‘Which bodies can go where might be the central question of our century.’
Not long before he died on 21 December 1940, F. Scott Fitzgerald recorded himself reading a version of John Keats’ ‘Ode to a Nightingale’.
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
‘Where emotions are suppressed and actions monitored, acting only becomes ubiquitous, and so convincing that we even trick ourselves.’
‘I can almost believe in the permanence of these warm days, this unchanging child whose hand fits mine. But I can feel the cold and the darkness coming.’
‘Michelle had learned a valuable lesson: Do not leave the house unless you look ready to meet Matt Dillon.’ From the novel Black Wave.
A gothic tale of love between a noblewoman and a ghost in eighth century Japan, translated by Jeffrey Angles.
A refugee family’s journey from Syria to Germany.
‘The liquid tingled, a subtle electrification, as the scent changed, bloomed, became an extension of the boy himself.’
‘Too often, a kind of travel writing – especially the novel set abroad in an exotic locale – feels like a way of allegorizing and escaping problems at home.’
After a sudden stroke, Binyavanga Wainaina and his lover travel to Nairobi to reconcile with his father.
‘How will the world end? Virus, war, natural disaster, Donald Trump in the library with the candlestick?’
Carys Davies on how the settlement of the American West can help us understand Donald Trump’s nativism.
A Syrian refugee visits London’s oldest houses of fashion. ‘The contemplation of the perfection of a craft, worn by a man who knew its worth, and his own.’
‘Writing about other people doesn’t have to be an exercise of power or a theft of identity.’
‘This is the perennial anxiety – that at any moment, day or night, you might be snatched and shackled and tried and sent back.’
‘I am lying in the foetal position on a beach in the east of England.’
After an unexpected email, David Flusfeder heads to Detroit to discover his father’s history and the world of vinyl manufacturing.
‘We need a new genre of travel writing, gleaned from the stories refugees and migrants.’
‘The first time I ever visited a place I’d read about in a travel book was when my family took a holiday in Hong Kong in 1993.’
‘A man will only return to his birthplace in the countryside when he is dead. This is our reality.’
‘I grew up in the semi-tropical south, dotted by wet paddy fields, but I always wanted to go to the north.’
‘But I still get homesick, that vast and deep pit in the stomach, every time I go away.’
‘Travel writing of most kinds, not just the humorous, has the history of colonialism perched on its shoulder.’
‘In my imagination I have been to many villages and cities in the world.’
‘The death of travel – and of the travel book – has been predicted for almost a century.’
‘The best writers rose to the challenge by seeking not originality of destination, but originality of form.’
‘I wanted to see a human’s expression after returning from space.’
‘Malachi is brushing her hair, long, dark brown and with russet glints. She likes it, as he can tell from her smile in the mirror.’
‘Apartheid had marked him, as it has marked all of us, in different ways. It made me hyper-aware of colour.’
‘The writer on place has to go further inward, into the realm of silence and nuance and personal enquiry.’
‘I have come to believe that we are all migrants, that the experience of migration unites all human beings.’
‘What kinds of writing aren’t travel writing?’
‘This is a literature of checkpoints and fences, and the improvised gaps through which desperate people pass.’
‘These photographs capture that fatal boredom in the face of this slow-motion catastrophe.’
‘I didn’t have the language for why I could not be a tourist in the same way as my white counterparts.’
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