The cover artist is Maaike Schoorel, with Self-Portrait in Black (oil on canvas, 2011), courtesy of the Maureen Palely gallery, London.
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The dining room, doing service as a dressing room, was a hive of activity. Before a cheval glass stood Frédérique van Erlevoort, her hair loose and flowing, looking very pale ...
Because I’m unemployed I go to the funfair. I’ve no choice but to keep myself moving, otherwise I’ll be in an even worse state. And don’t amble; the soles of ...
The sun tries its hardest to break through the low-hanging mist. We are moving through the prettiest part of our route: the heath, dotted with fantastic pines and beeches that ...
It was summer and winter. The water by the river, how it rose. Mist between the hills. In the valley the expensive villas, shuttered, white and pink. Fox ...
The Alcantara was moored side by side with the Oranje, but he was still a continent away. Seven months had passed since the liberation. The American jeeps had rolled into ...
As she drives onto the bridge, the bumper rod snaps and whips up onto the hood. She wonders whether it will break off. It’s completely bent. Yesterday evening, after the ...
I drank until I was simple enough to be loved. I let myself be loved. the earth tore open beneath my feet. I drank until I was simple enough to ...
Like Malik’s parents, the Spanish Lady and her husband had been refugees. Refugees with a small “r,” an “r” that tried to make itself as small and inconspicuous as possible. ...
