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She still doesn't know how to measure The gap that yawns Between word and deed She doesn't want to measure it, so many other things Offer better protection Without the comfort of connection —yes, it's strange, she knows— The crevice both...
On a morning that we have good reason to believe was in the autumn – October of the year 1837 to be precise – Louis-Jaques-Mandé Daguerre went up onto the roof of the studio he occupied at number 5 Rue des Marais in the French capital. In the...
In a Kensington bookshop where I'd spent months trying to make Catalan look less lonely, I saw the footballer – let's call him Marc Borràs – take Foix off the shelf and forget, for a few seconds, where he was. I'd spent months in that shop,...
1. Thinking is like hands: it has gestures. Some are friendly, like a handshake, others mark out a territory and assert themselves. Some are gestures of refusal, warding off a threat, or simply born of anxiety about the world. Some are...
Stunned by the mob of misfortunes that had piled up on that old woman's life, this particular misfortune stopped, took in the scene and said: hold on a second. At first she spoke under her breath, as though to herself. Then she raised her...
Fucking had become a competition. They'd decided on that, thought Nico, even though he'd held out as long as he possibly could. Gael had told him about that book by Miranda July, which he'd read searching for himself the whole time, and about...
Collell spent the afternoon analysing the parallelisms and dissimilarities across the twenty-third chapter of a novel (which is curiously replete with characters whose names almost all begin with the same letter), a previous short...
She had just finished going over the room one last time. She walked to the door and looked back to gauge the effect. The night before, she had washed the drapes that hung at the great window, and that morning she had ironed them. They looked lovely,...