07-14-2011, 07:13 PM
This reads like the routine of a comedian in a working men's club pushed through the mangle of classical poetry. It's Shakespeare and Les Dawson rolled into one. It doesn't whine about love lost among the swaying roses and how the hills of yorkshire contain the soul of Earnshaw. It's gritty. Yet also disciplined. I like it.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe