For the final part of this novel’s first movement, our young hero, Serge Carrefax, travels to Kloděbrady’, a presumably Austro-Hungarian spa town, to take a cure. It’s 1913,...

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Frank Kermode: On Frank Kermode

Mary-Kay Wilmers, 9 September 2010

Papers speak through their writers. And of all the London Review’s writers Frank Kermode was the one through whom we spoke most often and most eloquently. In all he wrote nearly 250 pieces...

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Freakazoid: ‘The Slap’

Melissa Denes, 19 August 2010

First published in Australia in 2008, The Slap won last year’s Commonwealth Writers’ Prize and has been long-listed for the Booker Prize. On the dust-jacket of the British edition,...

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Saint Shakespeare

Barbara Everett, 19 August 2010

Late 16th-century England had no very great portrait painters, but at least one of its dramatists created a gallery of images – principally through his characters – at once brilliant...

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Dye the Steak Blue: Shirley Jackson

Lidija Haas, 19 August 2010

In Shirley Jackson’s best-known story, ‘The Lottery’, the residents of a small New England village get together on a summer morning to draw lots. The sun shines, the children...

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Diary: Trials of a Translator

Michael Henry, 19 August 2010

April 1993. In the bookstall at Nice airport I notice a paperback with the title Le Chercheur d’or. It seems to be about a love affair and a search for hidden treasure at the turn of the...

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Three Poems

Nick Laird, 19 August 2010

The Mark After that Etruscan she-wolf tenting milk-fat twins, the grabby cherubs added fairly awkwardly around the time of Michelangelo, we chance upon Marsyas, nearly dead. Boxer’s nose....

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Poem: ‘I Knew the Bride’

Hugo Williams, 19 August 2010

for my sister Polly 1950-2004 You had to go to bed ahead of us even then, while your two older brothers grabbed another hour downstairs. The seven-year gap was like a generation between us. You...

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Losing the Light: Memories of Camus

Michael Wood, 19 August 2010

The last piece in L’Eté, a collection of Camus’s essays first published in 1954, ends on a characteristic note of risk and grandeur: ‘I have always had the impression of...

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Forged, Forger, Forget: Peter Carey

Nicholas Spice, 5 August 2010

Parrot and Olivier in America is the singular and surprising offspring of an unlikely coupling between two different novels: one, a fantasia on Tocqueville’s travels in America in 1831, the...

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Didn’t you just love O-lan? Pearl Buck

Deborah Friedell, 22 July 2010

Pearl Buck was the favourite novelist of both my grandmothers, which like their shingle haircuts and their trust in authority, their Coca-Cola brisket, has always seemed an example of the...

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The truck’s wheels slipped on the hardpack and I went for a tree, missed it, bounced off the snow bank and spun around to settle against the opposite side of the road. I got out to look at...

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Poem: ‘Epithets’

Jamie McKendrick, 22 July 2010

Toledo la rica, Salamanca la fuerte, León la bella, Oviedo la sacra, y Sevilla la grande. Liverpool the impoverished, the liverish, the void, the full, the self-besotted, the...

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What are we saying when we say someone has ‘gone out of their mind’? The thing about going out of your mind is that the mind is still there; you can go back. You haven’t lost...

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Misgivings: Christopher Ricks

Adam Phillips, 22 July 2010

In his first book, Milton’s Grand Style, Christopher Ricks showed us that Milton wanted his readers to be attentive to the fact that when our ‘first parents’ fell, their...

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Two Poems

John Ashbery, 8 July 2010

Days like Today Sometimes, on Sundays, they walk a little ways into the oval spell others are soft on. She, a maid, unknown to terror, rising out of the ridge, its spreading cedars bemused and...

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Love of His Life: Dickens

Rosemarie Bodenheimer, 8 July 2010

The bicentenary of Charles Dickens’s birth falls on 7 February 2012, and Dickensians across the globe are stirring. Dickens, who held strong opinions about virtually everything, had his own...

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Poem: ‘The Kirmes Parade’

John Hartley Williams, 8 July 2010

The flies are devoted to this appassionata. The church tower has magnetised the mob. Nothing but jugglers, stilt-walkers, flame-spitters, the thrashed bells’ lingering throb. Why do they...

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