Documentary slag, the serial debris of his compulsive remigrations, litters his trail to the coldwater flat, crumbs for the wayward orphan. Letters, old bills, a lock of her red hair, trinkets, photos – a thousand eyes on him, all his own. His tears disturb not one pool, but an infinite regression…
Lucky Pierre and the Coldwater Flat
Our favourites from 2016
Why We’re Post-Fact
Peter Pomerantsev on the move to post-truth politics.
Violence in Blue
Statistician Patrick Ball on the unprecedented number of police homicides in the United States.
The Raingod’s Green, Dark as Passion
Kevin Barry remembers writing in Cork.
‘His wife comes in, baring, with a wink, her incisors, and offers him a Bloody Mary.’
‘Malachi is brushing her hair, long, dark brown and with russet glints. She likes it, as he can tell from her smile in the mirror.’