From the magazine

An ill wind: Poppyland, by D.J. Taylor, reviewed

Norfolk life looks quietly bleak in these carefully worked short stories of broken homes, precarious employment, dwindling expectations and torpor

George Cochrane
There’s often a struggle to survive in Norfolk, especially out of holiday season, in D.J. Taylor’ s new short story collection.  Getty Images
EXPLORE THE ISSUE 07 June 2025
issue 07 June 2025

As the term refers to the stretch of the north Norfolk coastline between Sheringham and Mundesley, only one of the stories in D.J. Taylor’s engrossing new collection strictly takes place in ‘Poppyland’. However, the others seldom stray far.

In ‘At Mr McAllister’s’, one of two stories set in and around Norwich market, the feckless employee of a down-at-heel toyshop decides to change his life, starting with talking to the pretty girl on the fruit and vegetable stall. In ‘Those Big Houses up Newmarket Road’, set nearby, social embarrassment inspires a class-conscious schoolboy to dream big.

Such ambitions are unusual in these carefully worked stories of broken homes and precarious employment. ‘In the Land of Grey and Pink’ has Jasmine, a single mother, taking steps to becoming an interior designer when she realises that ‘she did not know what she wanted, or, when it came to it – and this was the truly terrible thing – if she wanted anything at all’. Likewise, the odd-job man in ‘Over at Bacton’ seems quite content to sell rabbits out the back of his van.

But then, no one is encouraging their ambitions. In ‘Moving On’, which follows with cool factuality the lives of an ordinary Norwich couple over several decades, we see rents go up, social housing stocks dwindle and wages stagnate, so that it becomes as much as they can do merely to survive. The future does not look bright for their son, who wants to design videogames.

Taylor sweetens the pill here, and throughout, with his sharp sense of humour. In ‘Yare Valley Mud’, two long-in-the-tooth minicab drivers tolerate the reforms of their new boss, ‘safe in the knowledge that it would all blow over and that normal standards of torpor would soon reassert themselves’.

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