I spent 2017 researching a novel partially set in a prison’s solitary confinement wing. I have been fortunate enough to never have experienced solitary myself, which is not to be taken for granted if you lived in Iran and were involved in politics.

When Dolours and Marian began their hunger strike, they each faced a life sentence, alongside six other (all male) I.R.A. members, for the two car bombs that exploded in front of the Old Bailey Courthouse and the Ministry of Agriculture in London on March

“Why,” asks the girl at the gift shop register, echoing the question I’ve been asking myself on and off for the last week, “would anyone come here on vacation?”

“I’d had enough of the music scene, all that psychedelic shit and white honky monody.”