The water gives nothing back. A child squeals
“Where’s the monster?” She is jubilant
But braced impatiently for disappointment.

I track the peat-blackened surface but glimpse
Nothing in its fossil depths, just froth
From screws that churn the loch to Cola fizz.

We chug toward the coral reaches of the castle,
Hugged by mountains, buoyed on the abyssal trench,
Oil-bath sheen all around. Dinosaur cumuli

Lumber down the sky. Hidden in the black, I know,
Lurk centuries of eel, char, and fanged pike,
But where is our monster, the one we thought

Would always be there somewhere, though hidden?
The tiny girl in pink stamps silver slippers.
No monster today, or ever. I catch the shallow

Smudges of my face in the cabin window.

 
Edinburgh’s oldest literary journal and released three times a year, The Edinburgh Review has been transforming the critical landscape since 1802.

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New Issue, 133: Dark Things as Bright

In the current issue, Aaron Kelly questions what it means to be “Living in the Real World” in the eponymous article and our prose and poetry contributors offer the chance to sink into the unreality of imaginary realms. Issue 133 is full of fresh and feisty fiction from Ewan Morrison, Ruth Thomas, Glenn Patterson and Gwendoline Riley, poetry by Paul Muldoon, Ernest Hilbert, Jen Hadfield, David Wheatley and many more, articulate articles and shrewd reviews. Cover design by David Gilchrist and image from Finlay Cramb.