He deliberately conveys the messy, contingent, and complicated nature of personal and political history, through a frequently chaotic, untidy poetic method. His style is typified by the book’s cover, a murky picture of a grey sky and stormy sea, a battered brown hat tossed carelessly into the middle of it. That’s It’s About Time all over – muddy, moody, and understated in its human elements. Moss’s main weakness comes in his transitions between the sublime and the personal; rather more comfortable in the latter register, he never quite manages to make them fit together as smoothly as they should.