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All of This Unreal Time
What would you say if you had one ideal chance to speak yourself, to make a language that spoke across time to those you have loved, to those you have wronged, to all those countless human and non-human lives that have intersected and impacted on yours, with or without your knowledge?
MAX PORTER'S All of This Unreal Time takes this idea—the poetic concept of ‘perfect speech’—and turns it into a wild, psycholo-delic apology rant. Moving with Porter’s peerless linguistic skill between a single speaker’s self-lacerating ‘apology� to an excavation of family trauma, late-capitalist guilt and rage and the shame that attends—that must attend—modern masculinity. All this is, of course, handled with the usual slipperiness and smarts—where nothing is quite as it seems, pregnant with its opposite, a shape-shifting tour-de-force of voice and concept from our most exciting contemporary writer.
MAX PORTER'S All of This Unreal Time takes this idea—the poetic concept of ‘perfect speech’—and turns it into a wild, psycholo-delic apology rant. Moving with Porter’s peerless linguistic skill between a single speaker’s self-lacerating ‘apology� to an excavation of family trauma, late-capitalist guilt and rage and the shame that attends—that must attend—modern masculinity. All this is, of course, handled with the usual slipperiness and smarts—where nothing is quite as it seems, pregnant with its opposite, a shape-shifting tour-de-force of voice and concept from our most exciting contemporary writer.
110 pages, Paperback
Published October 25, 2024
5 people are currently reading
450 people want to read
About the author
Max Porter
47books1,761followersMax Porter’s first novel, Grief Is the Thing with Feathers won the Sunday Times/Peter, Fraser + Dunlop Young Writer of the Year, the International Dylan Thomas Prize, the Europese Literatuurprijs and the BAMB Readers� Award and was shortlisted for the Guardian First Book Award and the Goldsmiths Prize. It has been sold in twenty-nine territories. Complicité and Wayward’s production of Grief Is the Thing with Feathers directed by Enda Walsh and starring Cillian Murphy opened in Dublin in March 2018. Max lives in Bath with his family.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
November 16, 2024
Simply fantastic. Max is my favourite contemporary writer and this is the perfect example of why.
Able to convey so much with so little, this book particularly resonated as I'm a man of a certain age where everything just felt so spot on
A gorgeous piece of writing - I'm now desperate to see the film
Able to convey so much with so little, this book particularly resonated as I'm a man of a certain age where everything just felt so spot on
A gorgeous piece of writing - I'm now desperate to see the film
January 14, 2025
Beautifully written and published
November 16, 2024
I don't have much to say other than this was just lovely. Max Porter knows just how to say so much with so little. My heartttttt.
December 22, 2024
“Forgive us our thoughts as we neglect the thoughts of others�
December 18, 2024
I was unsure what I thought of Max Porter's writing having not really clicked with Grief is a Thing with Feathers. Maybe my defences were down as a result because this small book hit me in the emotional guts.
It's at times almost uncomfortably pitying, grovelling and shameful. In a way that feels hard to look at in the eye.
I loved the way Max addresses in particular those women in his life who have set an expectation for his character that he struggles to match. His response to these higher dreams are apologetic and messy.
It's so so good.
It's at times almost uncomfortably pitying, grovelling and shameful. In a way that feels hard to look at in the eye.
I loved the way Max addresses in particular those women in his life who have set an expectation for his character that he struggles to match. His response to these higher dreams are apologetic and messy.
It's so so good.
February 5, 2025
Een pareltje in mijn boekenkast, eentje die ik nu twee keer las en waar de poëtische zinnen bij het zomaar openslaan ook telkens wel iets losmaken.
Prachtig vormgegeven en zo benieuwd nu ook naar de kortfilm die de basis was van dit boekje.
Quote: “I was as jealous as the wintering side of the earth is, watching spring trot away at the pace of a romance.�
Prachtig vormgegeven en zo benieuwd nu ook naar de kortfilm die de basis was van dit boekje.
Quote: “I was as jealous as the wintering side of the earth is, watching spring trot away at the pace of a romance.�
December 22, 2024
Don’t know how this did what it did to me. Suspicious of witchcraft
April 12, 2025
"
Gather ye rosebuds
while you may,
for quickly time is flying.
"
Gather ye rosebuds
while you may,
for quickly time is flying.
"
Read
December 15, 2024The species-deep story that I didn’t dedicate myself, all of this unreal time, to you. You who grew beside me.
December 28, 2024
Introspective ass shit. One read isn’t enough
March 8, 2025
I feel seen. Max is incredible at saying so much in so little words.
