The only end of writing,' Dr Johnson said, is to enable the readers better to enjoy life, or better to endure it.' Misprint offers the reader countries and languages perceived through the eyes of youth and loss. Untimely deaths and memories of far-off lands abound, some dreamed, some lived. In this first collection, James Womack plays with ideas of tradition, lightly conjuring heavy themes, and makes a bow to pulp culture. He ferries us between Russia, Spain and North Korea and the differently real' virtual environments of film, dream, ghosts, the North Korean Press Agency. Eurydice', the concluding sequence, draws the different strands of the collection together. We end up dislocated: bewildered but rather happier about the future. As Mr Edwards said to the Great Cham: I, too, Sir, in my time have tried being a philosopher; but somehow cheerfulness kept creeping in.'