“To say that late Victorian poetry is bleak would be akin to remarking that Wilkie Collins had a decent knack for plotting a novel. These poems are freighted with Gothic overtones, and it is not uncommon for some supernatural phenomenon to intrude upon what had started out as a seemingly harmless quatrain. We often encounter Death himself—or the Devil—who is something of a literary celebrity for the decadent poets. But what marks the best of these poems is that the outré is in service to something that we can think of as more desperate, and, wouldn’t you know, human.” Over at The Boston Review, an online-only essay looking at the peculiarities of Victorian decadent poetry.
In The New York Times, Dwight Garner reviews John Carey’s biography William Golding: The Man Who Wrote "Lord of the Flies”: “It may not be a surprise to learn that the British novelist ... did not have a happy childhood. But the details will put a sweat on your forehead.”