Jessie Greengrass’s ‘Sight’

Book Review

February 2018

Jonathan Gibbs

Book Review

February 2018

Jessie Greengrass’s debut story collection caught my eye with its delightfully extravagant title, An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to...

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Tribute

Fiction

February 2018

Jennifer Atkins

Fiction

February 2018

Sometimes you think about Atlas and you cry. Poor thing. A lot of the time you can’t get over it. A fossil of a...

Art Review

February 2018

Nicolas Party, Speakers; Hannah Ryggen, Woven Histories

Lili Owen Rowlands

Art Review

February 2018

The limestone statue of the diamond trader, imperialist and racist Cecil Rhodes that adorns the façade of Oxford’s Oriel...

Feature

February 2018

Paris in August

Jacqueline Feldman

Feature

February 2018

Although I had landed two hours before, I was drinking wine and not coffee as I waited for a...

Art Review

January 2018

Ngozi Onwurah, Three Short Films

Rashida Seriki

Art Review

January 2018

Three of Ngozi Onwurah’s exceptional shorts were screened at...

Book Review

January 2018

David Hayden’s ‘Darker With the Lights On’

Brian Dillon

Book Review

January 2018

In his 1970 essay ‘The Concept of Character in...

Poetry

January 2018

Three Poems

Susannah Dickey

Poetry

January 2018

And all the circus ponies had to go home...

Art Review

January 2018

RAQS MEDIA COLLECTIVE, TWILIGHT LANGUAGE

Priya Khanchandani

Art Review

January 2018

As you enter Raqs Media Collective’s exhibition ‘Twilight Language’ at...

Fiction

January 2018

Flood

Seno Gumira Ajidarma

TR. Michael Bodden

Fiction

January 2018

Ten minutes before the floodwaters arrived, Pak Prawiro died....

Book Review

January 2018

Carmen Maria Machado’s ‘Her Body and Other Parties’

Nicole Flattery

Book Review

January 2018

I’m reluctant to admit this but it’s often easier for me to write about a book I hated rather...

Art Review

January 2018

Maja Čule, Mouth

Nadia Quadmani

Art Review

January 2018

The contemporary hunter-gatherer does not hunt to survive. Rather,...

Art Review

December 2017

Alina Szapocznikow, Human Landscapes

Philomena Epps

Art Review

December 2017

‘I produce awkward objects,’ the sculptor Alina Szapocznikow wrote...

Feature

January 2018

Accumulations (Appendix F)

Kate Zambreno

Feature

January 2018

I’ve been keeping a mental list of all the...

Book Review

January 2018

Audre Lorde’s ‘Your Silence Will Not Protect You’

Bridget Minamore

Book Review

January 2018

There’s a clarity to Audre Lorde’s writing that becomes...

Books of the Year

reviews

December 2017

reviews

December 2017

Presenting members of The White Review editorial team, esteemed contributors, and friends of the magazine on the books they’ve been reading in 2017      ...
Universal Access   I have only ever lived among pollution Tell me it is not the sky I look at but an irradiated blanket, pitched between my street lamps and the real sky To that I say the real sky is immaterial, an idea cast too far back into the dark to matter My pollutions define me   As a child I favoured invented worlds, populated by tribes with kaleidoscopic cultures, another one always over the mountain ridge Today, in the city, the promise of a never spent or perfected flux is all that keeps me here The new thing ever opening Frontiers of the affordable and good   I am stranded in the middle of Moby Dick: p 274 out of 509 The Pequod, after listing in the South Pacific, has embarked upon its first ‘cutting in’, the process of safely flaying a whale of its blubber, which requires the whole crew to heave a hook-fed rope through the blowhole until everything gives at once, for the blubber envelopes the whale precisely as the rind does an orange   Part of me would sooner stay here There is too much to read Far from a complaint, this is only to state the necessary obverse of infinity’s appeal Were we to know that our present book was the last we were yet to read, its conclusion would be intolerable Heaven, then, must be to choose a fixed point, knowing the brawl of infinite, receding options, as if slipping into a particular chair while rain hammers on the skylight Here I can dip my fingers in the dripping hide   Through my browser I watch a documentary, free of charge, about a church repurposed as a data centre where a record of every web page is collected through time Truly, there is a holiness in this: shades of God’s forensic love for hair and sand As well as sites they preserve books scanned by human hand, so that Melville’s relishing and fretful bulk can expand along its ultimate democratic tangent to take its place beside the novel’s Wiki page, as captured on almost every day of its existence   A great wall:

Poetry

December 2017

Three Poems

Dai George

Poetry

December 2017

Universal Access   I have only ever lived among pollution. Tell me it is not the sky I look...

Art Review

December 2017

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Boom for Real

Cora Gilroy-Ware

Art Review

December 2017

Matilde Andrades regularly took the subway to Museum Mile with her son Jean-Michel Basquiat. Their favourite destinations were MoMA...

Interview

December 2017

Interview with Peter Stamm

Seren Adams

Interview

December 2017

Peter Stamm’s international reputation as a writer of acute...

