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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91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK translator of Simone de Beauvoir's previously unpublished novel, The Inseparables (Vintage).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...

‘I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living’ Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol 5 (1974)   HOSTILE, ALIEN, ALIENATED FROM LIFE   I’m not sure I would make a good collectivist I’m the kind of girl who, when asked by a neighbour to help weed my building’s shared garden, would look up from where I was sun-tanning and say I was too pretty to work (OK – I helped anyway) If dinnertime conversation drifts to utopia, a friend will concede that I can have ‘my own personal corner’ in the commune It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’m not all too gifted at living with other people, even if I romanticise it by dreaming of the ‘hot girl singularity’ that will merge my consciousness with that of my best friends The tendency worries me, given the state of the world Consider that:   The word for world is forest1 The word for world is mother2 The world is made, and remade, through ‘worlding,’3 ‘worldmaking,’4 or ‘worldbuilding’5 The world is rendered by empire, destroyed, and remade forever after The world is a model, a simulation, an ‘infinite game’ that is open all the way up to its borders The world is autonomous and alive It teems with life and voices Some voices are hallucinations, resounding across dimensions Some worlds are hallucinations, hewn in great detail from the base material of the void The world is meant to go on, and on, and on, with or without you The world is defined by its boundlessness in time, dis- and reassembling infinitely Yet the world can only be engineered through the finitude of rules, borders, and forces The world isn’t just an impression, smeared together with other impressions; it needs physics, mechanics, and designers to work Because the world labours to understand its own origins, and constantly re-plots the coordinates of where it might like to end up, the world depends on momentum It requires collective desire Without these things – without a tight relation between

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...

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Art

March 2015

The Mask

Roger Caillois

TR. Jeffrey Stuker

Art

March 2015

Here I offer some reflections and several facts potentially useful for a phenomenology of the mask. Needless to say,...

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June 2012

Nothing Here Now But The Recordings: Listening to William Burroughs

Charlie Fox

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June 2012

About a month ago I was in Berlin. Every night I had a very strange dream. I was watching...

poetry

September 2015

She-dog & Wrong

Natalia Litvinova

TR. Daniela Camozzi

poetry

September 2015

She-dog   He wrote to tell me his dog had died. I wanted to be her, I wanted him...

 

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