Lest ye ever be in doubt about the power of language, take a spin through Eyes Guts Throat Bones, Moïra Fowley’s visceral collection of short stories “about (queer, female) bodies and the end of the world”. Fowley has an astonishing knack for delivering a knockout blow with her choice of words (“Her smile was like a slice of lightning”) and her stories are delivered with economy and imagination.

Some have apparently been dredged from a place of random whimsy (the collection is kicked off with a kind of a grisly, death-march reimagination of Hansel And Gretel); others come from more obviously relatable origins, such as that focussing on a queer couple in smalltown Ireland who somehow summon natural disasters with their passion, in defiance of the grimaces of their conservative neighbours. This latter tale provides Fowley with a vast canvas for her colourful imagination: “The first time we kissed it rained flowers for a week.”

The stories that make up this fine collection are by turns witty, shocking and unsettling, coming from a place of fear for the future, of bruised trauma at growing up queer in an unwelcoming world, but all streaked through with beauty and moments of humour. Powerful stuff.