‘He sighed; his wife never satisfied him when he needed her most; and quite probably it was the same story the other way round.’
On their way to the house, Mr Mitra said he didn’t know if they should buy flowers. They were very near Jogu Bazaar; and Mr Mitra suddenly raised one hand and said: ‘Abdul, slowly!’
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‘I didn’t think she was happy; I thought she was in love, but I didn’t know what that told me, if it told me anything.’
Fiction by Jennifer Atkins.
‘She has been ten for a month and she does not like it. She carries the weight of her extra digit like a chain-mail vest.’
Fiction by Sara Baume.
‘I could hear the sea, and I could hear my own name.’
Fiction by Eliza Clark.
‘There was to be an exhibition. There were lots of pictures like his, apparently – of waiters, pastry cooks, valets, bellboys.’
A story by Tom Crewe.
‘I don’t remember his face, nor him as a whole.’
Derek Owusu on fathers and family.
‘Never, long as I live, will I forget the few days I had spent with the Millers.’ Buddhadeva Bose on his friendship with Henry Miller.
‘A scene in which nothing is ostensibly happening will absorb me; so will a paragraph that contains no vital piece of information.’
‘What am I doing in London? And what’ll I do once I’m back in India?' Amit Chaudhuri on identity, youth and nostalgia.
‘I knew that Dominic had cheated on me. I couldn’t tell you when, or who, or how many times, but I was certain that he had.’
Fiction by Eleanor Catton.
