies, crates of apples knocked over market pavements, the late-night glare of Norwich’s Prince of Wales Road. Smells of oil, burnt sugar and kebabs linger long after the plots have faded. 

The best stories have a melancholic mood. In ‘Sea Palling’, two old Cambridge friends meet by chance at a picnic and wistfully reflect on past acquaintances. ‘At Mr McAllister’s’ focuses on a lonely hobbyist who sells model aeroplanes for a living. ‘Yare Valley Mud’ presents a tragicomic picture of two small-hours cabbies. Characters are drawn with detached affection. Here is a mother introducing herself to her teenage daughter’s boyfriend in ‘Those Big Houses up Newmarket Road’:

‘Linda Fortescue,’ Mrs Fortescue said, but in a tone that suggested the back garden was piled high with the mummified corpses of young men who had made the mistake of calling her by her Christian name. 

The best story, ‘Moving On’, traces a young couple’s fortunes between 1983 and 2007,