Brutal policy,
like inferior art, knows
whose fault it all is.

Ariel

Upward, cheeping, on huddling wings,
these small brown mynas have gained
a keener height than their kind ever sustained

but whichever of them fails first
falls to the hawk circling under
who drove them up.
Nothing’s free when it’s explained.

Send Letters To:

The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN

letters@lrb.co.uk

Please include name, address, and a telephone number.

Read anywhere with the London Review of Books app, available now from the App Store for Apple devices, Google Play for Android devices and Amazon for your Kindle Fire.

Sign up to our newsletter

For highlights from the latest issue, our archive and the blog, as well as news, events and exclusive promotions.

Newsletter Preferences