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Podcast | Ottessa Moshfegh

Ottessa Moshfegh

‘Unless you are completely shut down and in denial, there’s no way you’re getting out of this without having changed.’

Ottessa Moshfegh on 2020 and her new novel.

Four Poems

Bill Manhire

‘There is only one of me, she says, / but we all know there are two.’

Fossil Dinner

Daisy Lafarge

‘The poor dish looks just like me.’

On Meeting Margaret Busby

Sarah Ladipo Manyika

Margaret Busby was Britain’s first Black woman publisher. At the age of twenty, she was also one of its youngest.

Summer. Gates of the Body.

Galina Rymbu

‘I want to eat your rough hand that caresses me.’

Podcast | Carmen Maria Machado

Carmen Maria Machado

We discuss the dilemmas presented by her new memoir, In the Dream House.

‘What does it mean to present a face of one’s community that isn’t commonly seen, and that might be seen as bad PR?’

Girl Games

Makena Onjerika

‘There, behind glass panes separating you from the good children, from life itself, you are kept company by your dread.’

The Hole

Hiroko Oyamada

‘The hole felt as though it was exactly my size – a trap made just for me.’

Nocturne

Yūshō Takiguchi

Jesse Kirkwood’s translation of ‘Nocturne’ by Yūshō Takiguchi is the winner of the 2020 Harvill Secker Young Translators’ Prize.

Podcast | Momtaza Mehri

Momtaza Mehri

We discuss her collection, Doing the Most with the Least, on the Granta Podcast.

‘don’t be / shocked when I say I was in prison you’re still in prison that’s / what this land means prison.’

Selfish Little Thing

Olivia Rosenthall

‘I began to lie awake at night thinking about all the terrible things I’d ever done, listing them quietly in my head, each selfish little thing, my body numb with guilt.’

Podcast | Jenny Offill

Jenny Offill

We discuss her new book, Weather, on the Granta Podcast.

‘Yes, it's dire. Yes, we're not sure what to do. Does that mean we have nothing to do?’

Sleeping Beauty

Laura Demers

‘It’s normal not to be offered anything to eat or drink when you are a princess.’

Slobber and Drool

Jess Arndt

‘My face, not the glass, was blurry. I had no idea what I really looked like besides lumpy, fuzzy, profuse.’