Granta 106 is a special issue devoted to new fiction and includes work by Paul Auster, Amy Bloom, Adam Thirlwell, Helen Simpson, Nicola Barker and Ha Jin.
‘In 1979, when Bill Buford introduced his first issue of Granta, a penetrating, bravura survey of American fiction, he proclaimed his efforts to be ‘a kind of energetic failure’.’
‘It is difficult not to see the assassination of Ghassan Kanafani as an attempt to obliterate the Palestinian narrative.’
‘Every cupboard is old, / every glass and cup / wiped clean.’
‘The harbour at Mana was a converted mudflat, tightly elbowed and unlovely at any tide but high.’
‘Meifen had never imagined that his life could be so fragile.’
‘Useless chaos is what fiction is about.’
‘He was typing up another proposal for robots that would replace human workers in an engine factory.’
Paul Auster discusses his new novel ‘Invisible’, his writing process and the unsettling quality of narrative clarity.
Eleanor Catton, author of the critically acclaimed, Betty Trask-award-winning debut novel, The Rehearsal, talks to Granta.
‘The thrill of Thriller was being part of something global and local at once.’
‘People who unfriend their friends while friending their unfriends. People who do not acknowledge the person. Persons who are not personal.’
‘Being mask-less in the constant sea of blue surgical face masks made me feel like I was an extra on a movie set they forgot to put in costume.’
‘I write for people who like poetry. The people who don’t like poetry are on their own.’
‘Nobody wanted to hear / about the rain or its father / or leviathan slicing the deeps / at the black edge of the world / under the cold blue light of the Pleiades.’
‘This is a wartime story. It is the spring of 1943 and Europe is burning; look down and see.’
‘We continued to ski. The bon vivantedness of our exchanges became increasingly coded with a double-edged worry. Would we have to spend the night in the woods?’
‘So tomorrow we might be on the same side. Unless you’re a triple agent, in which case we already were on the same side.’
‘Writing and reading in third-person present is like a high-speed drive through Nevada at two a.m.: incredibly invigorating and somewhat dangerous.’
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