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National Dress

Rebecca Sollom

‘That smile the President has – it was just the same then as it is now.’

Fiction by Rebecca Sollom.

Hölzung

Muhammad Salah & Esther Kinsky

‘But what is an unencumbered gaze? And where does it begin to see?’

Esther Kinsky introduces a photoessay by Muhammad Salah.

An English Opening

Maxim Osipov

‘In a bad position, any move is worthless.’

New fiction by Maxim Osipov, translated from the Russian by Alex Fleming.

The Kingdom of Sand

Andrew Holleran

‘In a small town, one thinks that Time is not even passing.’

An excerpt from Holleran’s novel The Kingdom of Sand.

Being-in-the-World

Geoff Dyer

‘Even experienced users get scared because it’s so far out.’

Geoff Dyer on ageing and understanding the self.

Notes on Craft

Amy Bloom

‘Revision for me is relief. It is reassurance.’

Amy Bloom on the pleasures of revising.

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.