Fiction

I have just finished reading a piece of fiction about a man who insists on finding out how deep the bedrock is wherever he happens to be standing. I would like to know the name of the woman who wrote ...

My letter said what I knew it would say ...

The soldier has been on the line for two weeks. No-one has come. The electrified fence stretches across the desert, north to south, south to north, going as far as the eye can see without bending or altering course. In ...

So that next morning Maitland was firmly persona grata again. He was glad. To live in that grey elephant of a house on any other terms would have been a test of sanity he did not wish to undergo. Yet ...

Losers of the world: unite! ...

The drive to Daylesford had been one long argument ...

Maree had tried booking online but found the websites impossible ...

As I walked home through the park, I decided to embark on a project of emergency replacement ...

On the first day after the cows disappear, I swing both feet onto the earth and set the Trojan against Naffy’s stump ...

I took a shower that first night because the bathtub was filled with packing peanuts ...

Our cousin JJ doesn’t speak. Sometimes he repeats what other people have said, but Mum says that isn’t real speaking ...

Researchers into olfactory memory, that curious nostalgia of the nose, have put it all down to the limbic system ...

The main thing, for Nina’s sake, Mum said when we arrived, is not to show that you are sad ...

Dermo was your man and he was on to it from the get-go. A beast of some mass by God ...

‘Gel.’ Büyük anneanne crooks her finger. ‘Gel.’ ‘Gelmem.’ He hooks his fingers around the back of the chair. Anne sighs and snatches on to one arm, pulling him roughly toward her grandmother. There’s a blanket over büyük anneanne’s lap on ...