‘If you were twenty in the summer of 1967, San Francisco was the only place to be.’
If you were twenty in the summer of 1967, San Francisco was the only place to be. The number one song told us all to wear flowers in our hair, as we were going to meet some gentle people there.
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‘Feeding other beings with your body may be a dystopian nightmare, but it is also a thing that women and other female mammals do every day.’
Emily Ogden on the labour of producing milk.
‘The recipe is a text that can produce spattering because it was spattering before it was language.’
Rebecca May Johnson on recipes, repetition and intimacy.
‘Life is not worth living / without salami.’
A poem by Sandra Cisneros.
‘Refusal is the last recourse of the powerless.’
Marina Benjamin on her years of not eating, and not growing.
‘She liked to eat until her thighs felt gelatinous and slick with sweat, and her stomach ballooned out, sore and firm as though she had drunk cement that had now set.’
A story by Amaryllis Gacioppo.
‘We are sitting in a cafe, on planet Earth, on the night before our wedding day.’
Fiction by Aidan Cottrell-Boyce.
‘When I was growing up in his house, religion was his crutch, a justification for his behaviour.’
Kevin Childs on growing up queer in a Catholic household.
The authors discuss music, the internet’s gamified reading culture and reading your reviews.
‘I used to be ashamed of it, though I’m not sure what exactly felt shameful.’
On training to be an opera singer.
‘My life as a writer depends on irony and metaphor, and my parents are horrified and alienated by both.’
Translated from the Italian by Elizabeth Harris.
‘The twentieth century has tolerated a number of mythologies about the role of the writer, and one of the most commonplace is the writer as inspired genius.’
