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David Isaacs
David Isaacs has recently completed a PhD about the ethics of rewriting at UCL. He is coming to the end of a first novel and is at the early stages of a new project about the present tense.


Articles Available Online


Interview with Namwali Serpell

Interview

December 2020

David Isaacs

Interview

December 2020

Namwali Serpell is a rarity: an academic and novelist whose criticism is as vital as her fiction. Since we first spoke, in September 2020,...

Book Review

June 2018

Christine Schutt’s ‘Pure Hollywood’

David Isaacs

Book Review

June 2018

There is a certain kind of American novelist of the late twentieth century whose fiction fetishises plant names. The...

I stood in the river up to my knees and the river was cold The water filled my boots and made its way up through the fabric of my trousers towards my groin Soon I couldn’t feel my feet, and soon after that I couldn’t feel my legs The river sang and kept sing­ing I wanted to clamber out, but I stood still Pain rose and tried to encircle me, but I stood in the winter tor­rent and watched the pain and after a while it fell back again, back down into the singing water   Water came down from the clouds and sank through the black peat and passed over the granite and then went down through its channel to the sea The water that ran over my legs and feet would never be seen here again but the river never changed I climbed into the river in the early morning and I stood there until the sun was highest in the sky I let the water take my body away from me so that I could see what was beyond my body I let the river numb me and I under­stood that I had always been numb The sky opened a crack, but only a crack There was still something beyond that I could not touch   Water, thorns, rain, black soil All of the pain is an incident, a detail soon forgotten From the east I came, from the dead fens, because of everything that grew there, because of what was lodged in the dark waters I walked the streets, I sat on the couches, I passed through the sliding doors, I talked but never listened, I sold but never gave away Everywhere there were voices and I added my voice to them and we spoke out together and said nothing at all I became entwined in wanting, and it took me away from the stillness that is everything I say it here daily now like a prayer, like an offering: it is everything, it is everything,

Contributor

August 2014

David Isaacs

Contributor

August 2014

David Isaacs has recently completed a PhD about the ethics of rewriting at UCL. He is coming to the end...

Prize Entry

April 2017

Pylons

David Isaacs

Prize Entry

April 2017

Once upon a time, Dad would begin, I think, focusing on the road, there was a man called Watt....

Seasickness

Prize Entry

April 2016

David Isaacs

Prize Entry

April 2016

‘How would you begin?’   She puts a finger to her lips, a little wrinkled still from the water, and hesitates. She says, ‘Maybe:...
How things are falling.

Prize Entry

April 2015

David Isaacs

Prize Entry

April 2015

i.   Oyster cards were first issued to members of the British public in July 2003; by June 2015 they will have been replaced...
by Accident

fiction

April 2014

David Isaacs

fiction

April 2014

[To be read aloud]   I want to begin – and I hope I don’t come across as autistic or anything like that (and...

READ NEXT

feature

Issue No. 1

Ninety-Nine, One Hundred

Tess Little

feature

Issue No. 1

Sitting at a British Library desk in July 2006, a reader carefully consulted the fraying pages of A Relation...

fiction

Issue No. 8

The Lady of the House

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...

feature

November 2011

Nude in your hot tub...

Lars Iyer

feature

November 2011

I. Down from the Mountain   Once upon a time, writers were like gods, and lived in the mountains....

 

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