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91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK translator of Simone de Beauvoir's previously unpublished novel, The Inseparables (Vintage).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

It’s Sunday, after lunch The sun hovers, full up The houses – the tarmac, the lampposts, the cars in the driveways – glitter in the heat Everyone is inside, or at the back, in pools of velveteen shade The sun pervades, making everyone sleepy Cold, numbing drinks A little snooze later Prepare for Monday Recharge The wood cladding on these houses absorbs the heat, keeps the houses cool It’s Nordic, the developers had said, cool in summer warm in winter It was ingenious to build on this land, which had been previously impossible to develop Low ground, near to the ancient waterways, prone to flooding Amazing technology The houses sit like rows of teeth in the landscape, a yawning, half-smile that trails off, giving way to pasture and, beyond that, the marshes The fields roll out for miles, sinking lower towards the horizon Beyond, barely visible through the haze that rises from the marshland, the shape of an island     A woman stands at the sink, rinsing plates, putting them into the dishwasher Crumbs on the table, half-empty glasses with fingerprints, smears of gravy The woman’s eyes itch with tears The family have gone to their rooms When the dishes are all rinsed and stacked and the table wiped, the woman goes out to the garage There’s a naked man in there, wrapped in plastic He’s not dead He’s not alive either    *   I mean you no harm I promise You know that, don’t you? I wouldn’t hurt you I couldn’t, even if I wanted to Which I don’t I am here to help you I am here to make your life easier I want your life to be easier I want you to be happy I want you to relax and be happy If you like, we can get in the car and take a drive We’ve got the whole day and I’m here for you I’m here to do whatever it is that you want to do I know, I know, it’s strange, isn’t it? It’s probably going to take some getting used to But I’m

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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fiction

January 2014

The Black Lake

Hella S. Haasse

TR. Ina Rilke

fiction

January 2014

Oeroeg was my friend. When I think back on my childhood and adolescence, an image of Oeroeg invariably rises...

fiction

July 2015

Agata's Machine

Camilla Grudova

fiction

July 2015

Agata and I were both eleven years old when she first introduced me to her machine. We were in...

Prize Entry

April 2016

Oögenesis

Karina Lickorish Quinn

Prize Entry

April 2016

After her daughter had – for the third time, no less – laid her eggs in the fruit bowl,...

 

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