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Kevin Brazil
Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London Review of Books, the Times Literary Supplement, Art Review, art-agenda, Studio International, and elsewhere. He is writing a book about queer happiness.

Articles Available Online


Alvaro Barrington, Garvey: Sex Love Nurturing Famalay

Art Review

October 2019

Kevin Brazil

Art Review

October 2019

The unofficial anthem of this year’s London Carnival was ‘Famalay’, a bouyon-influenced soca song that won the Road March in Trinidad & Tobago’s Carnival...

Essay

October 2018

The Uses of Queer Art

Kevin Brazil

Essay

October 2018

In June 2018 a crowd assembled in Tate Britain to ask: ‘What does a queer museum look like?’ Surrounded...

At the Konditorei   Close, warm, and humming with the relaxed sounds of post- midday Kaffee-Kuchen The  cakes are modestly presented in a glass cabinet: stripes of sponge alternate with chocolate cream; globes of mango gleam on mousse Oblongs of raspberry and banana jelly Older couples sit at round tables, sip kaffee and lift cake-cream inch-by-inch to mouths They’re conscious not to eat too quickly, so as to avoid nausea, and ensure instead continued pure delight A little nothing, pleasant chat; a few read the papers   Our protagonist has the table by the window, hung with a doily curtain There’s a cigarette smoking itself out in his thrown- away left hand; his closed right one rests on the open pages of an empty notepad                             See (1)   Florian was walking with his schnauzer, Bernie, along the far shore of the See He preferred this less trodden, further side because it meant he had a good view of the town, busy and self-important on that nearer side And he liked being closer to the great faces of mountains, which jacked themselves right up hard, grey and granular, above all the people’s things and houses   His head was clear and only had in it air, Bernie running and her fetching the next stick, and the soft-firm earth and grass under their feet   They stopped on the path to look over the See Its surface was soft as a lady’s undergarment You could place your finger in its surface and feel it drop under, without resistance Today’s winter water had black, mirrored surfaces; nothing could be seen beneath them   Then Florian’s eye settles on something, as a fisherman focuses on the red point at the end of his line in the water His eyes are drawing an outline – round the objects he can see They are – this shape – like this – two rectangles bobbing among some dead black stalks The black of the rectangles is greyer than the See’s black Their sheen is harder than the water’s; more moulded, less easy to penetrate                                 At the Pension   The protagonist arrives at the pension This is situated in the village adjoining the town, where slopes are levelled in tiers to make space for the houses There are broad,

Contributor

July 2018

Kevin Brazil

Contributor

July 2018

Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London...

Nora Ikstena's ‘Soviet Milk’

Book Review

August 2018

Kevin Brazil

Book Review

August 2018

Soviet Milk by Nora Ikstena opens with two women who cannot remember. ‘I don’t remember 15 October 1969,’ says the first. ‘I don’t remember...

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Art

May 2017

Francis Upritchard

Filipa Ramos

Art

May 2017

Where do anthropology and archaeology meet? Do the study of humankind and the research of its material culture share...

poetry

Issue No. 10

Letter to a Frozen Peas Manufacturer

Lydia Davis

poetry

Issue No. 10

Dear Frozen Peas Manufacturer, We are writing to you because we feel that the peas illustrated on your package of...

feature

November 2015

Anatomy of a Democracy: Javier Cercas

Duncan Wheeler

feature

November 2015

20 November marks the fortieth anniversary of the death of General Franco. And while the insurrectionist’s victory in the...

 

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