A Sunday Times Book of the Year and New Zealand's best-selling collection, from the unstoppable force behind such poems as 'Monica' (the one from Friends) and 'Keats is Dead so F**k Me from Behind'
this impressive debut has established Hera Lindsay Bird as a good girl with many beneficial thoughts and feelings, with themes as varied as snow and tears.
The poems in this collection shine with the fantastic cream of who she is, juxtaposing many classical and modern breezes.
Bird turns her prescient eye on love and loss, and what emerges is like a helicopter in fog, or a bejewelled Christmas sleigh, gliding triumphantly through the contemporary aesthetic desert.
This is at once an intelligent and compelling fantasy of tenderness, heart-breaking and charged with trees without once sacrificing the forest, whether you are masturbating luxuriously in your parents' sleepout or pushing a pork roast home in a vintage pram. This is the book for you: heroically and compulsively stupid, whipping you once again into medieval sunlight.