‘He'll be ruthless with himself in his pursuit of boundless health to avoid his mother's fate: Mental death.’
Clean and scented, with a dull, near pleasurable ache in his limbs, driving west in light traffic, Henry Perowne, a neurosurgeon, finds he’s feeling better about seeing his mother. He knows the routine well enough. Once they’re established together, face to face, with their cups of dark brown te…
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
‘There were horrors enough, but it was the unexpected detail that threw him and afterwards would not let him go.’
‘If you are a small nation, though, you do not make history. You are always the object of history.’ Ian McEwan interviews Milan Kundera in 1984.
‘There was too the challenge, as I saw it, of writing a singable English, simple and clear, that could express public themes without pomposity and private feelings without bathos.’
‘How do you love a monster when they are no longer monstrous?’
New fiction by Diana Evans.
‘I turn to O’Connor’s music when I get tired of lying to myself. Her songs are allegorical free-falls. Spiritual chiaroscuros, even.’
Momtaza Mehri on Sinéad O’Connor.
‘She got skinny and became a clairvoyant. And she wasn't even a stigmatic.’