Gather ye rosebuds
while you may,
for quickly time is flying.
Gather ye rosebuds
while you may,
for quickly time is flying.
February 16, 2025
In a dark place mentally, so having a short prose to match the emotions that I have was a comfort. I’d really like to see the short visual piece that this book is taken from.
November 25, 2024
I love how Max Porter touches on masculinity and violence in all of his work in such varying ways. Even when his style remains the same, every bit of work feels so distinct in its own right.
February 2, 2025
I always feel I understand boys and men better after reading Max Porter. Another marvellous book.
April 14, 2025
Another one of Porter’s masterpieces. His writing is a force of nature and entirely engulfs the reader in language magic. I cannot praise him highly enough. A literary hero of our time.
November 14, 2024
Gorgeous pocket of gold
November 27, 2024
My heart. Fuck.
January 1, 2025
Opening lines: ‘I came out here to apologise�
December 18, 2024
Burst out crying on the train home. Strangely fitting.
Absolutely stunning.
Would recommend.
Like all of his work.
Absolutely stunning.
Would recommend.
Like all of his work.
December 11, 2024
Hypnotic exhumation of one's past, present, and future as a series of soul awakening rants + self-deprecations + apologies. It recalls men who sail away from home, leaving forgotten grans and mams. It pinpoints men who stack bad decisions and actions atop one another and blame their dads and their dads and their dads; history is death masquerading as boys and men.It summons our weak resolve and faux liberalism and performative environmentalism in the face of capitalism, hiding behind blue screens of nothingness. It shouts for our laziness to love ourselves and the people who grew beside us. It yearns for absolution, to shed its sinful skin, but the crevasse too wide to cross, dream too big to realise. So let's take it one day at a time, because each day is more than enough (to handle).
December 16, 2024
"I came out here to apologise."
I can't tell you why those few words carried so much weight. I can't tell you why I'm crying over experiences I should not relate to. I can't tell you why I'm a different person having read this. I can't tell you what changed me, but I know it did. There was too much contained in that little of a book. It broke me but opened me to examine my soul with honesty.
The anger, the regret, the despondency, the wrath, the shame, the guilt, the sadness. It's grief. It's the knowing what is known but too late. It's the clawing backward for a second chance only to be met with the cold conscience of time. The intensity of knowing this is final, this is done, this is it. Choices are stone whether I made them or they were made for me.
Poetry aims to capture the hidden intricacies of the human experience, and Max broke my soul with his. I did not anticipate the weight of these meager, spaced-out words to hurt this much. This poetry is pain, and it attaches to the reader with parasitic depth, forcing them to confront that which makes them human in a void of unreality. It was an experience, and those willing to take it will find there are two sides, and they are both chosen and constructed by the same hands.
It was beautiful. I was carried through a narrative buried in my soul. I was made vulnerable. I felt the tension as the words raged faster, and I felt the drop in my stomach when I was, all of a sudden, alone in shame and accompanied by regret. Cillian’s introduction, the structure, the prose, all of it - it gifts a perpetual rebirth every time any eyes glaze those lines. And what the words could not communicate, tears filled in the rest. ...it is more than enough.
I can't tell you why those few words carried so much weight. I can't tell you why I'm crying over experiences I should not relate to. I can't tell you why I'm a different person having read this. I can't tell you what changed me, but I know it did. There was too much contained in that little of a book. It broke me but opened me to examine my soul with honesty.
The anger, the regret, the despondency, the wrath, the shame, the guilt, the sadness. It's grief. It's the knowing what is known but too late. It's the clawing backward for a second chance only to be met with the cold conscience of time. The intensity of knowing this is final, this is done, this is it. Choices are stone whether I made them or they were made for me.
Poetry aims to capture the hidden intricacies of the human experience, and Max broke my soul with his. I did not anticipate the weight of these meager, spaced-out words to hurt this much. This poetry is pain, and it attaches to the reader with parasitic depth, forcing them to confront that which makes them human in a void of unreality. It was an experience, and those willing to take it will find there are two sides, and they are both chosen and constructed by the same hands.
It was beautiful. I was carried through a narrative buried in my soul. I was made vulnerable. I felt the tension as the words raged faster, and I felt the drop in my stomach when I was, all of a sudden, alone in shame and accompanied by regret. Cillian’s introduction, the structure, the prose, all of it - it gifts a perpetual rebirth every time any eyes glaze those lines. And what the words could not communicate, tears filled in the rest. ...it is more than enough.
