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FIONA ALISON DUNCAN
FIONA ALISON DUNCAN is a Canadian-American author and artist. Her debut novel Exquisite Mariposa won the 2020 LAMBDA Literary Prize for Bisexual Fiction.

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Interview with Fanny Howe

Interview

Issue No. 29

FIONA ALISON DUNCAN

Interview

Issue No. 29

Fanny Howe’s bibliography is as bewildering as her itinerant biography. Born in 1940 in Buffalo, New York, the poet and author grew up in...

Interview

January 2020

Interview with Jamieson Webster

FIONA ALISON DUNCAN

Interview

January 2020

Jamieson Webster serves as a torchbearer for a field out of popular favour. Her practice, psychoanalysis, was last century’s...

Two years ago I was walking up a mountain path having been told of excellent views from the summit The day was clear and hot, the sky wide and cloudless There was only the sound of my breath, my boots treading, and the faint clonking of cowbells back down the track What little wind there was on the climb soon dropped as I reached the summit, as if it had been distracted or called upon to cover events elsewhere I drank eagerly, catching my breath, and then took in the view, which was as spectacular as I had been told I could make out a tree, a shrub, really  (it being so distant in the valley below I couldn’t say how high), silently on fire, the smoke trailing a vertical black line before dissipating I watched the flames consume the whole shrub No one came to stop it No one seemed to be around to see it, and I felt very alone From nowhere a great tearing came: a fighter-jet, low and aggressive, ripped above me and, surprised, I dropped on one knee and watched it zoom, bellowing overhead As it passed I saw a shred of something fall, a rag, spinning I shielded my eyes to see, bewildered and pinned watching the object, the rag, gather its falling weight, its speed, until it flumped down without a bounce, only ten footsteps to my right It was part of a white bird, a gull No head, just a wing and a hunk of body No leg, or tail, just the wing and the torso: purple and bloodied A violent puddle surrounded it, already mixing with the grit Ferrous blood wafted and I recoiled feeling suddenly cold and very high up and the view swam madly: I saw for a second the flaming tree as I staggered backwards and became aware that I was sitting, I had fallen, but I felt as if I was falling and falling still, my mind unable to connect the events which were real and terrifying because they were real, only now I think it was not, perhaps, a mountain, it was not, perhaps, a shrub on fire, and not a fighter-jet boring its noise through the sky, and I am certain now, it was not me, or a wing

Contributor

June 2019

FIONA ALISON DUNCAN

Contributor

June 2019

FIONA ALISON DUNCAN is a Canadian-American author and artist. Her debut novel Exquisite Mariposa won the 2020 LAMBDA Literary...

Exquisite Mariposa

Fiction

July 2019

FIONA ALISON DUNCAN

Fiction

July 2019

I broke three contracts in 2016. The first was verbal, a monogamy clause. But he was fucking around too, and I knew, because everybody...

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Art

January 2017

New Communities

Robert Assaye

Art

January 2017

DeviantArt is the world’s ‘largest online community of artists and art-lovers’ and its thirteenth largest social network. Its forty...

feature

March 2014

Burroughs in London

Heathcote Williams

feature

March 2014

I first met William Burroughs in 1963. I was working for a now defunct literary magazine called Transatlantic Review...

poetry

April 2012

The Disappearance

Dana Goodyear

poetry

April 2012

A yellow veil dropped down at evening, and when it lifted everyone was gone. Good mothers fled their young...

 

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