Some people are sustained by sorrow.
I think I’m one of them.
That’s why I laugh so much.
That’s why I’m called a clown.
And that’s the deep dark reason why
I am accounted frivolous.
In his first collection of poetry after a career as a novelist spanning five decades, Paul Bailey offers in Inheritance an intimate reckoning. The poems mine memories of childhood, illness and lost loves with unflinching honesty, a generous humour born of self-knowledge, and great depth of feeling.
‘Bailey has mastered the art of telling a large story through small but piquant details and knowing where the reader can be left to fill in the spaces.’
‘Bailey writes exquisitely about everything he touches on.’
– Sunday Times