Art Review

December 2017

Issy Wood, When You I Feel

Robert Assaye

Art Review

December 2017

At the centre of Issy Wood’s solo exhibition at...

Book Review

December 2017

Brian Blanchfield's ‘Proxies: A Memoir in Twenty-four Attempts’

Claire Lowdon

Book Review

December 2017

‘Before we met,’ writes Maggie Nelson to her lover Harry Dodge,...

Art Review

November 2017

Navine G. Khan-Dossos, Echo Chamber

Izabella Scott

Art Review

November 2017

A lattice of diamonds and crosses, painted onto a...

Fiction

November 2017

The Necessary Changes Have Been Made

Nafissa Thompson-Spires

Fiction

November 2017

Though he had theretofore resisted the diminutive form of...

News

November 2017

The White Review Poet's Prize 2017 Shortlist

News

November 2017

We are delighted to announce the shortlist for The White Review Poet’s Prize 2017.   Supported by Jerwood Charitable...

Art Review

November 2017

Hannah Black, Some Context

Nina Power

Art Review

November 2017

On the cover of the 1985 Pelican edition of...

BROOD   after Goya’s Pinturas Negras   Saturn never expected to devour his children,   his fingertips digging into their ribs, light   -headed Didn’t start out weeping, or sense   as he hid in his winter bath on that murky morning   up to his eyes gazing over   the loosely level surface that healed   its holes as his knees withdrew And he didn’t   remember it later that night, even after   he found dried blood in his nails The steady rush   was all he recalled, a creek after rain, a head slumping   forward, a riddle resolved One son he had raised   to the light like a t-shirt he’d worn   every day for weeks on end for a band   he could no longer stand             GROUNDED   if                                                                                                                                   then they                                                                                                                            climb nod off                                                                                                                your roof as static                                                                                                          hail a cloud drowns the anchor’s voice     

Poetry

November 2017

Three Poems

Eric Berlin

Poetry

November 2017

BROOD   after Goya’s Pinturas Negras   Saturn never expected to devour his children,   his fingertips digging into...

Book Review

November 2017

Jesmyn Ward's ‘Sing, Unburied, Sing'

Lucy Scholes

Book Review

November 2017

Jesmyn Ward’s third novel returns to the same setting...

Art Review

November 2017

Doclisboa Film Festival

Mitch Speed

Art Review

November 2017

Maybe it’s true that sophisticated cinema has perished, as...

Small White Monkeys

Feature

November 2017

Sophie Collins

Feature

November 2017

Small white monkeys stretch around in the dirt beneath a tree but do not get dirty. They pick themselves up and dash away across...

Book Review

November 2017

M. John Harrison's 'You Should Come With Me Now'

Patrick Langley

Book Review

November 2017

In a 2012 interview with the Guardian, M. John Harrison argued that the segregation of literature into genres is ‘a...

The White Book feels as if it is being whispered: each paragraph seems to come from some deep and interior place Han Kang wrote it whilst living in Warsaw, though in the book the city is never named explicitly Instead it is only a white city, white for its snow and white for its stone ruins In an interview with Granta, Kang said that when writing this book, she imagined her prematurely dead sister had lived and visited the city ‘in my place’   Photographs are interspersed throughout In some, a woman appears, her face obscured by shadow In others, only her hands are visible She holds a child’s gown She holds a pebble-like object covered in salt The photographs are of white objects, but in contrast to the white pages, they are startlingly grey The specks and splashes of whiteness are surrounded by shadow The woman seems trapped in darkness Who is this woman supposed to represent? The narrator? The ghost of the sister? The novelist Kang? All or none of the above?  The literal answer is that they are photographs of a performance by Kang, shot by the photographer Choi Jinhyuk But within the pages, they seem to carry the spirit of characters — and the novelist herself   The text is a loose collection of thoughts, scenes, and images Few are longer than a page They are gathered into three sections — ‘I’, ‘She’, and ‘All Whiteness’ ‘I’ follows the narrator considering the colour white and describes her sister’s passing ‘She’ imagines the sister’s life Some subsections describe what the sister might have done—having an X-ray, finding a pebble, attempting to befriend a dog Others contemplate white things—seagulls, a dead butterfly, a lace curtain   Both ‘I’ and ‘She’ are pensive and slightly sorrowful At first, this similarity is disorienting: it is hard to see where one perspective ends and the other begins Slowly, the reader realises that this muddling is the point The concern of the narrator is not whether the sister would have been a vastly different person, but what it means to replace one life with another Her mother would not have

Book Review

November 2017

Han Kang’s ‘The White Book’

Rowan Hisayo Buchanan

Book Review

November 2017

The White Book feels as if it is being whispered: each paragraph seems to come from some deep and...

Chris Kraus’s ‘After Kathy Acker’

Book Review

October 2017

Jennifer Hodgson

Book Review

October 2017

Acker by Kraus is a tantalising prospect. How do you go about writing a biography of an inveterate self-mythologiser, who made over fiction into...