In the latest issue:

An Ordinary Woman

Alan Bennett

Anglo-America Loses its Grip

Pankaj Mishra

Short Cuts: John Bolton’s Unwitting Usefulness

Mattathias Schwartz

Smells of Hell

Keith Thomas

Mrs Oliphant

Tom Crewe

Tippett’s Knack

Philip Clark

At Tate Modern: Steve McQueen

Colin Grant

Catherine Lacey

Nicole Flattery

Churchill’s Cook

Rosemary Hill

The ‘Batrachomyomachia’

Ange Mlinko

On Dorothea Lange

Joanna Biggs

Paid to Race

Jon Day

Poem: ‘Traveller’s Tales: Chapter 90’

August Kleinzahler

The Soho Alphabet

Andrew O’Hagan

Old Tunes

Stephen Sedley

Victor Serge’s Defective Bolshevism

Tariq Ali

The Murdrous Machiavel

Erin Maglaque

Diary: Insane after coronavirus?

Patricia Lockwood

Two PoemsLola Haskins


In the market a bull’s skinned head.
Horned still, with black lips.
A boy is carving from the cheek,
slides the slices off his palm.
Green flies gather on the cuts
like jewels.

             In the disco-bar
Amalia, inside her thin black
dress. Rafael, who is gone,
used to hurt her. A perfume
drifts from Amalia’s skin.
Men buzz, oil their hair,
hurry across the room.


I am walled and atop my walls
are glass teeth.
Sharp jewels of green and amber.
Clear shards to catch the light
the way a bride turns her ring.

Inside, soft red flowers open.
Inside, yellow bougainvillea glitters
like the yellow specks in my eyes.
Oh if you would be a thief
come crawling. Come bleeding.
Come to me in ribbons.

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