English writer Will Self reviews a new book by Australian singer Nick Cave, finding 'craftsman' as the ultimate accolade:
![](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vbfJSepU0RoqKRn0cXT6SWegZNKCcw7BYKb0pK3SrbJztIVxl4na5m5EaUS0NddTUKRd1S1s--BaMnV_Tu-U6nubkabFO24yBLywHglhjIRBZCF2DQlyPF7edy8aTH_cxUsB_6I6S9aWkiUTXMzPLFjlXpp0MLSGXHRvc02uUhDKsxA1bahMA6=s0-d) | Cave, as a poetic craftsman, provides all the enjambment, ellipsis and onomatopoeia that anyone could wish for. A word on eroticism and the dreadful dolour of knowing not only that all passion is spent - but also that you're overdrawn. If Cave were to be typified as a lyricist of blood, guts and angst, it would be a grave mistake. He stands as one of the great writers on love of our era. |
Will Self 'Dark matter'
No comments:
Post a Comment