November 15, 2024
I’m bound heart and soul to anything Max Porter writes. The universal depth behind his words strike the mind in a powerful blast. Once again, I’m in awe!
January 6, 2025
“Next to me, out here, // calm in the light, // is the apology / I cradled closest, // the species-deep, Sorry // that I didn’t dedicate / myself, / all / of this / unreal / time, // to you.� Max Porter continues to out-Porter himself with his latest published work, the poem All Of This Unreal Time, which also doubles as a script for Porter’s film of the same name, starring Cillian Murphy, who writes a warm foreword for the book. Part outpouring, part apology, this is a text in which language makes and unmakes itself in the exploration of expression and exactness. “I think she was breathing deeply, // gazing at the grey slab of lazily / painted sea, // the badly remembered me. / She was enraptured, / decoding, inviting my self into / the scene. // And out to sea were little / human specks, / and it was apparent / that these little marks were me, // many terrible times over.� Porter is as ever a master at bending language into the most striking configurations: “the hard work of staying�, the “architecture of my personhood is shittiness�, and the breathless declaration that “this is what bombards me, / heavenly father, / in my guilt, // in my 21st century hiding, // bathed in the blue screen blinding light of your frightful nothingness.� The frantic speaker is at times unlikeable in his directness but remains engaging and loveable in his painful yet enduringly gentle candour: “So, listen, / my friend, / I’m not sorry that I was a body / at all times / failing, // but I wish I had been / less deluded / about the / strangeness / and / shortness of such a thing.� I’m so sad I can’t make the London premiere of the film this week, but very excited to hear Max and the legendary Anna B Savage performing from the poem later this month. As with all things Max Porter, and especially these live renditions of his work (like Lanny and Shy), it’ll be a treat.
December 7, 2024
Whatever I write here would sell this book short. I recommend you seek it out and experience it yourself.
It's probably the best thing I've read all year. It's a beautifully poetic sermon between you and yourself. It's an acknowledgement of your shortcomings and an apology for your actions.
The speaker laments his weaknesses, and his greatest weakness is probably his insecurities in speaking his mind. He laments not opening his heart up to those he loved, for being too shy to explore more intimately with the people he loves. I'm sure anyone with a quieter and more sensitive soul can relate. I know I can.
What sets this book apart from most epics (a small epic but an epic still) is the use of the page. Most of them are so, well, epic in length that words are positively crammed onto the page, but Porter's spacing and structure go a long way to control the pacing of your reading. Which in turn gives you the feeling of receiving a sort of centred sermon on your life.
It's probably the best thing I've read all year. It's a beautifully poetic sermon between you and yourself. It's an acknowledgement of your shortcomings and an apology for your actions.
The speaker laments his weaknesses, and his greatest weakness is probably his insecurities in speaking his mind. He laments not opening his heart up to those he loved, for being too shy to explore more intimately with the people he loves. I'm sure anyone with a quieter and more sensitive soul can relate. I know I can.
What sets this book apart from most epics (a small epic but an epic still) is the use of the page. Most of them are so, well, epic in length that words are positively crammed onto the page, but Porter's spacing and structure go a long way to control the pacing of your reading. Which in turn gives you the feeling of receiving a sort of centred sermon on your life.
December 29, 2024
“The species-deep sorry�.
Despite Porter’s slippery, spaced-out lineation and lyricism, “All of this Unreal Time� remains lucid and life-affirming. But, being an apology for anthropocentrism, the life this affirms is one that must be found in the future, through changes and action taken in the present. It’s hard to define, but a poetic monologue, replete and rhythmed with regret, comes close. Porter’s sleight of hand is on full show here, nimbly navigating interconnected issues of masculinity, fatherhood, and our harmful inheritance of human-centricity.
This was a Christmas present, and although I was moved overall, it can be read in about half an hour, so I might have felt a bit shortchanged had I bought this myself. I think this began its life as a script for a voice over in an immersive installation, narrated by Cillian Murphy; shame to have missed that, but going see if I can at least find the film version.
Despite Porter’s slippery, spaced-out lineation and lyricism, “All of this Unreal Time� remains lucid and life-affirming. But, being an apology for anthropocentrism, the life this affirms is one that must be found in the future, through changes and action taken in the present. It’s hard to define, but a poetic monologue, replete and rhythmed with regret, comes close. Porter’s sleight of hand is on full show here, nimbly navigating interconnected issues of masculinity, fatherhood, and our harmful inheritance of human-centricity.
