Jesse Bloggs

“‘I’ve always had a soft spot for London, the patched and tattered cloak of its history (some of my best work, obviously; I felt the same about old Byzantium), its dog-earred wisdom and inky humour. You know—you provincial British humans know—what it’s like when you crack under the weight of lost love or ingested desire and Move to London: the city’s ready for you. You take your precious miseries there and unpack them—only to find that the city’s already assimilated them, centuries ago, along with grand Elizabethan passions and mortal Victorian sins. The assimilation’s encoded now—in the chemistry lab colours of the Underground map, in Trafalgar’s punk pigeons, in the thousands of ticking stilettos and caffeine yawns and downed pints and adulterous snogs. You turn up on a rainy Monday afternoon proud of all your woeful particulars—and London humbles you with its wealth of generals. You’ve seen your life. London, it turns out, has seen Life.’”—Lucifer, in an excerpt from Glen Duncan’s novel I, Lucifer, printed on the album art for The (Real) Tuesday Weld’s I, Lucifer, based on Ducan’s novel.