In this episode, poet Suzannah Evans discusses James Tate’s ‘Making the Best of the Holidays’ and how reading this work influenced the writing of her own poem ‘A Course in Miracles’. In the interview, Suzannah reflects on the use of form, tone, humour, and the notion of objectionable or challenging narrators as she unpicks James Tate’s piece ‘Making the Best of the Holidays’.  She goes on to discuss her own work ‘A Course in Miracles’, in relation to ideas of faith, encountering different kinds of spiritual or transcendental experiences, and absorbing the sustenance that is on offer. Suzannah Evans is the author of two collections of poetry, Near Future and Space Baby, both published by Nine Arches Press. Her first pamphlet Confusion Species was a winner in the 2012 Poetry Business Competition, and her second, Green, will be published by Little Betty Press next year. She lives in Sheffield and is a creative director of Sheaf Poetry Festival.    A Course in MiraclesHowarden, 2019 I’ve been counting the fly agaricson the library lawn and todaythere are 31.  At lunch the theology scholarlaughs because I’m wearing slippers.I eat a baked avocado, which I’venever eaten before.  I watch the yewsthat brush the churchyard wallwhile he pronounces the Greek Αποκάλυψicand asks me what is being revealedthat might not be known otherwise.The avocado has been cooked in its skinwith red onion and pepper.  A visiting vicartells me Christians are unafraid becausethey know they will be saved and asksif I have a faith like that?  I imagine myselfin the ruins of my house, fashioninga fallout shelter from a blown-off door.When John ate the scroll in Revelationit tasted both bitter and sweetand allowed him to speak prophesy, butdid he wash it down with anything?The teacher of A Course in Miraclessays consuming food is not essentialbut a human experience we’ve grown used to -while polishing off the last forkfulsof a tuna jacket.  Every daymore toadstools rise out of the grasslike cartoon thought-bubbles.I have been reading about the expanseof their finely rigged root systemsand how they communicate with trees.If I have faith in anything it’s the plants.When the time comes they’ll eat me inside out.   Making the Best of the Holidays by James Tate (Harper Collins, 2004) Justine called on Christmas Day to say shewas thinking of killing herself. I said, ‘We’rein the middle of opening presents, Justine. Couldyou possibly call back later, that is, if you’restill alive.’  She was furious with me and calledme all sorts of names which I refuse to dignifyby repeating them. I hung up on her and returnedto the joyful task of opening presents. Everyoneseemed delighted with what they got, and thatdefinitely included me. I placed a few more logson the fire, and then the phone range again. Thistime it was Hugh and he had just taken all of hispills and washed them down with a quart of gin.‘Sleep it off, Hugh,’ I said, ‘I can barely under-stand you, you’re slurring so badly. Call metomorrow, Hugh, and Merry Christmas.’ The roastin the oven smelled delicious. The kids were playingwith their new toys. Loni was giving me a bigChristmas kiss when the phone rang again. It wasDebbie. ‘I hate you,’ she said. ‘You’re the mostdisgusting human being on the planet.’ ‘You’reabsolutely right,’ I said, ‘and I’ve always beenaware of this. Nonetheless, Merry Christmas, Debbie.’Halfway through dinner the phone rang again, butthis time Loni answered it. When she came backto the table she looked pale. ‘Who was it?’ I asked. ‘It was my mother,’ she said. ‘And whatdid she say?’ I asked. ‘She said she wasn’t mymother,’ she said.