A Mingling | State of Mind
‘My empathy may become a vehicle of insight for me and therefore help me to help you or it may debilitate me altogether, make me so sad I am no good to you whatsoever.’
A Scale Model of Gull Point
Trapped in a revolving restaurant during an American revolution, Shel VanRybroek turns to tin-foil sculpture.
All That Was Familiar
The story of two women fleeing Boko Haram in north-east Nigeria.
‘My eyes were way too large. They appeared, if this is possible, independently scandalized.’
Anosh Irani | Notes on Craft
‘The interiority that we keep speaking of in fiction is built on pain’
‘It was my child’s outlook to think most things were right. And yet if life’s eternal drama is of events seeking a more perfect state, their life and mine was not that.’
‘It was this summer that the restlessness came over me.’ Translated from the Norwegian by May-Brit Akerholt.
Country & Eastern
‘Anyone could find courage when the World-Historical Spirit had selected you to enact your martyrdom on the Six O’Clock News. But in the shadows, in secret, unrecognized?’
‘She sat sweating on the curb as her mother’s narrow face hovered over the parking lot like a hologram.’
‘All colours are hurt spectacles, I think, and say aloud without intention.’ The 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize winner for Asia.
Eli Goldstone | Five Things Right Now
‘The closest I come to meditating is sitting in front of a tumble dryer with a dead magazine.’
Eliza Griswold | Is Travel Writing Dead?
‘Even in its subtler forms, the act of looking is an act of self-regard.’
‘Our nation is a spell of nerves and gas. We say yes to monsters, to elegies etched in our palms.’ Translated by Daniel Canty.
The day was ending in a fiery and glorious way. The ships on the Sound looked like paper silhouettes being sucked up into the sun.
Ian Jack | Is Travel Writing Dead?
‘Travel writing of most kinds, not just the humorous, has the history of colonialism perched on its shoulder.’
Language In Exile
One summer’s day, for the first time, Mitzi broached the past. Past in the present, so present, with everything it had deposited in this room that suddenly seemed so vast. Everything that the grim tide deposits on the shores of a life.
Last Days on Corfu
A novel about the life of celebrated dancer Isadora Duncan. ‘You can feel her in every room. The chandeliers shiver.’
Le Champ de Bataille
J’ai un très grand chagrin d’amour. Et toi, qui aimes-tu? Les garçons ou les filles? Ou seulement les livres et les échecs?
‘Circuses have the capacity to transform those rejected by society – the acrobats, rope-walkers, puppeteers and expelled demons – into wonders and celebrities.’
Leaving Gotham City
‘I can’t remember the last time we said I love you before hanging up the phone. I can’t even remember the last time we said goodbye.’
Life of the Father
‘Two times is a repetition. Three times is a tradition, or a curse.’ Translated from the French by Lazer Lederhendler.
Lindsey Hilsum | Is Travel Writing Dead?
‘We need a new genre of travel writing, gleaned from the stories refugees and migrants.’
Mohsin Hamid | Is Travel Writing Dead?
‘I have come to believe that we are all migrants, that the experience of migration unites all human beings.’
Monster | State of Mind
‘Today’s a day for you to feel blocked and impeded; a coward in work and love; resenting duty; suspecting pleasure.’
On Jesus’ Son
‘Jesus’ Son is a song, a glorious clear hymn, full of the notes of bad decisions, of rotten fucking luck, of causing real and lasting damage to yourself and to the people around you.’
On the Road
‘But I still get homesick, that vast and deep pit in the stomach, every time I go away.’
Out of the Cell
‘I was inside a silence that was not an absence of noise so much as the living presence of everything I habitually walked – or sleep-walked – past.’
Pico Iyer | Is Travel Writing Dead?
‘The writer on place has to go further inward, into the realm of silence and nuance and personal enquiry.’
‘When you die you revive in the world of the last book you were reading before your demise.’
‘Small praise was like a drug for party members, though we used real drugs too, hard ones, drugs that imbued one with the facility for ruthless violence and multiple orgasms.’