Granta | The Home of New Writing

Explore Essays and memoir

A Sign of Weakness

Terrence Holt

‘Fast asleep, even comatose, a living body moves.’

Body Snatchers

William T. Vollmann

‘The All-American Canal was now dark black with phosphorescent streaks where the border’s eyes stained it with yellow tears.’

One Ridge Over

Josh Weil

‘Some mornings I see him coming up through the mist. The grey shape of a long-haired man carrying a long-barreled gun amid the bare grey branches of the old apple trees.’

Where I’m Calling From

Ariel Leve

‘Pretentiousness was non-existent. Morals were unambiguous and pure.’

Growing up with the King of Pop

Marlon James

‘The thrill of Thriller was being part of something global and local at once.’

A question of identity

Dubravka Ugrešić

‘One of the first things a child learns is the sentiment: My country is… And so begins the homeland briefing that lasts from the cradle to the grave.’

Tales From Literary Festivals

Anita Sethi

‘The imagination can also be a passport to places beyond the realms of our own experience, a lesson learned at festivals which have at their core the concept of storytelling.’

A Summer’s Evening in Beijing

Elizabeth Pisani

‘The air is light with the intoxicating fumes of impending martyrdom.’

Love in the Time of Swine Flu

Alexis Okeowo

‘Being mask-less in the constant sea of blue surgical face masks made me feel like I was an extra on a movie set they forgot to put in costume.’

Editor’s Letter

Alex Clark

‘In 1979, when Bill Buford introduced his first issue of Granta, a penetrating, bravura survey of American fiction, he proclaimed his efforts to be ‘a kind of energetic failure’.’

Letter from Gaza

Hisham Matar

‘It is difficult not to see the assassination of Ghassan Kanafani as an attempt to obliterate the Palestinian narrative.’

A Vacation From Myself

John Beckman

‘My every next thought took a melancholy detour through drippy forests of humid emotions, often never to return’

Getting Lost

Heidi Julavits

‘We continued to ski. The bon vivantedness of our exchanges became increasingly coded with a double-edged worry. Would we have to spend the night in the woods?’