David Calcutt

      Further extracts from The Old Man in the House of Bone     There’s someone else in the house of bone, someone moving in between the silences, slipping through and around them, stepping over them on tiptoe, trying not to wake them,...

Marion McCready

  The Un-Mother The clouds of a new dawn whisper around me – or are they nurses? The blue firmament is a light-rattled ceiling; the lighthouse of the doctor shines above me. My body is a reef – it is growing from me. I have octopus arms and legs; this bed cannot...

Matt West

        At Morrison’s He tells me this is how it feels to come back from the dead; a jolt, like tripping over the raised corner of a paving slab, tasting dirt and grit and finding how strong gravity is. I tell Jim I need specifics I need specifics....

Julia Stothard

      Galleries Walking into the intense heat of a gallery, over-coated and dripping, expecting canvass to speak without the commotion of words I will either be stunned or unimpressed but invariably silent, appraising shattered faces, elephant dung or...

Joolz Sparkes

      Jack Kerouac’s scroll in The British Library – it’s the immense pressure of standing a beat apart, released through fine nicotine hands into dizzying thuds of keys and ribbon, that leaves a trail of latticework serifs as he drags them all behind...