In the latest issue:

Loathed by Huysmans

Julian Barnes

Too early or too late?

David Runciman

Short Cuts: ‘Parallel Lives’

Tom Crewe

Society as a Broadband Network

William Davies

Indefinite Lent

Thomas Jones

In 1348

James Meek

The House of York

John Guy

At the Movies: Pasolini’s ‘Teorema’

Michael Wood

Secrets are like sex

Neal Ascherson

Poem: ‘The Bannisters’

Paul Muldoon

Clarice Lispector

Rivka Galchen

Marius Petipa

Simon Morrison

At the Foundling Museum: ‘Portraying Pregnancy’

Joanne O’Leary

Caroline Gordon v. Flannery O’Connor

Rupert Thomson


Joe Dunthorne

Poem: ‘The Reach of the Sea’

Maureen N. McLane

Diary: Where water used to be

Rosa Lyster

How to set up an ICU

Lana Spawls

Follow the Science

James Butler

A White TigerFrederick Seidel

The golden light is white.
It is the colour of moonlight in the middle of the night
If you suddenly wake and you are a child
In the forest and the wild
Animals all around you are sleeping.
You are in your bed and you are weeping
For no reason.
It is because it is tiger season.
The big-game hunters’ guns are banging.
The corpse of a real beauty is hanging
From a tree in the darkness, waiting.
Of course, the Palestinians and the Jews are exaggerating!
The building is not a million storeys high.
The moonlight is not going to die.
The Israelis and the Palestinians are by no means exaggerating.
The carcass is hanging from the darkness, waiting.
The building is a million human stories high.
The moonlight is going to die.
In the corners of your little room,
The large-bore guns go boom boom.
The tigers are field dressed where they fall, who used to roar.
The stomach and lungs are removed with the gore.
Tiger incisors get sold at the store.
Tiger canines ground into powder get sold at the store.
Tiger heart will also restore.
The tigers will end up a tiger skin on the floor.
Especially a rare white tiger is not safe anywhere anymore.
One escaped from the cage when they opened the door.

Rest in fierce peace, Edward, on the far shore.

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