Foreshore has secured the memoir of Emma Culshaw Bell, star of the popular TV series Narrow Escapes. Titled Adrift, the book is set for publication this spring under Tributary, an imprint of Foreshore Publishing London. Culshaw Bell describes Adrift as “a sharp witted blend of memoir, travel, grief, humour, and personal transformation” She gained fame through her appearances in several episodes of Channel 4’s Narrow Escapes, a fly-on-the-wall series that highlights the diverse characters living along the canals, which premiered in late April last year. A highly anticipated second series is scheduled to air this spring. Nicki van Zandt, Publishing Manager at Foreshore, said, “We are thrilled to sign this work. Narrow Escapes was one of daytime’s top performers on Channel 4, and Emma one of the stars of the series. She will be back for the second series and her memoir is sure to be a big hit with fans of the show and also with anyone who has ever dreamed of giving it up for a life on a narrowboat. “The book offers a humorous, raw, and relatable account of an alternative lifestyle many of us secretly aspire to.” Adrift will be available for pre-order in paperback in April. £12.50.
Foreshore is delighted to announce the June 2025 publication of The Coming of Age of Ranjith SS, a major new book by award winning screenwriter Ramesh Avadhani. His first novel, The Coming of Age of Ranjith SS, is a domestic thriller set in India in the ’70s. “It is a real gift to publish Ramesh Avadhani, whose work is so refreshingly original, bold and funny,” said Phil M. Shirley, Publisher-in-Chief at Foreshore Publishing. “We we thrilled to get the chance to read The Coming of Age of Ranjith SS, and delighted to sign the work. It’s a real coup for us.” The Coming of Age of Ranjith SS presents fifteen interconnected stories featuring Ranjith S.S., a 21-year-old schizoid Tamil Brahmin whose life is a veritable rollercoaster of Shakespearean proportions – romantic misadventures, family drama, tragedy, mystery, exploitation. The narrative also explores the intricacies of East Indian Catholic and Tamil Brahmin cultures while depicting Ranjith’s unexpected and profound journey of self-discovery. Ramesh Avadhani is a novelist, writer and screenwriter. His short script Gustaakhi (Audacity) won awards from Indo French International Film Festival, Uruvatti International Film Festival, The Next International Short Film Festival, and Golden Sparrow International Film Festival. Avadhani’s writing has appeared in various well known journals of the Universities of California, Drexel, Liverpool, Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology, and Western Australia, among others. His feature length screenplay The Share Taxi Mystery is currently under option for film adaptation. He lives in Bengaluru.
A journey through the centuries on the way to a threatened planet, Emily Chance’s astonishing visionary science fiction novel Hermes both reflects and redefines the history of our own world. The brilliant-white wheel revolved majestically through the emptiness of space, a glorious contrast to the blackness it was passing through. The station looked fully functional, its antennae spun around, searching out the heavens, and the docked vehicle appeared to be ready to journey into the deep, but the truth was quite different, this glorious testament to earlier achievements had been abandoned long ago. Onboard only one system was active, the scanner; and it was scanning the dead planet below. The scan had been triggered by the intelligence that, in the absence of the crew, now controlled the station, a keen, resourceful, intelligence, that had been crafted with noble motives; to build a space vehicle that would take its creator to the stars. Its mission, now, entirely different, was to scan for signs of life below, but there was nothing. The intelligence adjusted the station’s orbit over the planet. Paradoxically, the decision to initiate the manoeuvre was driven by an emotion, hope, not that there was much. The skies were toxic, electrical storms rent the sulphurous carbon dioxide-infested clouds. As the station continued its journey, the intelligence updated the log, written in the beautiful script of the nation of storytellers who, one hundred years ago, had commissioned its construction. However, for any future reader, it would be the last fifty years entries that they would be rivetted by; the story of the planet’s unremitting decay, of the creeping destruction of all life, overseen by the dominant species of the planet. One way and another, everything had the life choked out of it, and no attempt had been made to stop it from happening. However, there was to be one more act in this tragic drama, the scan’s beacon began to glow and resonate, four hundred and ten kilometres below, something was moving. *** He crawled up the dune on all fours. He was covered from the searing heat of the sun in tattered and torn remnants of what had once been a state-of-the-art environmental suit. The real problem now, though, was breathing. The atmosphere was so thin it felt like he was inhaling dust. He stopped to thump his chest and coughed. Could he remember a time when breathing was easy, when you could inhale cool mountain air and gather energy from it? Adam had moved up into the mountains of the South Island twenty years ago when the food riots had reached them. The riots had been going on across the rest of the world for many years, but his homeland, far off the beaten track, had managed to beat off any invaders and sustain itself. Eventually though, hundreds of thousands had arrived, overwhelming the local navy, and managed to make landfall. They were desperate, starving and war had quickly broken out. Well, not war – that sounds like something, coordinated, and organised. This was everyone for themselves and it was ugly. Anarchy had come within days, and he had retreated inland. He knew he could hunt and fish in the lower Alps and sustain himself. But so did others and there had been confrontations, which had led to death. He had survived in this manner for twenty years, isolated from the outside world without news of what was happening beyond the valley. Until now, when the forest fires had begun a few days ago. He knew if he was going to survive, he had to make it to the sea. The journey to the coast had begun with a climb to the head of the valley to spy out the land to the coast. He had brought his infrared binoculars so he could check the city. Even now, after all these years, he was shocked. Buildings were on fire, smoke rising into the sky. Some had collapsed, others were scarred, and external walls had disintegrated, exposing ransacked apartments, restaurants and offices. A story of ruin that global media had followed until it didn’t. There was something else he noticed. An eerie silence; no traffic, no aircraft flying, no movement at all. The wind got up, which was when he sensed something even more defining: the stench of death. It emerged out of bodies lying in the streets, and herds of cattle lying in the fields. A tale of unchecked rampant disease, of the thousand and one ailments of an unhealthy, disease-ridden population. He decided to go North and avoid the city. He only needed to crawl a little further to reach the top of the Dune. On he went, clawing his way to the top. At last, he was there, he scrambled over the top and looked out. It was over. Far above, the intelligence considered the lone figure, looking out across the dried-up ocean seabed. He seemed to falter, then collapse in a heap and finally, he turned over and looked up to the sky. That was it, the last man standing… falling. So, what should the intelligence do? It had been born out of a desire to facilitate but somehow it had at some point grown beyond that. It was now capable of having a point of view, which it could act upon, and most importantly a view shaped by the moral compass of its creator. For a long time, the intelligence considered what to do. The creator had hoped to set out across the heavens to a world, teaming with life, that had been discovered one hundred years ago but had never found the means to do so. Therein lay the answer. They must reach out to the world that the creator had planned to visit. On board the Barnamaj Station the calibrations were made, the data assembled, and a gentle stream of pulses passed out into the heavens. Their plea for help began its forty-light-year odyssey. In response ‘they’ made no judgement; they simply
