Lamorna Ash

A BBC RADIO 4 BOOK OF THE WEEK 'A bracing account of discovery ... Glistens with deftly told snippets and character-rich stories' Financial Times 'Marks the birth of a new star of non-fiction' William Dalrymple A captivating, lyrical and deeply discerning portrait of life in the Cornish town of Newlyn, the largest working fishing port in Britain, from a brilliant debut writer There is the Cornwall Lamorna Ash knew as a child – the idyllic, folklore-rich place where she spent her summer holidays. Then there is the Cornwall she discovers when, feeling increasingly dislocated in London, she moves to Newlyn, a fishing town near Land's End. This Cornwall is messier and harder; it doesn't seem like a place that would welcome strangers. Before long, however, Lamorna finds herself on a week-long trawler trip with a crew of local fishermen, afforded a rare glimpse into their world, their warmth and their humour. Out on the water, miles from the coast, she learns how fishing requires you to confront who you are and what it is that tethers you to the land. But she also realises that this proud and compassionate community, sustained and defined by the sea for centuries, is under threat, living in the lengthening shadow cast by globalisation. An evocative journey of personal discovery replete with the poetry and deep history of our fishing communities, Dark, Salt, Clear confirms Lamorna Ash as a strikingly original new voice.

Life in a Cornish Fishing Town

Dark, Salt, Clear

Sarah Christine Gill

I find a horrifying kind of satisfaction in gutting. It is the most visceral experience. I make a gash with the knife in the shape of a thin smile and dig the knife deep inside. Being clumsy, it takes me several minutes to pull the glistening purple, pink and crimson guts out. They eventually come out in a single strand, like the magician's trick of bringing out a stream of coloured handkerchiefs from his sleeve in one flourish. The guts comprise intestines, the vesica piscis 'swim bladder', and a strawberry-yoghurt-coloured liver so soft it falls apart as soon as you touch it and has to be flicked out with the knife. 

I am especially fascinated by monks. They are the bulldogs of the sea: huge and globular, horribly ugly with rows of pointed teeth. When they come up in hauls, monks often have multiple partially chewed up fish dangling halfway out of their mouths. By the time they reach the fish room their bulbous heads have been hacked off with a machete-like knife and all that is left are their great meaty tails. 

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