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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...

She saw her father at Smith’s By accident She was paying the heat bill After paying the heat bill, she deposited some of the money he had given her for rent As she walked out of Aisle 6 near the cereal, she saw him His eyes were looking up, searching for something But she saw him She decided that when he turned his gaze towards Captain Crunch he couldn’t possibly see her Walking past him quietly, she snuck out of his view Her father was wearing a black sweater and black jogging pants He looked scrawny and not like her father Whenever she saw her father, her heart ached Especially from a distance, from a place where he couldn’t reciprocate her gaze   Her father had suffered extensively during his sixty years of existence Since arriving in the States in his thirties, he had worked for the poultry factory for nearly thirty years, and when he retired he was penniless, not from gambling, but from poor money management After all, her father never had a high school education He dropped out of school when he was 15 to join the Army, fighting against the communists and Viet Cong When the war ended, no one wanted to hire him, especially those from the North, moving South after the evasion He was a white sheet of paper that no one wanted So her father worked for a truck company that transported fruits and vegetables from the highlands of Vietnam into the cities He transported goods from Ha Giang, Lao Cai, Quang Ninh, and even from Dalat He transported Japanese plums, Asian pears, etc Domestic market was his expertise   For three weeks now, she hadn’t spoken to him Despite sharing the same bedroom and same bed, she hadn’t technically spoken to him She had purposefully been avoiding him She hid under the bedsheets in the late morning, concealing her face beneath a mask of fabric Sometimes the fabric clung to her nose and for moments she felt suffocated as if a cat had been sitting on her face and inhaling

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...

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Interview

February 2011

Interview with Manfredi Beninati

Lowenna Waters

Interview

February 2011

Time, memory, the landscape of the mind, manifestation and metamorphosis, resurgence and collapse and the crisp crust of Sicilian...

feature

August 2016

The Place of the Bridge

Jennifer Kabat

feature

August 2016

I.   Look up. A woman tumbles from the sky, her dress billowing around her like a parachute as...

feature

Issue No. 2

Gay Madonnas in Montevergine: The Feast of Mamma Schiavona

Annabel Howard

feature

Issue No. 2

We are crowded into the medium-sized piazza before the sanctuary of Montevergine. There is no town or village; it...

 

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