Growing up in south London, Shafik Meghji was transported to South America by books and comics. Now, years later in Buenos Aires, it feels as if he’s back home, what with the weather, “the English-language Buenos Aires Herald on the newsstands, a shuttered Harrods store on the main shopping strip, the nearby Richmond café”.

We were travelling across Poland by train the day after the country’s sensational parliamentary elections in autumn 2023. When news of the results came through, passengers in our compartment fell into each other’s arms, rejoicing as though a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

This book is accessible, interesting, well-priced, and puzzling. As Professor Alec Ryrie acknowledges frankly, both in the book itself and in an excellent Church Times podcast (4 July 2025), he is straying well outside his specialist area of Reformation history by offering a unique take on post-war British culture.

Poet on a Volcano might seem a strange choice of title for the biography of a poet whose Odes were described by George Meredith as “the chanted philosophy of comfortable stipendiaries, retired merchants” or “gouty patients on a restricted allowance of the grape”.

Birth rates are falling in countries across the world, including the US and the UK, as fewer women are willing to raise the number of children their leaders believe are needed to sustain society’s economic growth, demographic stability, even national identity.

Michael Collins begins Blind Corners, a book of essays on photography, with a careful study of a picture most people wouldn’t look at twice. It is a group photo of about one hundred people in a small town in Wales in 1953. Collins describes how he found a negative of the image in a moribund photo studio and restored and printed it with the aid of a high-definition scanner.

Publishing used to be a dirty business. I’m talking not only about the ink-stained fingers of disreputable writers, but also about the filthy hands of those who actually put the words on the page: the devils and cutters who worked with metal type.

This is a compelling and timely book. It is compelling, because the reader shares Mark Vernon’s sense of excitement as he delves deeper and deeper into William Blake’s imaginative world and the way in which Blake’s visionary poetry also gives us vision: helps us see more deeply into the dilemmas and mysteries both of our own lives and the age in which we live.

‘The moon wanes and waxes, it is never steadfast’, wrote the author of Ancrene Wisse, a 13th-century guide for English anchoresses, ‘and signifies therefore worldly things that are as the moon ever changing.’ For anchorites immured in their cells, the moon represented everything they had rejected, the material pleasures and temptations they had overcome.