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By Iain Sinclair

Eating on Stones is Iain Sinclair's sharp, edgy secret of London and its environs. Andrew Norton, poet, visionary and hack, is passed a mysterious package deal that sees him surrender London and head out alongside the A13 on an as but undefined quest. Holing up in a roadside inn, not able to make experience of his seek, he's haunted by means of ghosts: of the useless and the not-so useless; hard other halves and ex-wives; East finish gangsters; even competing types of himself. transferring from Hackney to Hastings and all areas in-between, whereas dissecting a man's fractured psyche piece by way of piece, eating on Stones is a puzzle and a quest - for either author and reader. "Exhilarating, splendidly humorous, vastly unsettling - Sinclair on best form". (Daily Telegraph). "Prose of virtually incantatory energy, lower with Chandleresque pithiness". (Sunday Times). "Spectacular: the paintings of a guy with the ability to work out issues as they're, and amplify that imaginative and prescient with a readability that's straight away hallucinatory and forensic". (Independent on Sunday). Iain Sinclair is the writer of Downriver (winner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize and the Encore Award); Landor's Tower; White Chappell, Scarlet Tracings; lighting Out for the Territory; Lud warmth; Rodinsky's Room (with Rachel Lichtenstein); Radon Daughters; London Orbital, eating on Stones, Hackney, that Rose-Red Empire, and Ghost Milk. he's additionally the editor of London: urban of Disappearances.

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Why now not? earlier than he turns around. depart him. depart him to it. Livia slides around the seat, feels for the keys. He’s taken them, locked the door, locked her in. The padded rim of the window. She attempts the handles. them all. The door opens. He sees her. He’s coming. She stands ready. The scent of the fields, the woods, earthy, heavy. And the odor of the line. It’s that mix, the strain she attempts to impose on her prints. Unreal nature and ordinary artifice. He grabs her hands, hurting her. He slaps her, as soon as, two times. Drags her round the motor vehicle, pushes her in. He begins to cry. … Racinage the ornamental remedy of leather-based a branchlike impact overhanging branches mirrored within the windscreen like it’s smashed with a hammer amazing a lady a child’s hand I can’t forgive the texture of your jacket smooth child leather-based while I touched your shoulder you will have acknowledged whatever now it’s too overdue I’m like he's functionality fucked flesh in poor health twins brothers artist and face villains all fucking villains kinfolk innit blood thicker Faversham used to be it certainly Faversham Bob Geldof and Paula Yates drugs overdose ill video games they introduced it on theirselves completely out of order performed it in one other geezer’s residence around the Swale from Sheppey Swaleside the legal six months away I labored in the course of the fucking dictionary great purple ebook not anything to learn higher than weights the dimensions autodidact lifted weights too wouldn’t contact novels surrender portray Jagger used to be performed the minute he will get in that fucking motor Dartford the bridge bobbing up six miles crawling Bluewater sought after one of many nobs nation position deadly transit from record to allegory white curler just like the previous funeral trains like abos plastered in gypsum Harry flora strong identify for a villain greater than Alby Sleeman Mickey O’Driscoll Phil Tock the educate robber geezer Buster Edwards he had a flower stall Waterloo hanged hisself in his lockup they’re all lifeless flora within the Attic movie approximately motor vehicle crash incest Alby’s now not so not easy see him paintings on an engine whistling purring alongside using itself’ Allo Chas into the tunnel lower than the river orange nicotine lighting fixtures muddy on vehicle home windows slippery on polished steel tiled bore drop a coin within the bucket and you'll come again to Essex until eventually she speaks until eventually she says it retain riding … ‘Stop the car,’ Livia stated. ‘Now. ’ She placed her hand on Reo’s bony shoulder, denim. The tunnel were exceptional, an event. And now this: energy station, tall chimney, oil tanks, marshes, the stylish span of the bridge at evening. ‘I wish my digital camera. ’ Her voice introduced him again, introduced him out of it. they'd made it to the north shore, domestic turf, the A13. He was once a unfastened guy. He may swing into London, a membership, or out to Southend, fish supper. He might take her domestic to Mum and be out on the quarry together with his rods inside of an hour. He may possibly keep on with the M25, chase Alby, Epping nation membership, the chaps. A reunion. Kiss and make up. Kiss and inform. How he’d blown it with the dagos, the take hold of. the 2 Albanians have been down at the coast, potless, anticipating a motor.

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