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Late Arrival

Clemens Meyer

Two women working shifts in a train station make a connection in this short story translated from the German by Katy Derbyshire.

The Hypocrites

Mehdi Tavana Okasi

‘Inshallah, one day I will return your every kindness.’ What does it mean to be American in Mehdi Tavana Okasi’s new story.

Camelot

Caleb Klaces

‘A typical child feels dangerously.’ New fiction from Caleb Klaces.

Open Day

Benjamin Markovits

‘You can be sad and angry, you don’t have to choose, she told him.’

A new short story from one of Granta’s Best of Young British Novelists.

The Strange Story of the World

Chigozie Obioma

‘Mama leaving home with my brother Folu was the last straw, the final stage in the process of Papa’s descent into that great darkness.’ New fiction from Chigozie Obioma.

Office of Lost Moments

Antonio Muñoz Molina

‘I walk, or I ride the subway. All my worries and obsessions are dissolved in ceaseless observation.’ Translated from the Spanish by Guillermo Bleichmar.

Grief’s Garden

Caroline Albertine Minor

‘I imagined his journey out of the coma as an increasingly painful ascent through dark water.’ Translated from the Danish by Caroline Waight.

Homeland

Walter Kempowski

‘I was suckled by Mother Earth, he would reflect on occasion, and he would stretch, feeling new strength in his veins.’

Not the Foggiest Notion

Jung Young Moon

‘It didn’t matter to me what we would be doing or where. It didn’t matter to me in the least.’ Jung Young Moon, translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton.

The Cheffe

Marie NDiaye

‘She was proud, but there was no vanity in her pride.’

In the Cut

Susanna Moore

An excerpt from In the Cut, by Susanna Moore

The Billionaire Comes To Supper

Hanif Kureishi

A new short story from Hanif Kureishi.

Facsimiles

Linda Mannheim

‘There is nothing where the Towers should be but smoke. There are no buildings.’

Careless

Hiroko Oyamada

‘As I lay on the mattress, the white toe pads of the gecko floated up before me, against the vastness of the blue-black night. Rather than a presence, it seemed to me more like a trace, a barely discernible odour that flooded in on the air.’