‘Nathan: there’s something in the basement. In the locked rooms I was telling you about.’
Our Last Guest
‘Maybe anyone becomes unbearable after enough time in the honeymoon suite.’ Rowan Hisayo Buchanan’s story of eternity á deux.
The Good Citizens
‘In the black fog of her grief, Anna Kraft received an invitation.’
‘In the not-too-distant future, all men would be on their feet, reduced to wearing out their soles on the streets.’
‘I remember the first time I lied. It may be my earliest memory.’
Whatever Happened to Interracial Love?
‘It’s the year of “the human being”. The year of race-creed-color blindness. It’s 1963.’
‘My cousin is an artist. He says, You draw some good knives but you still need to work on your stab wounds.’
His Middle Name Was Not Jesus
‘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.’
Ethelbert and the Free Cheese
‘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.
Here We Are
‘‘Here we are,’ she said, as we faced each other, and my whole body rushed with goosebumps.’
‘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.’
Green, Mud, Gold
‘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.’