There is an irresistible modesty to Taylor's prose that makes his touches of humour leap out even more viscerally from the page. In "Special Needs", he describes reality TV as a "spangled approximation" of life. I underlined bursts of brilliance like these throughout. But something remains impenetrable about Poppyland; its figures remain attenuated, their motivations obscured. At the end of "Drowning in Hunny", the narrator describes a look between two people as "not quite contemptuous, or kindly, but . something else altogether, that hung tantalisingly in the air between them, like the scent of the cooking oil". It goes some way to capture what I felt as a reader. Leaving Poppyland, I was left with a curious aftertaste, of something rather sad and unknowable, but also moreish and nourishing -- something remorselessly real.