In the latest issue:

The American Virus

Eliot Weinberger

The Home Life of Inspector Maigret

John Lanchester

Story: ‘Have a Seat in the Big Black Chair’

Diane Williams

The Last Whale

Colin Burrow

In Beijing

Long Ling

Princess Margaret and Lady Anne

Rosemary Hill

At the Movies: ‘Arkansas’

Michael Wood

Ruin it your own way

Susan Pedersen

At Home

Jane Miller

The Ottoman Conundrum

Helen Pfeifer

Poem: ‘Muntjac’

Blake Morrison

Piketty’s Revolution

Geoff Mann

Short Cuts: In Tripoli

Jérôme Tubiana

Coetzee Makes a Leap

Christopher Tayler

At Auckland Castle: Francisco de Zurbarán

Nicola Jennings

Drain the Swamps

Steven Shapin

Diary: In the Isolation Room

Nicholas Spice



My father peers into the lit sitting-room
and says, ‘Are you here?’ ... Yes, I am
in one of his cloudy white leather armchairs,
with one foot not too disrespectfully on the table,
reading Horvâth’s Godless Youth. Without another word,
he goes out again, baffling and incommunicable,
the invisible man, dampening any speculation.

Open House

Rawlplugs and polyfilla ... the cheerful,
tamping thump of reggae through the floorboards,

the drawling vowel ‘r’ of Irish or Jamaican English
carrying easily through the heated, excitable air –

as though I lived in a museum without walls.

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