Everyone else has book clubs—Shoreditch House have a Literary Salon. The Salon lures the world’s best writers to London to read to you from their latest greatest works. Previous guests have included Francesca Beauman, Geoff Dyer and Jojo Moyes. The host is Damian Barr, Times journalist and Radio 4 playwright. The whole affair is lubrcated by free servings of the delightfully peculiar Hendrick’s and Tonic with cucumber.Read more →
Showing posts with tag: Spanish literature
Hello, I’m eighteen years old and I feel damp. I live in the green house on Love of God Street. I’m the bathtub mildew.
I used to be attacked with all kinds of killer products, but since the flat was sub-let to the Dávilas, I haven’t had to worry.
I’ve settled into the two lower corners of the tub, and am planning to make my way surreptitiously to the back of the tap, which is most appealing, with all its metal nooks and crannies.Read more →
Litro has always had a keen interest in short fiction in languages other than English, as well as stories from other cultures. We’re not entirely averse to the darker side of fiction either. So we are pleased to present ourselves on 18 October at the event, “Nightmares in The European Bookshop”, with a presentation and a live interview with Spanish short story writer Nina Melero, who will also read from her collection Tenebrario.Read more →
“In Blow-up I used my head instinctively!”
“In the centre of the picture, just under the surface”
Margaret Atwood, This is a Photograph of Me
You see an amusement park. In the background of the picture there’s the big wheel and part of the metal structure of a rollercoaster. The carousel is a mixture of fin-de-siècle animals and plastic imitations of pop characters—Winnie the Pooh riding a bike, Bugs Bunny canoeing, Knight Rider, etc.Read more →
The rattling of the engine made me drowsy, but I was wide awake. I wasn’t dreaming now. On one side Elvira, on the other Angeleta and faces all around me. All unfamiliar, all quiet and withdrawn. No, this was no dream. It was real. They’d called at midday and asked in Spanish for the wife and children of Jaime Camps.Read more →
murrai is pondering a profound study on
ignorance but does not want to devote himself to writing it
until he acquires greater general unknowledge
yes yes the paper towels for
(From Stories of Rock-and-Roll, 1985)
Antón R Reixa (born 1957) is one of the most radical innovators in Galician poetry. Since the 1980s he has been experimenting with multimedia poetry and artists books.Read more →
‘Attack the seagulls’ nest,’ a man’s voice repeated on the intercom. ‘Attack the seagulls’ nest.’
‘The seagulls’ nest?’ he tried to confirm. ‘That’d be the fourth day running, Queen!’ But the communication was cut short at the other end without further explanation.
Attacking the seagulls’ nest meant, in their current code, modifying the route once again and driving through a different square from the scheduled one – and it turned out to be exactly the same square as on the previous days.Read more →
The mirror of elegance before my eyes
and my eyelids sleep a sinewy sleep
in liquid lines of the expressions etched
on a face of cruelty close to mine.
I become fear the murderer
and while an angel passes un ange passe
all would like to see after the orgy
if what I have kept back is a thought
threaded through needles of irony.
The roof of the trailer was patched with green asbestos shingles and the dingy interior was filled nearly wall to wall by a large mattress, making it impossible to walk without tripping over it. Sol sat on the edge of the mattress, smoking a cigarette. In addition to serving as a jerry-rigged bed, the mattress was also an office.Read more →
Railroad Train, 1908
No sooner is the caboose
out of sight than they’ve
already forgotten you.
It’s like losing clout or taking
a load off their minds. That’s just
how they, who are out
to lunch or do nothing
with their lives, wash their hands
of you. Got it? Yet the trains you catch
are determined, air-conditioned, carnivorous,
in fine fettle.