‘The squadron left today for the city. The mess cold and sad, Verschoyle, with uncharacteristic generosity, said I could keep the monoplane.’
William Boyd was born in 1952 in Accra in Ghana, where he lived for nine years. His most recent novel, Sweet Caress, is published by Bloomsbury in the UK and the US. He is the author of three collections of short stories and is the screenwriter of thirteen films, one of which, The Trench (1999), he …
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
’I once heard a theory about this town, this place where we work and wrangle, where we swindle and swive‘.
Granta 100: One Hundred’s guest-editor on the challenge of putting together a milestone issue.
‘What is the point of rising early? I congratulate myself if I'm out of bed before midday.’
‘On one of the sunniest of bright May mornings, Senator Dom Liceu Maximiliano Lobo needlessly ran his comb through his neat goatee and ordered his chauffeur to pull into the side of the road.’
‘Somehow by putting things into words you’re taking a situation that feels very out of control and creating a kind of illusion of control over it.’
