Invisible Ink is the ‘most brilliant climate crisis memoir the world has never heard of, and no one wants to read’, according to the entirely unbiased author.

It is a rollicking, white-knuckled ride through 20 years of misadventures on the frontline of climate reporting in Africa.

It is sometimes dark, sometimes funny, often furious. It's also 'too much', according to one critic. Way too much.

A self-inflicted injury this big — turning a planet’s climate system into chaos — is too much.

Join our intrepid misanthropic memoirist — a competent writer who is not a man, if you can believe it — as she goes utterly mad in the face of climate collapse, and is absolutely sane as she watches herself do so.

Warning: includes at least one irate witch hunter, a few insurgents with hand-me-down Kalashnikovs and murderous intent, some predatory capitalists, a sexist or two, and a deity in the shape of a cat.

Because no adventure is complete without a cat.

Even dog people know this to be true.