Soft Mischiefs, Rosa Crepax

A strange and captivating collection of poems, with something of the solitary child’s overheated imagination in its whimsicality and fancifulness. The sustaining of these hothouse daydreams into the encounters and situations of adulthood has a kind of determined perversity, a belief in fantasy as essential – there’s bigtime sensuality here, cars collect dew, there are languid bats in the fig trees, and Rosa Crepax is hellbent on reenchantment. Why not stay out a little longer? (Sam Riviere)