Following a bereavement, Mark, a disillusioned middle-aged writer seeking something like enlightenment (or an epiphany, he’s not sure), travels to Charleville in Northern France to visit the hometown of his hero, the poet Rimbaud. As he wanders Mark muses on the nature of obsession and how our heroes might be no more than projections of our deepest needs and fears. He also focuses on a famous line of Rimbaud’s – “je est un autre”. “I is another”.

When he meets a local woman there is an instant connection and their conversation continues as they traverse the streets together over 24 hours. But something strange is happening. Immediately Anne knows his story and the events of his life. She knows his mind. Has he found his autre?

This fine novel reads like literary fiction but refuses to wear a definitive genre label. It's poignant, significantly thought-provoking, and littered with usage of the F-word which has almost disappeared from twenty-first century literature.
The author doesn't favour living characters in his narrative but populates his book with ghosts, both significant and insignificant. He kicks over the ashes of the iconic vagrant poet Arthur Rimbaud, and Robert Johnson, who is sometimes described as the first ever rock star. Both men achieved early deaths, and thus, as often happens in such cases, insured fame in posthumous longevity.
The author's visit to Charleville in the narrative allows him to recapture some sense of self and seek previously unfulfilled possibilities. Idle speculation becomes a quest for vindication or atonement in the arms of Anne Autry, if indeed she exists, watched over by his dead mother.
A sparkling rarity of outstanding and unique literary professionalism.