This impressive debut has established Hera Lindsay Bird as a good girl with many beneficial thoughts and feelings. With themes as varied as snow and tears, the poems in this collection shine with the fantastic cream of who she is, juxtaposing many classical and modern breezes.

Bird turns her prescient eye on love and loss, and what emerges is like a helicopter in fog or a bejewelled Christmas sleigh, gliding triumphantly through the contemporary aesthetic desert. This is at once an intelligent and compelling fantasy of tenderness, heartbreaking and charged with trees without once sacrificing the forest.

Whether you are masturbating luxuriously in your parent’s sleepout or pushing a pork roast home in a vintage pram this is the book for you, heroically and compulsively stupid, whipping you once again into medieval sunlight.