Bridget O’Connor’s first volume of short stories, Here Comes John, landed like a meteor in 1995. Stylish, cruelly funny, utterly physical – her tightly structured stories are crammed with poetry. Every O’Connor story is a performance, a live fight with time and decay, disgust and the human body. She wrote intensely from her time and place; to read her now is to be catapulted back to 1990s London. Yet the voice, the themes are more relevant than ever. No wonder she was so preoccupied with temporality: she was before her time.