Once upon a time, there was a girl who had an official name – the name on her birth certificate, a name for bureaucrats and people who didn’t know her well – and a true name. The true name was Thing. Thing was taught charts and graphs early on. She knew one’s beautiful years must beContinue reading “Thing, a short biography”
For some reason (possibly because I’m very lucky or because I have the habit of ignoring the world around me), I get surprised when men say sexist stuff to me about my work. I was in a Moscow bar recently on a dark and stormy night, and a typical twatty overpaid British expat man of the sortContinue reading “International Women’s Day and some women writers I admire”
There once was a woman who gave up financial security, doctor’s appointments, decent living conditions not involving very large bugs, and other important things in order to become the true version of herself. And the true version of herself was a version that no one was particularly interested in. Aside from a handful of menContinue reading “Bug, tooth, moon”
“It smells like an old crypt,” Noor said as the central heating system sluggishly started up for the first time that autumn. Stray leaves whispered in the ducts. “Smelled a crypt before?” Khaldoun asked his new wife.
When I was fourteen, I bought a copy of “Human Croquet” after reading about it in a magazine for girls (unexpected choice by the editor, I’ve come to realize). I had the original receipt for a while and jotted down the exact time, down to the minute, and place where the book was purchased. IContinue reading “On the work of Kate Atkinson”