At 72 years old Iain Sinclair shows no sign of slowing down, either as an author or filmmaker; this is his second book of 2015. He would probably smile wryly at his activities being described as a literary career; nevertheless, if the word is used as a verb, meaning ‘to move swiftly and in an uncontrolled way’, rather than as a noun, the description fits. Much of Sinclair’s best-known writing is a one-man infantry charge generating a stream of prose, partitioned between different covers but really part of one vast meta-book, or map, of a territory that is as much mental as physical. Movement is the method: one kind of career begetting another.
