Abbie Leeson's Overload is an artefact of our time: luminous and brutalist. Its strikingly illustrated pages offer windows into contemporary loneliness, the sham of digital convenience with its endless facsimiles of intimacy, the impossible leaps of faith required to come of age within a world on fire. Leeson's writing is lyrical, savvy, sensuous, ruthless; her artwork iconic, noiresque. "I just want someone to kiss at the end of the world," says her speaker, summoning that burning blend of alienation and hope that, as readers, we have no choice but to recognise, and call our own.