One thought on “Jutland – Lucie McKnight Hardy

  1. Just as an aside, the Nightjar pamphlet — accompanying this one through my letter box near the North Sea — I happened to real-time review yesterday here, while this one today takes place in a different part of the North Sea and has more obvious gulls, less need for the reader to merely infer them, not necessarily either a good or bad thing, but the similarly symbolic eggs are again crushed before they bore the living properly? In the one yesterday the egg(s) never fertilised, and today’s fertilised if with negative results. An interesting but inadvertent subsuming synergy between the two pamphlets.

    62904851-24A3-4314-BE86-3B07FAF5599D“; he is certainly broader, the width of his shoulders suggesting a boy caught between infancy and childhood.”

    JUTLAND is about a woman with a baby called ‘it’ and a toddler son with silence as a speech impediment, echoing in shape the haunting figure she keeps seeing, after arriving to rent a cottage on Jutland along with with her painter of a husband. That’s how he is defined, by his art. Her art frustratingly takes a lesser berth in life than her husband’s (so-called), her art that is writing, inspired by the elusive words in her dreams, an art that is blocked, bath-blocked or staunched by a mother’s post-natalism, I infer. Bordering on retrocausal anti-natalism, I again infer. I was deeply affected by the nature of the outcome of this situation. Naturally given birth by her words.

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