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Loopholes
Tice Cin
‘If you’re raised without these codes, if you’re not from ends, you won’t find the routes and you won’t find us.’
Tice Cin on class, housing estates and hood surrealism.
Oxblood
Tom Benn
‘Some nights he hurt her which made her glad; she never let him know because the pain was brief and rare and felt like penance.’
An extract from Oxblood by Tom Benn.
For the Love of Losing
Marina Benjamin
‘Winning, it turns out, was the cracking whip that meant gamblers had to stay where they were until they lost their money all over again.’
Marina Benjamin on losing.
Hôtel Casanova
Annie Ernaux
‘I never asked myself if I loved P. But nothing could have kept me from going to make love with him at the Hôtel Casanova.’
Memoir by Annie Ernaux, translated by Alison L. Strayer.
Misfortune
André Alexis
‘How many children had accidentally – or purposely, for that matter – shot a parent? Too many to count, no doubt.’
Fiction by André Alexis.
The Public and Private Performance of the Deaf Body
Raymond Antrobus
‘There was always cynicism about Ray being a deaf novelty act.’
Raymond Antrobus on performance, Deafness and Johnnie Ray.
The Antigua Journals (What Is a Homeland)
Chanelle Benz
‘I am used to not belonging; it is, you could say, my brand.’
Chanelle Benz on reuniting with her father in Antigua.
Ordinary People
Richard Eyre
‘Is it courage? Is it stoicism? Is it wilful lack of imagination?’
Richard Eyre on family histories and what it means to be ordinary.
Notes on Craft
Aidan Cottrell-Boyce
‘The whole episode is a miracle and much of the miracle is in the muscles of Carmela’s face.’
Aidan Cottrell-Boyce on craft, nuance and The Sopranos.
Dazzling
Chịkọdịlị Emelụmadụ
‘I saw it all. Nobody here gives children ear, so I saw everything just by being quiet and doing like I dinor see.’
An extract from Dazzling by Chịkọdịlị Emelụmadụ.
Tantrum
Lucie Elven
‘When I looked back, I felt a jolt – some forgotten, tearful part of me becoming magnified. Why would you stay with a person wielding a broom or an axe?’
New fiction from Lucie Elven.
Moving Nowhere Here
Kimberly Campanello
‘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.
