The publication of an autobiography (of sorts), with its ominous title, has come as a surprise. Benedict has often lamented over his papal nomination; he’d planned to retire and dedicate himself to writing. Even as far back as 1995, when Prefect for the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, he had petitioned John Paul II several times to accept his resignation. Yet since retiring the papacy in 2013, his theological magnum opus hasn’t materialised, and nor will it.

For some people the thought of those in their middle­age having sex is one of life’s many taboos. When it comes to Alan Bennett’s new book, Smut: Two Unseemly Stories, there’s no getting away from the moans and giggles heard through the wall of your parent’s bedroom; no putting your fingers in your ears Mrs. Donaldson, the eponymous character of the first of the two short stories is a widow, who has long since relinquished her libido Her previous sexual experiences with Mr. Donaldson were strictly vanilla and unfulfilling. She works as a Simulated Patient at her local hospital, demonstrating a variety of ailments to be diagnosed by young medical students. To supplement her income she takes on two student lodgers, a couple called Andy and Laura. As rent day arrives and her new lodgers find themselves short, they propose an alternative payment: giving Mrs. Donaldson a demonstration of their own. Despite their erogenous offer, Mrs. Donaldson “still wasn’t sure she might have preferred marigolds.” The sex ensues. As things heat up: “His hand buried between her [Laura’s] legs she [Mrs. D.] found herself looking at the floor and wondering if it was time she had the carpet cleaned.’ And highlighting the true intimacy of the moment: “On her hands and knees across the bed Laura found her face only a foot or so from Mrs. Donaldson’s. They smiled. “Men.” said Laura conspiratorially as Andy pumped and panted behind her. Mrs. Donaldson smiled understandingly.’”

It’s pretty hard for us Homo sapiens (Latin for ‘wise’ or ‘knowing’ man) not to be fascinated by the prospect of our pan troglodyte cousins acquiring human language. Some, such as budgie and parrot enthusiasts, have already witnessed their tetrapods speaking and blaspheming. Bruno’s a little different: not only has he learned to mimic the sounds us humans make, he’s developed the ability– so we’re told – that sets us apart from all other sentient beings: the ability to look into the mirror and say “I”.

I was at my local bookshop recently looking for recommendations. The bookseller looked very excited and said he had something “out the back” that I might be interested in. That’s not the answer you expect from a highbrow bookshop in Clerkenwell. He brought out the latest novel by Jonathan Safran Foer, most famous for the novels Everything Is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Foer is also famous, and occasionally derided, for the unconventional style and format of his novels. Extremely Loud for instance, is littered with photographs, lists of numbers, fractious syntax and ends with a 14 page flipbook of a 9/11 ‘jumper’ being sucked back up into one of the towers. Initially, I wasn’t very impressed when the bookseller handed me a standard looking, slightly oversized paperback. He told me to open it. I flicked a few pages and then realised what all the fuss is about. Tree of Codes looks like this:

Chuck Palahniuk has a thing for single word titles: Pygmy, Snuff, Haunted, Diary, Choke, Survivor. His latest novel follows this trend and is titled, simply, Damned. Damned is the story of thirteen year old Madison, the daughter of a self­obsessed billionaire film star, who is left at her Swiss boarding school over Christmas while her parents go off adopting orphans. During this period of parental neglect, Madison dies of a marijuana overdose and ends up in Hell. Finding herself in a cell amongst the archetypes of the American high school movie genre, a jock, a nerd and a punk rocker, the group set out on a journey across Hell to confront Satan face to face. Madison’s Hell is overtly Palahnuikian; the English Patient plays on a loop, there are cannibalistic demons and, even in Hell, you’re harassed by call centre companies, albeit by damned telesales operatives. Palahniuk, the author of cult­classic Fight Club, is known for his nasty plots and marginalised characters and setting the latter firmly in Hell, the retirement village for all the world’s crazies, feels completely natural for Palahniuk

Ben Brooks is not only 19 and about to release his first novel, Grow Up - he also has a killer fringe. His book is a 'coming of age' narrative, the contents of which he’d rather not admit to his Mum... Hi Ben! Hi everyone! Tell us a little bit about yourself. I’m 19. I moved to London two weeks ago. I’m drinking strawberry water and looking at a shrub in the garden that my housemate is trying to destroy with firelighters. I feel okay I think. And a little about your new book Grow Up? Grow up is about someone I made-up who's trying his best to get taller, more attractive and be less mean.

Yesterday was a very special day for me. Two things happened. One, the skipping rope I’d ordered arrived and boy is she a looker: neon blue plastic rope, suppository shaped handles with built in pedometer AND calorie counter; it’s the sort of thing Dr. Who would use if he too was suffering from an acute case of mid-twenties-desk-podge. The second thing that happened was the devastating realisation that I cannot, for the life of me or my paunch, skip. Not even a single revolution of the rope, absolutely no hand-eye coordination whatsoever.

"Writer/editor Steven Partridge has posted a brilliant and amusing review of Crushed Mexican Spiders (the collection of short stories by Tibor Fischer published last year by Unbound) in which he discusses Possibly Forty Ships, the usually lesser mentioned but equally fantastic story, in interesting detail."

Gavin James Bower’s latest novel Made in Britain follows the lives of three teenagers growing up in one of Britain’s hard and deprived cities. All on the cusp of adulthood and the responsibilities it brings, the narrators are forced to confront their problems whether internally or in the town in which they live. Gavin, a former model, took some time out from being literary to chat to us.

Although highly contentious to both those in the book industry and its lay readers, the literary prize is undeniably ubiquitous. In the English speaking (reading) world British literature awards twenty prizes, British/Commonwealth writing four, Australian eight and America awards seventy five (more than one per state). There are twenty five awarded in Austria, one in Botswana, fifteen in ‘European languages’ (other than English) and 12 ‘worldwide in scope’. This doesn’t include the multitude of local or regional prizes for short-fiction and poetry that are advertised everywhere from lampposts to Craigslist.

John Waters has acquired his fair share of adjectives in his long dirty career: King of Sleaze, the Prince of Puke, the Pope of Trash. For him, the ultimate accolade, as the title of the final chapter of his new book Role Models suggests, is Cult Leader. It is a natural end-point and an obvious legacy for a man who has amassed a wealth of naughty titular. Waters, now 64, lays before us his pantheon of role models: musicians, clothes designers and artists as well cult members, pornographers and the ordinary (but obviously extraordinary) folk of his native Baltimore.

Now before everyone starts having a go at the priests we should remember that the recent failure to pass legislation allowing the election of women priests to the episcopate was the fault (that’s right, fault) not of priests and bishops but of the laity, the non-ordained who sit in the pews. The measure was supported by sizable majorities in two of the three houses in the General Synod, the House of Bishops and the House of Clergy, but failed to pass in the House of Laity. For the measure to pass it had to garner support in all three houses.