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The Lapwing Act

Patrick Galbraith

‘We claimed the places that were theirs and they were forced to take refuge on what we left behind.’

An excerpt from In Search of One Last Song.

In Conversation

Jo Hamya & Okechukwu Nzelu

The authors discuss music, the internet’s gamified reading culture and reading your reviews.

The Rub

William Hawkins

‘We were about halfway through our steaks and baked potatoes when she asked me if I was on PrEP.’

Fiction by William Hawkins, winner of the 2022 Disquiet Fiction Prize.

A World Run by Mothers

Saba Sams

‘In all the years I spent dreaming of motherhood, not once did I dream of men. If anything, I expected that romance would be my downfall.’

Saba Sams on the women who raised her, and becoming a mother at 22.

Notes on Craft

Celia Paul

‘A painting is like a letter: they both live in the constant present.’

Celia Paul on writing Letters to Gwen John.

The Forgotten War

Leila Guerriero

Leila Guerriero investigates the collusion that left so many graves unmarked decades after the Falklands War.

The Fire

Tom de Freston

A fire breaks out in Tom de Freston’s painting studio.

Staying In

Lieke Marsman

‘I’m a cucumber, a cucumber, a cucumber, I would whisper aloud to my eight-year-old self.’

An excerpt from Lieke Marsman’s new novel.

Two Poems

Akwaeke Emezi

‘joseph uncle is ghost-quiet / the kind of man you can’t scream at’

Two poems by the author of Dear Senthuran.

Notes on Craft

Preti Taneja

‘Traditional hand-craft becomes literary practice; becomes critical theory.’

Preti Taneja on intertextuality.

How It Works

David Hayden

‘Dinner plates empty in front of me, and the present softens and melts’.

New fiction from David Hayden.

Two Nameless Women

Cristina Rivera Garza

‘She turned to look at me, and, knowing I was being looked at, I smiled at her.’

Two unnamed women in a story by Cristina Rivera Garza.

In Conversation

Eva Baltasar & Irene Solà

‘The tide carries my books from my head to a place that is no longer mine.’

The authors discuss friendship, the sea and finishing their novels.

Blue Room, Fake Blue Veins

Peter Scalpello

‘[left home rented a room / spinning with mould] it almost turned me / straight.’ A new poem by Peter Scalpello.