"Félicia Atkinson’s age of wonder has slipped through her fingers, or so beautiful sadness and low-level violence of her
work seems to imply. (..) Her commanding if narcoleptic voice carries a sombre, wordless dirge of a tune that drifts above distant twinklings, heartbeat rhythms and a submarine drone that takes a wrong turn down to the bottom of the sea."
The Wire, july issue, #141
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