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

Young YvonneWystan Curnow

Hers sheathed in black velvet embroidered in gold thread and sequined panthered and
ankled Napoleonic by couches to turbaned tantamount no less, slender more supple
even than Antoinette young Yvonne’s body lay ever more African than Arab quite
purple-frogged in pink-flowered tumult. Turquoise was caftan enquired at cost as whose
black velvet glossed was/were gold embossed shoes in repeat sequins do distantly recall
Bohain’s cross-legged frocks of old for then there of which the plucked from a rich blue
ground formed in a plum-red blouse slashed and swagged pants sumptuously oranged
before our Arnoud herself arranged front to back onto green-and-creamed Javanese
batik sashed silks. She’s boredom she said her open book unread personified on their
laps lay the day the long limbed and her quirky for the feature before the cash
fabulously shot silk sample books stashed and seemed several shy over sensitive and
sensuously damasked bladed upholstered next to their skin. In Henri’s hotel rooms
demonstrably magnolia marvellous but threadbare posing arabesque meandering
profusion though far from happy Yvonne’s undoubtedly light airs whereas Lissette
longs herself on lounges for frivolous yet’s twisted listless in toile de Jouy job lots and
stands at open windows flush with fresh onto ocean frilly as actress less Italian
than French as angular as Antoinette.

Send Letters To:

The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN

Please include name, address, and a telephone number.

Read anywhere with the London Review of Books app, available now from the App Store for Apple devices, Google Play for Android devices and Amazon for your Kindle Fire.

Read More

Sign up to our newsletter

For highlights from the latest issue, our archive and the blog, as well as news, events and exclusive promotions.

Newsletter Preferences