“the dwellings built beneath the dam / must be evacuated”, writes Andrew McMillan in his third + most accomplished poetry collection yet, pandemonium. If playtime was a spiritual and thematic successor to physical, wherein McMillan was working on perfecting his style, then pandemonium takes that stylistic work to new, less familiar + trodden themes — a stark move from the bodily, physical and playful, to the mind and spirit, to an emotional state so suffocated, reaching out to the natural world for clarity, order, comfort. McMillan writes of mental illness with great acuity, but never fails to find a new visual lexicon for it: he writes of “a bucket under the bathroom light / to catch the dripping rain”, and of medication, with “each morning’s handful / a way of distracting the body from its decline”. He also writes in such a tender, vulnerable way about love, its difficulties as well as its triumphs: “and I think we mistook it for love / this closed hand of a pill-box”, on the one hand, and on the other: “when I look at you / and see the man I met when we were young / and you were well”. In ‘swan’, inspired by and written after Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, “a queer” appeals to his mother to remember him as a “newly-hatched cygnet”; “I plucked each feather from myself”. From his heartbreaking ‘George’ sequence to the ‘knotwood’ sonnets, McMillan is dazzling here, reaching out desperately in free-fall, and catching his reader’s hands on the way.