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Pennie sometimes reminds me of Stevie Smith, sometimes of Robert Burns, sometimes of Dorothy Parker, but her voice is her own—sometimes raw, often wry, always authentic. Not every poem is a masterpiece, but several are. I would enthusiastically recommend this book to anyone who likes poetry, and to many people who don’t. Note that many of the poems are in Scots, but even if you stick to the English language poems it’s a rewarding read. (I was able to get the gist of the Scots poems, I think, but I’ve seen several of Pennie’s “Scots word of the day” videos.)

Not a standalone novel; you need to read the first two books first. But this is a glorious high-speed, multi-car pileup of an ending to the trilogy, if every third car is being driven by a murderer and some of the remaining cars are possessed by ghosts. If Hollywood turns these books into movies, I’ll be first in line to give them my money.

An excellent anthology, but there’s a sameness to Beckett’s translations (wonderful English-language poems though they are). I don’t hear the individual voices of the poets as distinctly as I would like.

Orlando is the fictional biography of an Elizabethan nobleman who becomes a woman and lives on into the 20th century, where they quickly become adept at road rage. For all its weirdness, this is one of the more accessible of Woolf’s novels. Among other things, the story examines the nature of gender, of sexuality, and (since Orlando is a poet) of literature. Be prepared to stumble over moments of casual racism.