The morning sun of the office desk. No more shall be said. Curruthers Building, St Johns Park, New Town. March 2011. Another day, another too books! This week, the theme is depressing , albeit for quite different reasons. Book one is Caryl Phillips’ A Distant Shore . I’ve read a few of his books, and although he’s not the most refined of writers, one thing that Caryl Phillips can do is tell a story. This story is one of two people, both lonely and exist largely outside the mainstream of society. One is a retired teacher and the other an African refugee. Stylistically, the book's sections jump between the perspectives of the two main characters, and the story is relayed in a non-linear, broken fashion, so the reader is often caught on the back foot in terms of the narrative. This isn’t too frustrating, although the emerging fact that one of the central characters – who increasingly narrates in the first person – is unreliable, throws in a bit of a twist. Most novels of this kind w