Madison Pollack| 11 November 2019
Seven books, a wind chime, assorted ticket stubs left over from trains and shows, movies and museums. … Lydia Davis’ initially cold calculation of how much a love affair costs (in dollars but, then, in more than dollars) in her story “Break It Down” ends with the following sentence: “So I’m just thinking about it, how you can go in with $600, more like $1000, and how you can come out with an old shirt.”
Madison Pollack| 11 November 2019
Katherine Carlman | 14 January, 2019
“I’m very good at math,” the boy said as I passed. He was five or six years old and made this declaration not to me, but to the adult who belonged with him. With his mop of long curls and declaration of brilliance, he had more self-confidence than I’ve ever had. How could a child have more self-assurance than a fifty-year-old woman? He must be an only child, I reasoned – maybe an oldest child, but certainly not the youngest.
Kiefer Holland | February 12, 2018
This rather bizarre article is, I suppose, what you’d call a “thought experiment,” the origins of which would, I’m sure, be of limited interest to the reader, and would certainly take too long to explain. All I believe it is necessary to know, is that the article is driven by the question “if Donald Trump was a fictional character in a Great American Novel, how would he be analysed?” To answer this question, I thought it would be interesting to do a piece of fictional literary analysis from the perspective of a critic fifteen years in the future, considering a book published around now, in which Donald Trump is the protagonist. The book is titled Egregious, the author’s name is, of course, A. Author.
Niki Holzapfel | 6 March 2017
“I wrote stories from the time I was a little girl, but I didn’t want to be a writer. I wanted to be an actress. I didn’t realize then that it’s the same impulse. It’s make-believe. It’s performance. The only difference being that a writer can do it all alone” -Joan Didion, The Paris Review, 1978
I was once in a class with someone who referred to Joan Didion lovingly as “Joan” and spoke of her with the utmost reverence. Rightfully so; the quote above—to me, at least—is brilliant. Writing creatively gives me narratives other than my own to consider. Not a unique conclusion, I realize, but one that makes the act of writing so attractive, so much more than a hobby to mock, so freeing.
The following piece was written when a number of narratives competed in my mind—when make-believe made the most sense.
Amadeus Chen | 20th February 2016.
I came across William Blake’s illustrations of the Book of Job when I was working on his epic Milton: a Poem. And this particular piece “Job’s Evil Dream” caught my eye. This piece visualizes a specific line in the Book of Job: “Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions” (7: 14).
12 December 2016 | Dominic Hale
This poem was written quickly in revulsion, incandescence, disbelief, and horror at present conditions, and the normalising march of recent events. Theresa May’s speech to her delegates on October 5th; Trump on the threshold; the whole unwitty circus.
September 26, 2016 | Josh Simpson
World Suicide Prevention Day was on 10 September 2016. People shared their stories of advice and hope, warnings and cautions. Here is mine.
March 7, 2016 | Harriet MacMillan.
I wrote the above poem in 2012, but it had been in gestation for some time. I first encountered David’s painting The Death of Marat (1793) in 2006; I clearly recall finding the artwork, detailing the French revolutionary’s death in his bath tub at the hands of Charlotte Corday, at once stark and yet curiously sterile. I still retain a fascination with Marat and his murderer Charlotte Corday, described posthumously as ‘l’Ange de l’Assassinat’. I am not alone in my fascination; Corday’s brutal killing of Marat has inspired many artists and writers. But what do artistic acts of rewriting history teach us? Can they ever truly represent those figures who have inspired or horrified us?