Box Hill
A six-year BDSM relationship written as a study of unequal access: a flat without a key, a man without a surname, a death without a grave.
A disciplined archive of reading and reflection
A six-year BDSM relationship written as a study of unequal access: a flat without a key, a man without a surname, a death without a grave.
During the winter of 1962–63, four people try to keep marriages, animals, patients and unborn children alive after the terms of their lives have begun to fail.
Decades stolen from Oscar Wilde are returned, but their moral cost is laid bare.
A novel organised around misreading and delayed disclosure, where a drowning forces separate lives into one field of consequence.
Characters avoid direct response, and each story replaces action with ritual, language or space, holding the same outcome in place.
A slaughter system absorbs labour, appetite and waste, processing even catastrophe back into order.
A father isolates his family in the mountains, where control holds and violence settles into place. Escape becomes possible, but not available.
A penal colony keeps the language of discipline in place long after discipline has become organised disappearance.
Trauma here is not something to be felt. It is something to be gawked at, arranged for maximum visible damage, held up to the light, and rotated slowly so nothing is missed.
A debut about betrayal, coercion, family fracture and grief where they are actually lived: in markets, homes, clinics, roads, bars and on phone screens.
The absence of objection becomes the operative signal. Authority no longer needs to declare itself once behaviour aligns in advance.
Tom McPherson constructs each scene as a pressure system: at the centre, something that cannot be named, around it each character’s method of avoidance. In West Berlin, 1972, permission operates as pressure.