‘…a fully-fledged, award-winning, gold-plated monster…it knows only one language—bombs and death’ —Harold Pinter ‘…the only...
‘…a fully-fledged, award-winning, gold-plated monster…it knows only one language—bombs and death’ —Harold Pinter
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‘The flirtations of insects and plants are furtive, hidden and often so brief that if you literally blink you might miss what exactly is going on.’
Dino J. Martins on moths and orchids, from Granta 153: Second Nature.
‘The origin of the dysfunctional family: spores. / Friend or foe? True fern or ally?’
Poems by Sylvia Legris, author of Garden Physic.
‘And the trees were safely tucked in. Their roots were rallying in the soil, in this coil. Would the woman also take a turn for the better in her last decade?’
Three stories by Diane Williams.
‘walking alone down a country road – / distracted by the slightly annoying and toxic / first green of spring, eyes overflowing’
A poem by Emily Skillings.
‘Whatever the aftermath, you won’t see the city again except through the agency of absence, recalling this semi-emptiness, this viral uncertainty.’
From 2020: China Miéville on the UK government’s response to coronavirus.
‘It was a peculiar, alopecic landscape of hummocks and gullies, with patches of grass growing on what looked like white earth, and rarely a soul to be seen.’
‘Could grief for one woman have caused all this? We were told so.’
‘Travel writing of most kinds, not just the humorous, has the history of colonialism perched on its shoulder.’
‘Happiness is not a fact of this experience, at least not to the extent that one is bold enough to speak of it.’
