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Claire-Louise Bennett
Claire-Louise Bennett grew up in Wiltshire and studied literature and drama at the University of Roehampton, before settling in Galway. Her short fiction and essays have been published in The Stinging Fly, The Penny Dreadful, The Moth, Colony, The Irish Times, The White Review and gorse. She was awarded the inaugural White Review Short Story Prize in 2013 and has received bursaries from the Arts Council and Galway City Council. Her debut novel, Pondwas published by Fitzcarraldo Editions in 2015 and shortlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize in 2016. Her second novel, Checkout 19, is published by Jonathan Cape in August 2021.

Articles Available Online


The Russian Man

Fiction

Issue No. 27

Claire-Louise Bennett

Fiction

Issue No. 27

Many years ago a large Russian man with the longest tendrils of the softest white hair came to live in the fastest growing town...

poetry

Issue No. 13

Morning, Noon & Night

Claire-Louise Bennett

poetry

Issue No. 13

Sometimes a banana with coffee is nice. It ought not to be too ripe – in fact there should...

I Base New York September 27, 2020   War breaks out A war to wipe a country off the map A country that is not on the map to begin with   Artsakh   A name that feels a bit ours, among my Armenian friends, because we know where this unmapped place is and, although I am an odar (a ‘non-Armenian’), also a bit mine, because I have been there and it has since been in me    Two summers ago, I arrived in Armenia with a couple of fellow writers to teach at the Center for Creative Technologies in Yerevan known as TUMO (after the national poet, Hovhannes Tumanyan) We were supposed to fly home shortly after the last session of our three week-long workshop The nonfiction and poetry instructors left as planned, but I, the fiction teacher, wasn’t ready to go back to New York, where I lived I postponed my ticket for another week And then for another And another    The Caucasus enfolded me With diaspora Armenians flocking into Yerevan for the summer, my circle of friends quickly expanded, as did my understanding of Armenia and its fraught borders I learned about the existence of an adjacent state to the east: a self-proclaimed republic nestled in the mountains At every mention of its deep green forests, its waterfalls, and monasteries, the fictional country found its way into my imagination The name itself seemed to have wonder inbuilt into its utterance: two ‘ah’s culminating in an exhalation So, one morning, I went to the bus station by myself and jumped on a van headed to Artsakh      II Ascent Nagorno Karabakh July 30, 2018   ‘how are you????’   A text from a friend arrives when I am in the marshrutka, a routed passenger van, four hours and many miles away from Yerevan, as we reach what Google Maps signals as the edge of Artsakh    ‘how are you????’ carrying the implicit question: ‘where the hell are you?’    Another text arrives with an answer: ‘Welcome to Azerbaijan Calls cost $179/min, text $05 to send and $005 to receive Enjoy your trip’   My phone vibrates again, and again, and again, and again    ‘Welcome to

Contributor

August 2014

Claire-Louise Bennett

Contributor

August 2014

Claire-Louise Bennett grew up in Wiltshire and studied literature and drama at the University of Roehampton, before settling in...

The Lady of the House

fiction

Issue No. 8

Claire-Louise Bennett

fiction

Issue No. 8

Wow it’s so still. Isn’t it eerie. Oh yes. So calm. Everything’s still. That’s right. Look at the rowers – look at how fast...

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Interview

October 2013

Interview with Nick Goss

James Cahill

Interview

October 2013

Nick Goss has emerged in recent years as one of the UK’s most feted young painters. Evoking indistinct places...

Interview

Issue No. 2

Interview with Richard Wentworth

Ben Eastham

Interview

Issue No. 2

Richard Wentworth is among the most influential artists alive in Britain. He emerged in the 1970s as part of...

poetry

March 2017

Two Poems

Uljana Wolf

TR. Sophie Seita

poetry

March 2017

Mittens   winter came, stretched its frames, wove misty threads into the damp   wood. fogged windows, we didn’t...

 

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