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91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK translator of Simone de Beauvoir's previously unpublished novel, The Inseparables (Vintage).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

You are worried about the bird thing but that’s the last thing you want to think about right now, smoking the first of your secret birthday cigarettes You’re outside the house by the giant concrete sink, laundry covering the surface – today it’s the daughter’s underwear, the wife’s scratchy lace bras, the husband’s tennis shirts with holes in the underarm Delicate things, white things, things that deserve to be washed carefully by hand as opposed to thrown into the American-imported washing machine, which will ruthlessly transform anything into a wilted grey smock if you’re not careful about sorting through every single item and removing anything with the slightest hint of darkness The sun’s only just coming up; everyone in the house is still asleep, though the husband’s alarm will be going off soon in order to escape the inevitable Monday morning traffic jams He never needs breakfast prepared though; he’ll have a ham and cheese sandwich in the office, but as soon as you finish this cigarette you’ll have to head to the kitchen to begin preparing the coffee Not just yet though For now, you still have time   As you smoke you hold the cigarette the way a man would, between your thumb and index finger, like the men sitting on stools you used to see during your childhood You inhale deeply, enjoy the brief sight of the flame glowing at the tip before tucking the stub under a triangle-shaped rock, where the stiff orange corpses of previous cigarettes are neatly lined up: buried away, hidden You wash your hands with the thin sliver of blue soap that always leaves your skin terribly dry, the areas between your fingers red and cracking, but there’s nothing quite like it for getting rid of the nicotine stink from your fingertips – just as a precaution Just to be safe This way, you can be sure that nobody will notice   Now the last thing you need to do before heading inside is check on the bird thing, which should take less than two minutes, assuming there aren’t any problems (which there very rarely are)

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

May 2013

Techno-primitivism

Vanessa Hodgkinson

David Trotter

Art

May 2013

What follows could have been an essay or an interview. In the event, it resembles the one as little...

fiction

April 2013

Popular Mechanics

Gareth Dickson

fiction

April 2013

In simple terms, the process of combustion creates energy that is converted into motion. The ignition by the spark...

poetry

July 2012

Poem for the Sightless Man (After Kate Clanchy)

Abigail Nelson

poetry

July 2012

This is just to say,   that the inked glasses that you wear look like the sound of shop...

 

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