‘Mitchell's writing is a blueprint for a New York which was then disappearing and is now almost lost.’
On December 19, 1970 the writer Joseph Mitchell crossed the Hudson River from Manhattan to scavenge in the condemned Hoboken Ferryhouse. Its windows were knocked out, the paint was peeling and the tin roof rolled back on itself. Broken glass, old newspapers, rags and trash covered the floors. Mitche…
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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.
‘The last issue of Granta celebrated its twenty-fifth anniversary and retraced a little of its pre-1979 history as a magazine for and by the students of Cambridge University.’
’She met my father in Texas and then they moved north, where I was born in Cincinnati.‘
‘Chinechelum said little as her mother drove her to the airport.’
‘He'll be ruthless with himself in his pursuit of boundless health to avoid his mother's fate: Mental death.’
Marie-Margaux Tsakiri-Scanatovits responds to Helen Simpson’s ‘Night Thoughts’ in Granta 115: The F Word.
