Glyph

Half sentences and strange loops spiraled at the edges, betraying my intentions.

Glyphs I had not consciously written appeared between written lines, some reversed, some seemingly mirrored, always, always looping back.

By midnight, Iron Ridge was a fortress of alarms and exhaustion.

Every surface seemed to vibrate.

We made our descent, each step drawn out, shadowed by the echo of every failed expedition before us.

The mural room was colder than memory, the churn of ruined machinery clanging somewhere too deep to place.

Glyphs bled through every wall, more alive than ever, a fever of line and intent.

The presence inside was real now, oppressive, a pressure behind my eyes, threatening language itself with every thought.

The first Glyph, that's G-L-I-F-F, centers on two siblings in a chilling dystopia in a future that feels very near.

And that novel came out last year.

Now Ali's back with Glyph the second, this one spelled G-L-Y-P-H, and it considers our own troubling times and the unbreakable connection between past and present.

Ali Smith is originally from Scotland, but she now lives in Cambridge and joins me today from our London studio.

Ali, how's it going? Thank you for being here.

Can you tell me about the first word, Gliff, the G-L-I-F-F? Where does that come from?

Oh, sure.

Uh, it actually comes from the second word, Glyph, G-L-Y-P-H.