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


In memory of Jane Canfield

‘The speed of light is not the limit. We
Are free. We glide. Our superluminous
Velocity will take us far. For us,
The superluminous is only the
Beginning of our birth. How born we are.
Compared to how we started. Vast, oh vast.
A lifetime as the measure couldn’t last,
The nearest destinations were too far:
A billion years to reach the one inside
You if you could – who holds you, whom you hold.
You kick the covers off asleep, are cold,
And someone covers you, is all. And glide
Off into space. Is all. Space curved by speed –
We really leave the light behind. But hark.
The infinite beginning in the dark
To sigh the universe out of its seed.
The speck that weighs more than the world. Before
The universe – which has no meaning – was
Before the singularity which does.
Invisible nonzero, and we soar.
We sigh from the beginning, and we soar.
We leave the light behind and soar. And soar.’

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