Latest Features

The Marquis de Sade Tells His Version of the Aristocrats Joke

He raises a moiré handkerchief to dab at the symptom. “Yes, unpillaged, undamaged, the precious scroll will remain in its chink, no matter what chaos might descend upon this frangible fortress. Covered, front and back, with exquisitely minuscule calligraphy, nary a correction nor striking-out, it is the manuscript of my chef d’oeuvre: a hundred thousand words of the most impure tale ever told, stretching no fewer than eleven-point-nine of the ‘meters’ lately calculated by Messrs. Delambre and Méchain.

By Tom Bradley.

Poem Brut #157 – The Bird King (European Poetry Festival edition)

I explored the voice and time through a loosely structured, largely improvised collaboration with Eduard Escoffet in which we pushed the expressive potential of the human, and the bird (king) before an audience of thousands.

In the 157th of the Poem Brut series, new poetry by James Knight.

Eurostar (Extract)

Now though, whenever I see a sparrow cocking its head to one side, or taking a dust bath, I find myself wondering if Barry’s spirit is inside it. In fact, in that small, fluttering moment I really do believe that there is a greater power connecting all living things. And although it might sound silly it always makes my eyes prick with tears, in part because there has to be a reason.

An exclusive extract from Susan Finlay‘s superlative The Lives of the Artists.

Brotherless Night: An Interview with V.V. Ganeshananthan

The book is certainly preoccupied with bearing witness. This is part of my own reaction to understanding how certain narratives were presented to me and to others, as though they were total and complete, when in fact they elided or erased certain histories that did not fit the goals of authoritarian storytellers. I was very much looking to return to the page stories that people hadn’t told as much. Whether that was the story of civilian women’s resistance to militarization, the story of how Sri Lankan security forces behaved in the theatre of war, or the story of how Tamil militants behaved in the theatre of war, I was interested in messing up the accepted or prevalent narratives.

V.V. Ganeshananthan interviewed by Katy Wimhurst.

When Palm Trees Fall

When palm trees fall, a thud obliterates your next-door neighbors in a duplex. The electricity goes out. Car alarms blare. Sirens wail. Morning routines are delayed. Power lines divide the road. Drivers abandon the wheel, populating the asphalt in front of your condo. And in the din of total darkness, you still manage to scramble your eggs by the light of the kitchen’s gas stove.

A short story by Connor McLean.

Disco 2023

Cue all the seats flanking the packed standing area to be vacated by instantly euphoric dancers. 15,000 people are on their feet singing along to a song landmarked by a fountain that was literally down the road. Goodwin Fountain in Fargate, Cocker tells us, before ‘the council went and fucking filled it in.’ We’re rooted in Sheffield, we’re rooted and welded as fans, and yet we’re reaching for places and times that at once feel out-of-reach and yet never more powerfully realised.

Guy Mankowski reviews Pulp in Sheffield.

Necessary Fantasies: The Broken Circle Breakdown

The film tells us, right from the beginning, specifically how that dream will shatter. After the harmonies of the band onstage come the heavy silences of the second scene: Elise and Didier’s six-year-old daughter, Maybelle, has cancer. The story is told in a non-linear way: Maybelle is ill, Maybelle is born, Elise is in the band, Elise learns how to sing, Didier watches a man attempt to revive his wife, Didier proposes to his future wife. Not in that order. It is impossible for the viewer to believe in a fantasy of the hero’s journey — to hope that after hardship comes a gratifying sense of resolution. We know too much, all the time. The broken timeline speaks to the concept of the fantasy and its impossible anchorage in time: it does not exist in the present, is in fact defined by its remoteness to the present, and cannot be realised in the future if it is to remain a fantasy.

By Mathilde Merouani.

The Unheard (Review)

The Unheard is Anne Worthington’s debut novel, which should make all discerning readers excited for what she writes next. It is an astonishingly accomplished work of fiction, skilfully balancing the need to tell a complete story while leaving much for the reader to infer. There is no spoon feeding here, yet the writing style and structure are never difficult to navigate while diving deep into the always compelling tale.

Jackie Law reviews Anne Worthington‘s The Unheard.

The State of Us: An Interview with Charlie Hill

‘On the International Space Station’ took years to write and I only persevered because I thought it was an original idea; if I’d known there was something else like it, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. It might be convincing because I did a ridiculous amount of research into both the International Space Station and Toronto. Then again, it was supposed to be about a woman. And given you’re the second person out of not very many to think it was a man, I’ve got to consider the possibility it wasn’t my most successful act of ventriloquism!

Katy Wimhurst interviews Charlie Hill.

How to be a French Girl (Review)

This is a modern-day A Tale of Two Cities with all the Dickens drained out. Cleary’s style instead blends the laconic nonchalance of Sally Rooney with the derisive nihilism of Michel Houellebecq, but the result is a voice entirely her own. I don’t know if there is a greater literary authority for the age of truncated attention spans, online dating and the decline of art.

Josh Allan reviews Rose Cleary‘s How to be a French Girl.

How to be a French Girl (Extract)

Feet planted apart, he is facing her with his whole body. His biceps are visible under a white shirt tightly tucked into his jeans. Wide nose. Big eyes. Dark pupils. Strong brow line. There is something about his face, as though he is about to smile or speak. But instead he brings his cigarette to his mouth. Clips it deftly between his lips. The smoke leaves his nostrils in two steady streams. His eyes still do not leave her. Something about his gaze does not produce in her the usual twist of irritation, the irk. His stare is a fact.

Read an exclusive extract from Rose Cleary‘s How to be a French Girl.

Handsome Devil

Everyone was talking about Bundy the week it snowed in the North but not in the South. In Cambridge people sat on the grass and pushed punts along the river, and in Manchester they squeezed snow into hard little balls. Nobody in my house wanted to go outside on account of the snow and the serial killers. It didn’t matter that Bundy had been electrocuted decades ago because he was alive in our living room in the evenings, smiling slow at us from the screen while we grimaced and shook our heads.

A short story by Nina Reljić.