In the latest issue:

Boris Johnson’s First Year

Ferdinand Mount

Short Cuts: In the Bunker

Thomas Jones

Theban Power

James Romm

What can the WHO do?

James Meek

At the Type Archive

Alice Spawls

Where the Poor Lived

Alison Light

At the Movies: ‘Da 5 Bloods’

Michael Wood

Cultural Pillaging

Neal Ascherson

Jenny Offill

Adam Mars-Jones

Shakespeare v. the English

Michael Dobson

Poem: ‘Now Is the Cool of the Day’

Maureen N. McLane


David Trotter

Consider the Hare

Katherine Rundell

How Should I Refer to You?

Amia Srinivasan

Poem: ‘Field Crickets (Gryllus campestris)’

Fiona Benson

Diary: In Mali

Rahmane Idrissa



My father peers into the lit sitting-room
and says, ‘Are you here?’ ... Yes, I am
in one of his cloudy white leather armchairs,
with one foot not too disrespectfully on the table,
reading Horvâth’s Godless Youth. Without another word,
he goes out again, baffling and incommunicable,
the invisible man, dampening any speculation.

Open House

Rawlplugs and polyfilla ... the cheerful,
tamping thump of reggae through the floorboards,

the drawling vowel ‘r’ of Irish or Jamaican English
carrying easily through the heated, excitable air –

as though I lived in a museum without walls.

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