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Kevin Brazil
Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London Review of Books, the Times Literary Supplement, Art Review, art-agenda, Studio International, and elsewhere. He is writing a book about queer happiness.

Articles Available Online


Alvaro Barrington, Garvey: Sex Love Nurturing Famalay

Art Review

October 2019

Kevin Brazil

Art Review

October 2019

The unofficial anthem of this year’s London Carnival was ‘Famalay’, a bouyon-influenced soca song that won the Road March in Trinidad & Tobago’s Carnival...

Essay

October 2018

The Uses of Queer Art

Kevin Brazil

Essay

October 2018

In June 2018 a crowd assembled in Tate Britain to ask: ‘What does a queer museum look like?’ Surrounded...

Jamie sat alone at the edge of the dance floor and wondered how long it would be until Nigel arrived The band had been upping the tempo as the night wore on, keeping pace with the room’s rising alcohol level, and even the dance-shy souls were shaking their limbs by the speakers Jamie closed his eyes and the room pulled into focus To the left, his uncle was regurgitating insights from the morning’s sports pages; Tom, one of his distant relations, was attempting to seduce a girl with jokes about statutory rape; and somewhere near the bar his sister was giggling uncontrollably A throat was cleared in front of him, and he opened his eyes   There, wearing the same old double-breasted suit as always, was Nigel Jamie looked up at his shapeless face, with its doughy peaks and sallow creases His skin was so speckled and drawn it looked photocopied   ‘Hullo James,’ said Nigel A half-chewed canapé churned in his parted lips ‘Good spread’ He flicked a tartlet into his mouth and glanced at the low tables ‘Nice venue’   ‘It’s alright,’ Jamie said He glanced at his watch Nigel had said he would arrive before midnight   ‘The band are pretty good’ Nigel’s knee began to jostle in time with the snare ‘That’s real music, that Course you’re in to all that mindless drug music Umph umph umph Mind if I sit down? I’ll just take that chair Or is it a stool? I never can tell with this modern shit’ Nigel slumped down with a sigh ‘Been chasing the girls much? I’d say you’re not prohibitively ugly’   ‘So where are we going?’ Jamie asked   ‘Who said I was taking you anywhere?’   ‘I just…,’ Jamie began, looking puzzled ‘You want to talk? No weirdness?’   ‘An honest-to-goodness chat Is that too much to ask?’   Earlier that year, without ceremony, Jamie had passed into his twentieth year, but when he frowned he looked double that age His forehead bunched at the bridge of his nose, and there was weariness in the downturned mouth ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something,’ he said ‘About the presents’ He saw the shrouded heaps

Contributor

July 2018

Kevin Brazil

Contributor

July 2018

Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London...

Nora Ikstena's ‘Soviet Milk’

Book Review

August 2018

Kevin Brazil

Book Review

August 2018

Soviet Milk by Nora Ikstena opens with two women who cannot remember. ‘I don’t remember 15 October 1969,’ says the first. ‘I don’t remember...

READ NEXT

fiction

April 2014

Chiral

Paul Currion

fiction

April 2014

I cough while the technician tinkers with the projector, although the two are not related, and I wonder why...

feature

Issue No. 14

In Search of the Dice Man

Emmanuel Carrère

TR. Will Heyward

feature

Issue No. 14

Towards the end of the 1960s, Luke Rhinehart was practicing psychoanalysis in New York, and was sick and tired...

feature

July 2012

Ways of Submission

Saskia Vogel

feature

July 2012

On a pale marble fountain in Dubrovnik, I posed. I pretended I too was a stone figure, water gushing...

 

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