In a time of Trump, Gaza, Iran, I’ve been reading the 1950s novels of John Wyndham: The Day of the Triffids, The Chrysalids and The Midwich Cuckoos. It seemed apposite, all that post-apocalyptic fear, Cold War angst, the aftermath of a dreadful, unnatural mistake or catastrophe. And I wondered where that feeling went in the … Continue reading Edwin Muir ‘Late in the evening the strange horses came’