Sea storms, the horror of your second novel, and kipper paté for six
With Katrina Porteous, Tice Cin, and Rowley Leigh
We’re so lucky to have the poet Katrina Porteous — who was recently shortlisted for the T. S. Eliot prize for her latest book, Rhizodont — writing for us this week about ‘the darkening’, as they call dusk up where she lives in Northumberland. Porteous conjures an incoming winter storm, ‘the rocks vanishing under the furious salt white foam.’ Although I’m a New Yorker by birth, Katrina’s corner of England is one I happen to know well, and it’s one I’ve often enjoyed in darkness. One of my favourite walks is best experienced, as far as I’m concerned, after midnight, setting off from the fishing town of Craster on the Northumberland coast and walking north at the edge of the land towards the looming ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle. In the moonlight it’s possible to imagine an army of warriors standing at their arrowslits, ready to defend the place. Darkness opens up imagination’s well.
You can also hear Katrina on this week’s episode of our flagship Boundless podcast, which adds another layer to the writing you can find in the magazine. I’ll also be speaking on the pod to the novelist and artist Tice Cin. Tice’s piece, which you can read below, interrogates the challenge of writing a second novel, in the wake of your first. She also explores the importance of creating an artistic community and connecting with other writers. None of it is simple — all the more reason to remember that, no matter what, we’re all in this together.
On the day Donald Trump is inaugurated as the 47th President of the United States, ‘we’re all in this together’ is a motto I’m going to stick to. Apparently the weather’s too parky over in Washington DC for the event to happen outdoors, but over here we’ve got our faces tilted to the sky, in the darkness and in the light.
Erica Wagner
Editor-at-Large
The Darkening
Katrina Porteous listens to the thunder of the sea as a storm rolls in
It is dusk, ‘the darkening’ as we say here in Northumberland. The tide is flowing, a fierce gale blows from the north, sending curtains of rain to lash the windows and, beyond, the sea sounds one endless, low bass roar as it creeps toward the breakwater. Out there, the air tastes dank and salty. It is difficult to tell where rain begins and sea spume ends. Little black and white flocks of oystercatchers huddle, almost invisible, at the breakers’ edge, their sterns to the wind, their scarlet beaks the only splash of colour. Although it is barely 3pm, these ‘back-end’ days shorten towards the winter solstice, and the sky is iron grey, a shade or two lighter than the sea that merges with it at the horizon. Away to the north-east, Longstone Lighthouse, unmanned, its power dimmed, is swallowed up in rain.
I stare out from my window onto a world of white water. The breakers thunder in, formidable, countless, surging over the rocks in an indecipherable rhythm. The inlets between them are combed smooth in herringbone patterns. Hypnotically, unhurriedly, time after time in great pulses, the surges smash onto the rocky headlands, engulfing them, sending slow explosions of white foam to stream away like hair and cascade back, as each new heave and roll follows the last. As a child I would lie in bed at night and listen to this ceaseless rumble, feeling close to something immensely powerful and dangerous, knowing I was safe.
Katrina Porteous' fourth poetry collection, Rhizodont, was published by Bloodaxe Books in June 2024 and was shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot prize
Beyond the great debut
Writer and artist Tice Cin on the difficulty that comes with writing your second novel
There’s a girl I remember often. She didn’t always have a laptop so she wrote at her university or local library. She was doing an MA while juggling two jobs – commissioning damp reports or working for moon festivals putting together moon jazz playlists. An image came up in her mind and she’d write from North London to UCL on the train, sometimes sketching when words couldn’t come fast enough. Interviews for texture were conducted in cafes and kitchens. She finished her book on the balcony of her aunty’s home, overlooking her village and a barbecue.
See, I know that was me. I know that parts of that girl are still here. But there’s a complex pathway for writers like myself. We write with the hopes that a strong début might expel the aspects of our lives that we find hard, and that we might be propelled into a new life.
My life did change. I got to see some of my earliest dreams come true. A lineup of my many nieces and nephews literally queued to take turns to hold the very first copy of Keeping the House. I sat with an elder from my village who told me that I’d hit the nail on the head when writing about his generation. I was blurbed by writers I admired, watching words roll in that shifted the tides for me around whether or not my story would find their hearts. My publisher And Other Stories were there at every step. I had a lovely swim at Portobello Beach with Jav, my editor, when we were launching at Edinburgh International Book Festival. The author, Michael Donkorm called KtH ‘a cult classic in the making’ and I couldn’t believe there were newspapers covering my love letter to a fractured Tottenham, to the lives in and around the heroin trade. I was interviewed by some of the world’s greatest. A Turkish girl camped in a tent overnight in Cork to come to a talk of mine. My mum got to see window displays for Keeping the House from Foyles to Burley Fisher.
Tice’s Keeping the House was published in 2021 by And Other Stories
Kipper paté, from Rowley Leigh's A Long and Messy Business
Although they look more attractive on the other side, I always present and tackle my kippers skin-side up as it is easier to peel away the skin and lift the fillets from the bone.
Serves six or eight.
2 large kippers
200g (7oz) unsalted butter
Softened juice of 2 lemons, strained
3 tablespoons double cream
A pinch of cayenne pepper,plus extra for sprinkling
Black pepper
Preheat the oven to 200°C (400°F, Gas Mark 6). Place the kippers, skin-side up, in a large ovenproof dish and place 50g (13/4oz) of the butter on top.
Bake the kippers in the oven for 15 minutes, then remove and allow to cool slightly, pouring the rendered butter into a large heatproof bowl.
Once the kippers are cool, very gently peel back theskin and discard it. Edge the fillets apart from the ‘frame’– the back fillet can be lifted away easily and should haveno bone. The belly fillet should be turned over and the pinbones gently removed with tweezers. Getting every singlepiece of bone out is time-consuming but it is important.
Place all the filleted fish in the bowl, add the strained lemon juice, a twist of black pepper and 100g (31/2oz) moreof the butter.
Melt the remaining butter in a small pan or the microwave, and set it aside.
Blend the fish, lemon juice and butter mixture in a food processor until quite smooth. Add the cream and cayenne pepper and blend again until smooth. Check for seasoning – I never add salt in this instance – then decant the mixture into small ramekins. Smooth the surface with the back of a spoon or a small spatula, then sprinkle a little cayenne on top.
Pour a little of the melted butter on top of each oneto create a seal, then refrigerate. The pâtés will keep for aweek in the fridge.
Serve with hard-boiled eggs, watercress and toast.
WINE: The buttery richness of the pâté suggests any white wine with sufficient acidity and heft. As a change from my beloved Riesling, perhaps a good Chenin from the Loire would be equally suitable.
