In spite of fashion and a smoking band the ‘brotherhood of the briar’ proves largely unflappable


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‘It was as though, after a period of wariness, my pipe had warmed to me.’
In spite of fashion and a smoking band the ‘brotherhood of the briar’ proves largely unflappable
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‘She must have loved gold seeing that everything in the penthouse was gold. We didn’t sit. Fear didn’t let us see where to sit.’ A story by Adachioma Ezeano.
‘I had also, a week earlier, been fired for trying to sleep with my boss’s husband. I got the idea from a book, or maybe every book.’ A story by Emily Adrian.
‘The Mitsubishi conglomerate controls a forty per cent share of the world market in bluefin tuna; they are freezing and hoarding huge stocks of the fish every year.’ Katherine Rundell on extinction speculation.
‘Two roof tiles are missing to the rear: the kiss of death. Without repair, ruination is now inevitable. Until then, this is my best hope of shelter.’ Cal Flyn visits the island of Swona in northern Scotland.
‘I’m on the cliff of myself & these aren’t wings, they’re futures. / For as long as I can remember my body was a small town nightmare.’ A poem by Ocean Vuong.
Andrew Martin is a freelance writer living in London. He is the author of nine detective novels and four non-fiction books including, Ghoul Britannia, Notes on a Haunted Island, Underground, Overground: A Passenger's History of the Tube and most recently, Flight by Elephant, World War II's most Daring Jungle Mission. ‘The Rollercoaster Champion of the World’ appeared in Granta 79.
More about the author →‘At the moment, I would say that depends what you mean by ‘believe’ and what you mean by “God”’
‘Q: When is a factory not a factory? A: When it’s a chocolate factory.’
‘As he spoke, I thought how much Richard himself looked like a flyer: at forty-three he is symmetrical and compact, like Scott Tracy, the handsomest of those idealized pilots in Thunderbirds.’
‘I am afraid to say we are all / progressing or regressing / down a more or less screwy road / found on a very old map / until / we are going Nowhere.’
A poem by Kimberly Campanello.
‘Ungraceful, the heart boinks: / drugged, suspended, spiderwebbed – ’
Four poems by Katie Farris.
‘Gradinari House is thirty kilometres from Bucharest. One hundred and fifteen children live here.’
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