Issue One

Contents

Lethe’s Children

Die Nacht ist vorbeiEin neuer Tag beginntAlles strömtStadtkindBerlin, du gibst mir die KraftBin ‘n Teil von dirStadtkind (more…)… Read article

On Knowing the Words

I have started learning poems by heart again. The first time round, I was six and under orders from Mrs Russell, a primary-school teacher who sometimes said ‘bugger’ loudly in the classroom and wh… Read article

‘The Wall’, or, What I Talk About When I Talk About the 400 Metres

The first time I vomited from running was the first time I ran the 400 metres. It was my freshman year of high school, at an indoor track meet against our rivals, Ipswich. Like most high school sports… Read article

Omiyage: a souvenir

I Ikimasenka, watashitachi? when the evening is spread out against the sky, can we visit the temples together, ishoni? They light them up each night, and I would like to see the golden and the silve… Read article

Covert Culture

We may assume we are in the presence of covert culture when we note a recurrent pattern of inconsistent or seemingly illogical behavior. When most people in a given society or sub-society adhere to in… Read article

Rituals of an Obituarist

There is a smell that comes with them now, with writing. Five months ago an e-mail was sent around my Cambridge college seeking people willing to write obituaries for deceased alumni. Help was requir… Read article

Positioning

It puts me in a difficult position – emotionally, professionally, sometimes physically – when a friend asks for my advice about breastfeeding. This is largely because any knowledge I have on the … Read article

On Killing Squirrels

For the last few years, I’ve worked with an Air Arms S200 pre-charged pneumatic air rifle propped against my desk. It began as a precaution against mice, who’d taken advantage of the decreasing fa… Read article

Nights at the Opera

In the first 28 years of my life, I went to the opera, oh, six or seven times. In the year or so since, I’ve been to 15 different productions. My knowledge of the music is not deep. I can tell a Wa… Read article

Picking the Lock

It is September. It is a Monday. But it feels nothing like a Monday morning at all. My mother is driving us down a Dorset lane as narrow, winding and nostalgic as the neurological pathways hotwiring m… Read article