the final section of Glass Wings, are gleamingly vivid encounters with insects, largely ones that "came as a part of the portfolio/handed from child to child". But her range and diction--that characteristic mixture of playfulness, deprecation, questioning and close focus--are also strangely, and affectingly, girlish. Perhaps it's no coincidence that, while British literature is full of fascinating accounts of boyhood, some of the best portrayals of the childhood experiences of girls also reach us from New Zealand.from Fiona Sampson: The Guardian: Glass Wings by Fleur Adcock--review
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