My first and only visit to a therapist cost me my red coral bracelet and my lover.
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‘My first and only visit to a therapist cost me my red coral bracelet and my lover.’
My first and only visit to a therapist cost me my red coral bracelet and my lover.
Sign in to Granta.com.
‘We meet at various points in the great swathes of the past that neither of us were alive to witness.’
Allen Bratton on a daytrip to a castle with his older boyfriend.
‘Listening to three white poets, whom I suspect are academics, talk about the state of poetry.’
Oluwaseun Olayiwola eavesdrops on an older generation.
‘I’d been dubious about his company at first.’
Sarah Moss on watching Shakespeare with her twelve-year-old son.
‘She didn’t trust us because, to her, tenants were like children.’
Kate Zambreno on negotiating with her older landlady.
‘A moment now swallowed in embarrassment, I asked a question only a young person might ask an older one.’
Lynne Tillman on trying to understand what makes a generation.
Judith Hermann was born in 1970 in Berlin where she lives and works as a writer and film-maker. ‘This Side of the Oder’, which appeared in Granta 74, was taken from her first collection of short stories, The Summerhouse, Later. She has since written two collections of stories, Nothing But Ghosts (2003) and Alice (2009).
More about the author →Margot Bettauer Dembo is a translator of German literature into English. She has translated works by Judith Hermann and Ödön von Horváth amongst others. She is the winner of Goethe-Institut Berlin Translator’s Prize in 1994. She lives in New York.
More about the translator →
‘The story distracts the readers from the heart of the matter; it distracts them from me.’
Fiction by Judith Hermann, translated by Katy Derbyshire.
‘Afterwards Ellen liked to say she had once been to America but couldn't remember it very well.‘
‘Time retreated, his dread crouched in the farthest recess of his mind.’
‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘It was the first teasing days of spring, the scent in the air a cross between death and cum.’
Fiction by Stacy Skolnik.
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