Ahdaf Soueif

Outside, there is a path. A path of beaten white stone bordered by a white wall–low, but not low enough for me to see over it from here. White sands drift across the path. From my window, I used to see patterns in their drift. On my way to the beach, I would try to place my foot, just the ball of …

The Life and Death of a Homosexual
Unspeakable Rituals