‘A near-masterpiece in the imaginative speculations of those whose paradise simultaneously contains their hell.’ — The Times
‘Anna Kavan’s ‘night-time language’ is in no way obscure: on the contrary, her dreams are as carefully notated as paintings by Dalí or de Chirico.’ — New Statesman
‘Her dramas are haunted by a tall woman in black — her mother. There is also a revealing passage of an addict’s sordid bedroom, littered with needles and spilled powders… Her writing is magnificent. It is a fascinating clinical casebook of her individual obsessions and the effects of drugs on her imagination… in the tradition of the great writers on drug literature, de Quincey, Wilkie Collins, Coleridge.’
— Daily Telegraph
‘A testament of remarkable, if feverish beauty.’ — Robert Nye, Guardian