I became a writer thanks to a mother who was unhappy being a mother. She was a prisoner-of-war mother, banging on the bars of her cell all her life. Unhappy women do this. She searched for escape routes from her prison and found them in museums, public concerts and the public library.
Recommended Reads | Food
How To Milk
‘Feeding other beings with your body may be a dystopian nightmare, but it is also a thing that women and other female mammals do every day.’
Emily Ogden on the labour of producing milk.
‘The recipe is a text that can produce spattering because it was spattering before it was language.’
Rebecca May Johnson on recipes, repetition and intimacy.
Having Recently Escaped from the Maws of a Deathly Life, I Am Ready to Begin the Year Anew
‘Life is not worth living / without salami.’
A poem by Sandra Cisneros.
‘Refusal is the last recourse of the powerless.’
Marina Benjamin on her years of not eating, and not growing.
It Was a Dog
‘She liked to eat until her thighs felt gelatinous and slick with sweat, and her stomach ballooned out, sore and firm as though she had drunk cement that had now set.’
A story by Amaryllis Gacioppo.