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A Letter From Wales

Cynan Jones

‘Believe me – it will be impossible for you not to wonder – when I vow I am entirely sane.’

A Life Where Nothing Happens

Mazen Maarouf

‘His fear was that we would die in front of him and so he thought of us all the time, which is not what he wanted.’

Fiction by Mazen Maarouf.

A Light Bird

Maylis de Kerangal

‘Her voice survived her, in recorded form, indestructible, in the form of a light bird.’

Fiction by Maylis de Kerangal, translated by Jessica Moore.

A Lovely and Terrible Thing

Chris Womersley

‘For a moment I could not speak. I looked off into the bleak distance, then at this man, and there was something about the sad shake of his head and the way his hair flapped about on his scalp that filled me with unreasonable warmth.’

A Man’s Life

Pajtim Statovci

‘I wished my family would die, my friends too, everybody I knew, because only that way could they never follow me wherever I went.’

A Mason’s Hand | New Voices

Ali Akbar Natiq

‘Haji sahib, these kids are beyond me. I can’t teach them any more. Please make some other arrangement.’

A Mother’s Dilemma

Victor Lodato

‘I can hear the girl scratching a pencil inside a notebook. I don’t like it. I’ve asked her not to write about me.’

A New World

V. S. Pritchett

‘What was this new world? It was their love for each other.’

A Note in the Margin

Isabella Hammad

‘I register that phrase with pleasure, my brother.’

Isabella Hammad on migration, mentors and disappointment.

A Page Pounded Clean

Kathryn Scanlan

‘There was no shriek, no gore, but the tail – it looked electrically charged.’

A story by Kathryn Scanlan.

A Perfect Cemetery

Federico Falco

An excerpt from Federico Falco’s story collection A Perfect Cemetery.

A Place I’d Go To

Kathryn Scanlan

‘They were very old and had to be carried down the hall to the examination room and lifted onto and off the scale like sacks of tender, bruisable fruit.’

A story by Kathryn Scanlan.

A Play on Mothering

David Rakoff

‘His hands are a jewel box and I lean forward and peer in.’

A Queer Streak Part One: Anonymous Letters

Alice Munro

‘She would never know why she had done it. She was sleepless and strung-up and her better judgement had deserted her.’