Winner of the John Florio Prize for its translation
A wife is suspended in a bird cage; a thirteenth-century visionary
senses the foreskin of Christ on her tongue: Fleur Jaeggy's gothic
imagination knows no limits. Whether telling of mystics, tormented
families or famously private writers, Jaeggy's terse, telegraphic
writing is always psychologically clear-eyed and deeply moving, always
one step ahead, or to the side, of her readers' expectations.
In this, her long-awaited return, we read of an 'eerie maleficent calm,
a brutal calm', and recognise the timbre of a writer for whom a
paradoxical world seethes with quiet violence.