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Explore Essays and memoir

A Song About Singularities

Jack Underwood

‘Precious things, even those given to me lovingly, feel like a test.’

Jack Underwood on poetry and black holes.

Mr Brown, Mrs White and Ms Black

Kei Miller

‘Yes, Ms Black. Mrs White and Mr Brown have arrived.’

An new essay by poet Kei Miller, from his forthcoming collection.

Introduction

Valerie Miles

‘We wanted work of the imagination. Fiction. Consciousness captured on the page.’

Guest editor and co-founder of Granta en Español introduces the issue.

Court Sketcher

Hatty Nestor

How do court sketch artists influence our sympathies?

On ‘Colville’

Natalie Diaz

The author of Postcolonial Love Poem on ‘Colville’, the photoessay by Fergus Thomas.

Uwaa: the sound of the feeling that cannot be spoken

Polly Barton

An excerpt from Fifty Sounds, a memoir by Polly Barton, translator of Aoko Matsuda and Kikuko Tsumura.

Mould

Alice Ash

‘There was fur on the window frame, and we drew into it with our fingernails: dark, mushroomy bursts.’

A new essay by Alice Ash.

Crystals

Kate Lebo

‘Sam had a urate crystal in his toe, built by genes and rich eating.’

Kate Lebo on Xylitol.

Lice

A. K. Blakemore

‘I often had head lice as a child. Outbreaks circulated around my primary school on a seasonal basis.’

A new essay from the author of The Manningtree Witches.

An Ounce of Gold and Máxima Acuña Atalaya

Joseph Zárate

‘To end up with an ounce of gold – enough to make a wedding ring – you need to extract fifty tonnes of earth, or the contents of forty removal lorries.’

On Vulnerability

Katherine Angel

‘Is anyone an authority on themselves, whether on their sexuality or anything else?’

An excerpt from Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again.

Introduction

Sigrid Rausing

‘Perhaps in isolation a new form of communication is emerging, expressing what readers and writers have always told one another, via books and letters and on the literary stage: I hear you. You are not alone.’

The Stinky Ocean

Ian Jack

‘It was a peculiar, alopecic landscape of hummocks and gullies, with patches of grass growing on what looked like white earth, and rarely a soul to be seen.’

When the Cholera Came

Lindsey Hilsum

‘It was hard not to wonder if the disease was a kind of divine retribution – collective punishment for a collective crime.’