Granta | The Home of New Writing

Explore

Loudermilk

Lucy Ives

‘The bro has a pair of plump dogs over which he deploys nauseating quantities of ketchup.’

Madam’s Sister

Mbozi Haimbe

‘The sister has a headful of fine hair down to the small of her back. The golden colour of maize silk, her weave is not stiff and waxy like Chipo’s, but moves in the breeze.’

Mail-Order Marriage
for Shy Brides

Molly Gutman

‘The husband, when we are introduced, will already be the husband.’

Martin Goodman | Notes on Craft

Martin Goodman

Martin Goodman on why it took him twenty years to write his latest novel, J SS Bach.

Michael Hofmann | On Europe

Michael Hofmann

‘For all its flimsiness, the cage takes itself terribly seriously, restricting access, glorying in the name of Fatherland.’

My Biggest Insecurity About the Garden

Caoilinn Hughes

‘Pathos is suffering. But is it suffering to realize a dream, however puny?’ New fiction by Caoilinn Hughes.

Romesh Gunesekera | On Europe

Romesh Gunesekera

‘Identity, it seemed, was not so self-determined after all.’

Screaming

Harley Hern

Harley Hern’s ‘Screaming’ is the Pacific regional winner of the 2019 Commonwealth Short Story Prize.

Srećko Horvat | On Europe

Srećko Horvat

‘We are the ones who are responsible for not repeating the mistakes of the past.’

Ten Thousand Feet

Ariana Harwicz

‘I go up and watch the avenue through the window. Noise and more noise. An avenue of insects, stray bullets and snipers sprawled on the rooftops.’

The Biggest House on Earth

Choi In-Ho

‘What is happiness? Nothing other than pausing at the bottom of the stairs to admire the portrait of a beautiful queen from some distant, foreign land.’

The Fall of Saigon

James Fenton

‘I wanted to see a communist victory, which I presumed to be inevitable. I wanted to see the fall of a city.’

The Imam and the Indian

Amitav Ghosh

‘We were both travelling, he and I: we were travelling in the West. The only difference was that I had actually been there, in person.’

The Poem in the Pocket

Héctor Abad Faciolince

‘The note stated that it was by Borges, and I believed that, or at least I wanted to believe it.’