Clare Bucknell

Creative​ and destructive drives can be hard to tell apart. In Rochester’s ‘The Imperfect Enjoyment’, a poem about premature ejaculation, the speaker blusters about his penis’s usual prowess:

Stiffly Resolv’d t’would Carelesly invadeWoman, nor Man, nor ought its fury stayd –Where ere it pierc’d a Cunt it found or made –

Making and wrecking,...

Novelists​ like to snoop inside their characters’ underwear drawers. In Sylvia Townsend Warner’s Lolly Willowes (1926), Laura, the heroine, finds her sister-in-law Caroline difficult to read, except in one telling aspect:

Once only did she speak her spiritual mind to Laura. Laura was nursing her when she had influenza; Caroline wished to put on a clean nightdress, and Laura,...

Peggy Guggenheim​ had an ‘excessively unhappy’ childhood. ‘I have no pleasant memories of any kind,’ she wrote in her memoir, Out of This Century: Confessions of an Art Addict (1946). She was biting about the glamorous townhouse on East 72nd St where she and her sisters, Benita and Hazel, grew up:

In the centre of this floor was a reception room with a huge tapestry of...

Tudor writers​ made being a court fool sound like a holiday. In John Heywood’s play Witty and Witless (c.1520s), ordinary working men are said to live with great ‘payne of body’: they strain their muscles ‘plowyng’, ‘cartyng’, ‘hedgyng and dychyng’, exposed all year round to the weather. ‘Some yn wynter fryse, some yn somer...

Nell,​ the narrator of Anne Enright’s The Wren, The Wren, can’t imagine real words coming out of her boyfriend’s mouth. ‘When I think about him talking, all he says is: Bloke, bloke bloke bloke. Blokey bloking bloke, bloke-bloke bloking.’ The boyfriend in question, Felim, a tall, taciturn farmer’s son, built like ‘a plastic model of...