‘We do not understand why, nor did we covet such long life, but here we are, our respective addictions and madness with us to the end.’
After a sudden stroke, Binyavanga Wainaina and his lover travel to Nairobi to reconcile with his father.
‘In my imagination I have been to many villages and cities in the world.’
His is a force more penetrative than all the bogus machismo of Hemingway.
‘Hunt writes with brio, the visceral often blooming into the mystical.’
‘Oh, how I love it!’
‘Immigration has become a physical thing, like a tumor inside us, between us.’
‘Time cannot erase my memories of fear and shame.’
‘Climate change, I realise, is already here. Not the drama of it, not yet, but in the mundane.’
Joanna Walsh on why Christine Brooke-Rose's Amalgamemnon is the best book of 1984.
Why Michael Ondaatje's The Collected Works of Billy the Kid is the best book of 1970.
‘There was a time in my life when I lived in hotels. Around this time, the time I did not spend in hotels was time I did not live.’
‘More important than anything else that fateful year was the life-defining transcendence of Peter Gabriel.’
‘Death is here, by our side, and we can make no witty Nabokovian jokes about it.’
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