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

Horse DreamsMatthew Sweeney

Why does the horse stand there
staring at the horizon?
Is it waiting on some rider
arriving by car from the airport?
Isn’t its grass enough for it
and the freedom of the field?

Oblivious to midges and nightfall
it snorts and hoofs the ground,
tail tossing like a fly swat,
but those big sad eyes still focus
on that bend in the road.

Perhaps it dreams of galloping
all the way to the ocean,
and swimming to that country
where a horse is sacrosanct
and can do as it pleases –

can crash through a window
because it likes the look
of the woman selling jewellery,
imagining already her body
hoisted onto its back.

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