There is something pitiable about those persons who feel they must be forever advertising their own sexiness – for fear, one presumes, that if they didn’t tell us we would never have noticed. Fiona Pitt-Kethley has made a career out of setting her sexual exploits to verse. And while the contemplation of her own conquests might make Pitt-Kethley’s juices flow, the reader, required to consider the poet’s flailing limbs in amorous contortion, is offered no such erotic reward. I imagine she has her following. Perhaps Christopher Sinclair-Stevenson, who commissioned the collection of dirty bits under review, is to be numbered among them. Others will find it deeply boring.
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I have just spent a wonderful few minutes re-reading the best book review of the year in my opinion. It's by Piers Brendon in September's issue of @Lit_Review. Beautifully captioned as 'Jack the Lad', Brendon takes Fredrik Logevall's JFK: Vol.I apart! It's a laugh a minute. Ouch!
'Perhaps the real modern polymaths are the hidden ones who do not themselves grab the limelight but have the expertise to bring together different fields of knowledge: librarians, teachers, editors of literary journals…'
Jan Morris, who died last week, was a much-loved contributor to our pages. In 2017, she wrote a characteristically witty article about the different winds, their various personalities and how they had touched her life: https://literaryreview.co.uk/let-it-blow.