The host of the radio show said:
The author has tried to invent a language to describe the underclass – people experiencing social alienation. He has used a hollow and degraded form of our language – a vernacular of degradation that offends our middle-class sensibilities. It degrades his subject, describing people as less than human. I would prefer novels with more tragedy and murder – stories that are rich and delicious. Too many novelists only look at a sliver of life. I would prefer a tapestry; something involving, something real.
The listener sat up in bed and nearly fucking choked on his coffee.
The kid was in the water, gasping for help. The brother jumped in. It was freezing. He reached the kid and put an arm round him. He looked and saw a channel where the ice had broken. The kid was lifeless. He had to be quick. The cold was forcing his lungs shut. He surged for the bank and rolled the kid onto the grass where the friends wrapped him in their jackets. The kid let out a moan and started to cry. He was looking at the water and shaking his head. The brother’s body slipped beneath the surface.
The man in the costume hire shop frowned at her.
It’s got to be the right one, she said.
But witches are all similar.
I’m sorry. I can’t guarantee it.
* * *
There were thousands of people along the road.
Have a can, said Matty.
Yeah we can. It’s a special occasion.
I’m dressed as a lion; how can I be serious?
Riot shields, guns, armoured cars and horses. If it wasn’t the Wicked Witch Of the West then there was no point dressing up. A man punched the sky. She felt like she might cry.
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