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Lauren Elkin
Lauren Elkin is most recently the author of No. 91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK translator of Simone de Beauvoir's previously unpublished novel, The Inseparables (Vintage). Her previous book Flâneuse: Women Walk the City (Chatto/FSG) was a finalist for the PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay, a New York Times Notable Book of 2017, and a BBC Radio 4 Book of the Week. Her essays have appeared in Granta, the London Review of Books, Harper’s, the New York Times, and Frieze, among others. Her next book, Art Monsters, will be out in July 2023 (Chatto/FSG). She lives in London.

Articles Available Online


Maria Gainza’s ‘Optic Nerve’

Book Review

May 2019

Lauren Elkin

Book Review

May 2019

In his foreword to A Thousand Plateaus, on the pleasures of philosophy, and of Deleuze and Guattari’s philosophy in particular, Brian Massumi writes:  ...

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Issue No. 8

Barking From the Margins: On écriture féminine

Lauren Elkin

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Issue No. 8

 I. Two moments in May May 2, 2011. The novelists Siri Hustvedt and Céline Curiol are giving a talk...

Two hundred names are inscribed in a totemic list that opens Alice Oswald’s Memorial The deaths of the Greek heroes, recounted over 400 pages in the Iliad, are stunningly compressed across four double pages Their deaths are a foregone conclusion; but their capitalised names, framed by the blankness of the page, carry the hefty weight of each man’s life The second part of the poem, which recounts the heroes’ often unheroic traits, lays bare the insanity of war; the blind momentum that turns a man into ‘a terrible numbness / Turned inside-out and taking over everything’ In the Homeric myth, war is second nature, a duty assumed by the warrior, undeterred by the destruction reaped Soldiers ‘hurried to darkness’, race into the arms of death, the noble seal of defending one’s country For Simone Weil, writing on the eve of the Second World War, there was no terrible beauty to be born of combat War, that supposed leveller of class and race, is seen as a systematic machine that levels interiority and petrifies everyone in its midst In Oswald’s poem each forsaken soldier is given their due, which is to say, their doomed leave-taking In the Greek myths death is the unflinching end, the future for the soldier born under its sign The Greeks conducted wars, Weil writes, as ‘geometricians of virtue We are only geometricians of matter,’ or as Marco Roth writes in a recent essay, ‘drone philosophers’   In modern times, peace is seen as the ultimate, if unrealistic, goal; warfare is, if inescapable, an aberration Just as the notion of heroism died a collective death in the wake of that grand misnomer, the Great War, the horror of combat has become such a worn truism that it seems to carry little more traction that the jarring jingoism of Glory, Sacrifice and Patriotism excoriated by the First World War poets who saw that the unknown soldier would reap ‘no dividends from time’s tomorrow’ There had been military catastrophes in the past – the Charge of the Light Brigade – but these were seen as indictments of military strategy, rather than a

Contributor

August 2014

Lauren Elkin

Contributor

August 2014

Lauren Elkin is most recently the author of No. 91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK...

The End of Francophonie: The Politics of French Literature

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Issue No. 2

Lauren Elkin

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Issue No. 2

I. We were a couple of minutes late for the panel we’d hoped to attend. The doors were closed and there was a surly-looking...

READ NEXT

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February 2015

A Closer Joan

Shawn Wen

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February 2015

Here are a few of the Joans I know. The girl who arrives at Port Authority Bus Terminal in...

poetry

January 2014

Three New Poems

Antjie Krog

poetry

January 2014

Antjie Krog was born and grew up in the Free State province of South Africa. She became editor of...

Prize Entry

April 2017

Hangnails, and Other Diseases

Giada Scodellaro

Prize Entry

April 2017

Benson’s Syndrome   Grapefruit. I have lost the word for it. Popillo? Popello? No, no. It escapes her, the...

 

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