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In Red House, her third collection, Sasha Dugdale evokes the ghosts and presences that flit about on the margins of our lives, finding them at the edge of towns where superstores and allotments blur an older landscape, in Europe where emigrants leave their gods, their neighbours, their memories ‘jettisoned like old clothes’, and across the chalk downs of her native Sussex. Haunted by history, confronted by primal brutalities, the poems in Red House proclaim the fierce, bright authenticity that is ‘all the proof we need that we’re alive’.