About The Junket
The Junket is an online quarterly featuring essays, short fiction and poetry. Founded in 2011, it exists as an excuse for writing: to justify the graft of its making, and indulge the mischief it continues to make.
From the Archive
Matthew Sperling
Tradeskin
1638 You can only get to Lambeth by ferry.There have I ventured five several times to view the rarities at John Tradescant’s Ark,where I did spend the whole day in perusing,and that superficially, … Read article
Jon Day
Death and the Canal
A few months ago I watched a swan brain itself against the Cat and Mutton Bridge near Broadway Market in Hackney. I was walking on the towpath; it was flying along above the water, following the curve… Read article
Olivia Laing
My Grained Ash
My grained Ash an hundred times hath broke,And scarr'd the moon with splinters. There’s a storm coming in over New York. Hurricane Sandy. I’m up late, thousands of miles away on the south coa… Read article
Crystal Whitaker
Prishtina Streets
Eyes to the ground. Each step brings a new texture, mostly curious, sometimes treacherous. It may be the relentless subzero temperatures striving to shear layers of stone from the bedrock of paving sl… Read article
Olivia Laing
The Lonely City
There’s a painting halfway up the pristine snail shell of the Guggenheim Museum in New York of a - but already I’m beginning to fumble. There’s a painting halfway up the pristine snail shell of … Read article
From the Current Issue
Nathan Dunne
Silent Motorcade
One of the most iconic amateur films of the last century was Abraham Zapruder’s footage of the JFK assassination. At only 26.6 seconds it has grown to become a visual touchstone of 1960s America, sp… Read article
Tom Offland
EXCUSE ME GHOST
The Famennian Age Extinction Last night I saw the Famennian Age Extinction in an off-licence in Camberwell Green. It was dressed in hospital sandals and soiled hospital slacks. Holding a leather hosp… Read article
Nick Hunt
Fung’s
I drove past Fung’s a few days ago. Of course, it isn’t Fung’s now. It’s an empty building surrounded by weeds, an ugly breezeblock shell. There’s plywood over the sliding doors, and a spind… Read article
Full Issue Here
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