My wife and I were lying in bed, watching a CNN update on the Kobe earthquake. The newscaster, Bernard Shaw, said that the body of an American woman had just been found. June gasped, then quickly covered her mouth.
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‘The flirtations of insects and plants are furtive, hidden and often so brief that if you literally blink you might miss what exactly is going on.’
Dino J. Martins on moths and orchids, from Granta 153: Second Nature.
‘The origin of the dysfunctional family: spores. / Friend or foe? True fern or ally?’
Poems by Sylvia Legris, author of Garden Physic.
‘And the trees were safely tucked in. Their roots were rallying in the soil, in this coil. Would the woman also take a turn for the better in her last decade?’
Three stories by Diane Williams.
‘walking alone down a country road – / distracted by the slightly annoying and toxic / first green of spring, eyes overflowing’
A poem by Emily Skillings.
‘Whatever the aftermath, you won’t see the city again except through the agency of absence, recalling this semi-emptiness, this viral uncertainty.’
From 2020: China Miéville on the UK government’s response to coronavirus.
‘How is it possible we lived in that same house? Although every house in that neighborhood looked more or less alike.’ A story by Kate Zambreno.
‘I wondered how I could feel so at home in a place that was not mine.’
An excerpt from Jessica Au's novel Cold Enough for Snow.
An excerpt from Earthlings, translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori.
A journalist receives a troubling call about a friend in this excerpt from Madeleine Bunting’s new novel Ceremony of Innocence.
‘Here I should stress that dog memory is not at all like human memory, and that human memory, from a dog’s point of view, would seem strange, clunky, unnatural and deceptive.’
