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91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK translator of Simone de Beauvoir's previously unpublished novel, The Inseparables (Vintage).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

She-dog   He wrote to tell me his dog had died I wanted to be her, I wanted him to cry for me, to hug me I fall I stretch my legs The detachment of the spirit is like a sedative Life slips away in a succession of images Streets Nights The danger of passing cars Before dying, the stars give out their last glitter to the puddles     La perra   Me escribió para decirme que su perra murió Quise ser su perra para que me llore y abrace Caigo Extiendo las patas El desprendimiento del espíritu como un calmante La vida se escurre en una sucesión de imágenes Calles Noches El peligro de los autos Antes de morir, las estrellas entregan su último resplandor a los charcos     Wrong   Today I dreamt I dialed any number and you answered I told you I was naked and that someone was after me You told me to hang up, and that nobody would get hold of me You are getting older in my dreams, the snow colours your hair white You are staring at the tired body of a rat unable to make its way through the ice You don’t know whether to push it towards the flakes of death or towards the coffins of snow     Equivocado   Hoy soñé que marcaba un teléfono cualquiera y me atendías Te dije que estaba desnuda y que alguien corría tras de mí Me respondiste que colgara, y que nadie debía alcanzarme Estás envejeciendo en mis sueños, la nieve te dibuja canas Mirás el cuerpo cansado de una rata que no puede hacer camino a través del hielo No sabés si patearla hacia los copos de la muerte o hacia los ataúdes de la nieve

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

Issue No. 3

Fifteen Flowers

Federico Falco

TR. Janet Hendrickson

fiction

Issue No. 3

To Lilia Lardone Summer was ending. The air already smelled like smoke, but it still looked clear, sunny. The...

fiction

August 2016

Boy With Frog

Kristin Posehn

fiction

August 2016

My first impression was of a tall building laid down for a nap, with all its parts nestled together...

poetry

August 2013

Poem from fortune: animal spiral

Sarah Lariviere

poetry

August 2013

xi. inside friend friend is not the landscape: to turn into the water wears and deposits rock, time friend,...

 

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