This was a Christmas present, and although I was moved overall, it can be read in about half an hour, so I might have felt a bit shortchanged had I bought this myself. I think this began its life as a script for a voice over in an immersive installation, narrated by Cillian Murphy; shame to have missed that, but going see if I can at least find the film version.
November 12, 2024
This apology, crafted in simple yet moving prose, and placed within a slim book the size of my hand, had a strange hold on me throughout. Who is the narrator? Who does he address? What is he apologising for? The answers are not singular, and they are not meant to be. I need to watch the performance to give a strong review, and while I will watch it soon, I have never claimed for my reviews to be detailed and thorough.
I wonder, however, that when the blurb talks about drawing on the concept of 'perfect speech' and seeks to not squander the 'ideal chance' for a universally resonant language, does it undercut the apology of masculinity it portrays? Does the choice of an Irish actor work as an implicit critique of choosing English as a universal? Is it even intentional, and does that matter? Ok fine, I need to watch the performance, but till then, I withhold a final star.
I wonder, however, that when the blurb talks about drawing on the concept of 'perfect speech' and seeks to not squander the 'ideal chance' for a universally resonant language, does it undercut the apology of masculinity it portrays? Does the choice of an Irish actor work as an implicit critique of choosing English as a universal? Is it even intentional, and does that matter? Ok fine, I need to watch the performance, but till then, I withhold a final star.
January 2, 2025
Fittingly, Max Porter’s All of This Unreal Time became the first book I read this year. I think he’s one of the authors I’ve read the most and listened to the most interviews with, whether in podcasts or at Louisiana. And I just can’t seem to let him go.
The text in All of This is a poem, a stream of consciousness, or an “apology rant,� as the back cover puts it. I’ve listened to Porter read it himself, watched the film where Cillian Murphy recites it, and now I’ve read it—and every time, it’s shifted in form and focus. It’s not Porter’s most accessible work, but it won’t be the last time I read it.
If you haven’t read him yet, I’d recommend starting somewhere else—maybe by listening to one of the many podcasts where he’s interviewed. He’s wonderfully interesting and thoughtful. I’m really looking forward to rereading his other books again this year.
The text in All of This is a poem, a stream of consciousness, or an “apology rant,� as the back cover puts it. I’ve listened to Porter read it himself, watched the film where Cillian Murphy recites it, and now I’ve read it—and every time, it’s shifted in form and focus. It’s not Porter’s most accessible work, but it won’t be the last time I read it.
If you haven’t read him yet, I’d recommend starting somewhere else—maybe by listening to one of the many podcasts where he’s interviewed. He’s wonderfully interesting and thoughtful. I’m really looking forward to rereading his other books again this year.
December 29, 2024
While still trying to digest the power and imagery and insanity of the previous page, you can’t help but speed onto the next with an irresistible, irrepressible pace that keeps gathering momentum; the gentle slap in the face becoming full backhanders. But that isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of hugs in there, or an urge to be hugged. It is a song, or powerful scene, or verse, the core of an explanation. A how-to-apologise.
Max’s voice in character is always one I want to hear, and to listen to what he has to say. Profoundly striking, and brutally honest, he is the perfect mouthpiece of a turbulent age, bold enough to step forward, and encouraging us to follow next. And for this work, it’s brilliant! I’m still not quite sure that I yet comprehend the depth of how so.
Max’s voice in character is always one I want to hear, and to listen to what he has to say. Profoundly striking, and brutally honest, he is the perfect mouthpiece of a turbulent age, bold enough to step forward, and encouraging us to follow next. And for this work, it’s brilliant! I’m still not quite sure that I yet comprehend the depth of how so.
December 25, 2024
“My wondering was so limited and free from wonderment, I gorged and littered, half-loved and discarded. I’m sorry for forgetting how small I was, in relation to an inlet, to a cove, to the ripe gloaming turning of an evening as the sun smiles over the lip of a day. I’m sorry I was trapped in hours when there is no such thing. I yearn to backwards flood my impatient self with a wordless sense of smallness and timelessness.�
February 26, 2025
Quite simply, I don’t think there’s anyone writing in English at the moment with as much mastery over form, prose and content - and how these interplay - than Max Porter. He has that rare ability to make me deeply feel a text, not because of the words on the page, but the rhythms that sit underneath, that fill the spaces - my perspective of me being ever-so-slightly shifted from what it was before.
A marvel - looking forward to fishing out Cillian/Collins Murphy’s reading of it too.
A marvel - looking forward to fishing out Cillian/Collins Murphy’s reading of it too.
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