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This morning, as the rain tormented earthworms, I opened Alison's 'Mnesmosyne', which Randolph had shamrock-skipped over the seas to me. "What will your moth do, flying like that, those two halves of a lost moon?" Lovely stuff - and accompanied by John Kinsella's poisonous 'Sheep Dip': "his posture was increasingly feminine/though he raged and exposed his genitals". Randolph has sensitively set both books so that the form of each volume extends its content. And they feel exquisite between finger and thumb. Congratulations (and thanks) to you both. David Howard