Lights refract through smoke, catch suspended or carry upwards, into the roofspaces of an unnamed city. Edmund Davie's debut shambles along this city's streets, its granular spaces, through the classical unities of a single day. Lights in their many forms reflect in the labyrinths of a universe in which nothing happens for a reason. Transcendence or a false beacon from a distant intersection. Signs are taken for portents. Something broken and burning is flung through a window, only to be flung again... Lights dazzle through systematic cul-de-sacs that recall Oulipo games, and elsewhere in the scent of British mid-century Proustians caught in the amber of sleep paralysis. Lights contains a map and an index. Welcome back.