‘On days when the light is beautiful, when the sun is red above the Saône, I find myself regretting not having come more often when my parents were working the farm.’
Raymond Depardon, the son of a peasant, has become one of France’s most distinguished photojournalists.
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‘I alone know a running stream
that is recovery partly and dim sweat
of a day-fever’
A poem by Rowan Evans.
‘Humour is a thread we hang onto. It punctures through the fog of guilt.’
Momtaza Mehri in conversation with Warsan Shire.
‘Something shifted in me that night. A small voice in my head said, maybe you can make a way for yourself as a poet here, too.’
Mary Jean Chan in conversation with Andrew McMillan.
‘There was to be an exhibition. There were lots of pictures like his, apparently – of waiters, pastry cooks, valets, bellboys.’
An essay by Jason Allen-Paisant from Granta 159: What Do You See?
‘I have started to see that nothing is itself’
A poem by Jason Allen-Paisant from Granta 154: I’ve Been Away for a While.
‘Having told his story, the thief had said goodbye to Agnès, regretfully, she thought’.
'Bára went to the church on the advice of her friend Ivana. She had been suffering from occasional bouts of depression', Ivan Klíma in 'Don't Forsake Me' in Granta 59: France: The Outsider.
‘From a dish washer to an author who writes about washing dishes.’
Memoir by Ilija Matusko, translated by Jen Calleja.
‘He cleans. Cleans the sink, cleans the plughole, takes out the sink strainer and cleans the underside.’
Fiction by Valeria Gordeev, translated by Imogen Taylor.
‘I can’t help Lentille. Even though she roars. As long as she roars, I won’t be able to work.’
An essay from Urs Mannhart, translated by Christine Müller
‘They alone among all the creatures of the earth would never have to go that way.’
