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Granta 136

Wendy

Ka Bradley

‘Nathan: there’s something in the basement. In the locked rooms I was telling you about.’

Granta 136

Our Last Guest

Rowan Hisayo Buchanan

‘Maybe anyone becomes unbearable after enough time in the honeymoon suite.’ Rowan Hisayo Buchanan’s story of eternity á deux.

Granta 136

The Good Citizens

Christy Edwall

‘In the black fog of her grief, Anna Kraft received an invitation.’

Granta 136

The Threshold

Oliverio Coelho

‘In the not-too-distant future, all men would be on their feet, reduced to wearing out their soles on the streets.’

Granta 136

The Liar

James Tadd Adcox

‘I remember the first time I lied. It may be my earliest memory.’

Granta 136

Whatever Happened to Interracial Love?

Kathleen Collins

‘It’s the year of “the human being”. The year of race-creed-color blindness. It’s 1963.’

Granta 136

Arcadia

Emma Cline

‘Could a place work on you like an illness?’

Granta 136

Potted Meat

Steven Dunn

‘My cousin is an artist. He says, You draw some good knives but you still need to work on your stab wounds.’

The Online Edition

His Middle Name Was Not Jesus

NoViolet Bulawayo

‘He didn’t know their language but understood it in their boiling voices, the heat on their faces, how they singed each other with their eyes.’

The Online Edition

Ethelbert and the Free Cheese

Lance Dowrich

‘It was against the understood traditions of society to prepare Sunday lunch without macaroni pie.’ 2016 Commonwealth Short Story Prize – regional winner for the Caribbean.

Granta 135

Here We Are

Lucy Caldwell

‘‘Here we are,’ she said, as we faced each other, and my whole body rushed with goosebumps.’

Granta 135

The Visitor

Colin Barrett

‘The dog was some sort of overbred weedling with a ribcage fine-boned as a chicken’s, a wizened rat’s face and a goony, perpetually bloodshot stare that made Dev Hendrick want to punt the thing over the garden gate.’

Granta 135

Green, Mud, Gold

Sara Baume

‘She shuts her eyes and pictures ears growing out through her ears, her spine turning to wood, pictures herself as a girl-woman scarecrow, arms opened wide, and nailed to two posts in the centre of a great green, mud and gold expanse, crucified.’

Granta 135

The Birds of June

John Connell

‘Her dreams were interrupted occasionally by the sound of the cow and her newborn calf from the outhouse sheds. A low bellow would crinkle the folds of her mind and then seconds later it would be answered from some other shed in the distance.’