In the latest issue:

Botanic Macaroni

Steven Shapin

What made the Vikings tick?

Tom Shippey

In the Lab

Rupert Beale

Will there be a Brexit deal?

Anand Menon

Short Cuts: Under New Management

Rory Scothorne


Bridget Alsdorf

Sarah Moss

Blake Morrison

Poem: ‘Country Music’

Ange Mlinko

On the Trail of Garibaldi

Tim Parks

Art Lessons

Peter Campbell

You’ll like it when you get there

Tom Crewe

Early Kermode

Stefan Collini

‘The Vanishing Half’

Joanna Biggs

At the Movies: ‘The Truth’

Michael Wood

The Suitcase: Part Two

Frances Stonor Saunders

Poem: ‘Siri U’

Jorie Graham

Diary: Getting into Esports

John Lanchester


The disappearance of time, a life as orderly
as the formal view with its row of poplars
and the sleeping river, which at the mill
was brilliance but now has found its level
lower, less limber; these and these alone

are offered by this city with no echoes
where leaves by the cathedral murmur
obliquely their little snide exclusions
and the tobacconists remember the dead.
A woman here would be housed among women,

making love and a tray of muffins
with the same tranquillised complacency –
or say wildly, When I was sent for mending
I was limp and unbuttoned, torn by carelessness:
now, light shines through the pinpricks in my arms.

This is a man’s world of leather bindings
and football posts bowed down by swinging children.
A file of boys appears in the early mist,
shuffling to showers, muddied, jogging half-crouched
as though they feared the mist would turn to gas.

Send Letters To:

The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN

Please include name, address, and a telephone number.

Read anywhere with the London Review of Books app, available now from the App Store for Apple devices, Google Play for Android devices and Amazon for your Kindle Fire.

Read More

Sign up to our newsletter

For highlights from the latest issue, our archive and the blog, as well as news, events and exclusive promotions.

Newsletter Preferences