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Buttermilk and Liverwurst

Phil Crockett Thomas

‘Incredibly, where her neck had once been, she could now see right through to the faded paisley paper on the opposite wall.’

Fiction from Phil Crockett Thomas.

Yr Dead

Sam Sax

‘Behind the 7/11 after dark, anything is possible.’

Fiction by Sam Sax.

Stalin, Lenin, Robespierre

Brandon Taylor

‘He tried to think about what sort of person he wanted to be in this world and how he might bring that about.’

Fiction by Brandon Taylor.

Gettysburg

Jessi Jezewska Stevens

‘One did not have high hopes for Gettysburg. Nor for Pennsylvania in general. Having grown up in Indiana, Diana felt she’d earned her condescension.’

Fiction by Jessi Jezewska Stevens.

Allegro Pastell

Leif Randt

‘It was fantastic to own a phone, it was fantastic to have people you loved in your life.’

Fiction by Leif Randt, translated by Ruth Martin.

The Texture of Angel Matter

Yoko Tawada

‘When human beings fall silent, a music can be heard.’

Fiction by Yoko Tawada, translated by Susan Bernofsky.

Messages with the Supplicant

Nicolette Polek

‘On Good Friday, the priest in the livestream video stood inside the darkened sanctuary.’

Fiction by Nicolette Polek.

The Tide

Adèle Rosenfeld

‘In my ears were muted thumps, the drumbeat of my pulse.’

Fiction by Adèle Rosenfeld, translated by Jeffrey Zuckerman.

There Was a Farmer Had a Dog

Irene Solà

‘A twenty-five-kilo dog is too small to survive in the countryside.’

An extract from Irene Solà’s forthcoming novel, translated by Mara Faye Lethem.

My Work

Olga Ravn

‘When they placed the child on Anna’s breast after the birth, she felt nothing.’

Fiction by Olga Ravn, translated by Sophia Hersi Smith and Jennifer Russell.

The Nonce

Alison Rumfitt

‘He’ll be a goner soon; the cops will find him hanging in his loo.’

Fiction by Alison Rumfitt.

Stupid Girls

Rhian Sasseen

‘It was 1 a.m., and it was Los Angeles; they were used to indiscretion.’

A story by Rhian Sasseen.

Mrs S

K Patrick

‘Without waiting for me she removes her white shirt. Each button a piece of my own spine, undone.’

An extract from Mrs S by K Patrick.

Gunk

Saba Sams

‘I followed him onto the dancefloor and he put his hands on my hips as if he’d known me for at least an hour.’

Fiction by Saba Sams.