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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...

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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...

The Chief   The sound of the bell for the closing of the temple gate reaches my ears I am on my way to bring in the horses, as I can’t leave them outside to sleep during the old moon The sky is cloudy and dark, and the wind blows harder the further uphill I go The last rays of the setting sun still cling to the western ridge I don’t know if it’s the weather or the events of the day, but I can’t shake a sense of foreboding I get off my horse at the top of the hill No matter how much of a hurry I am in, I can’t ride past the ovoo without stopping I’m bent over, plucking a stone from the grass, when my daughter comes riding up on horseback A cold breeze blows across her forehead as she tells me the hunters have arrived Sure enough, there is a jeep parked in front of the ger camp below   I let go of the reins, add the stone to the top of the ovoo, and walk slowly around it in prayer The hunters are early I thought they would wait until after the old moon had passed But outsiders have no respect for our customs and laugh at such things as heavenly omens   My daughter sits slumped in the saddle Her eyes are blank, like her mind is somewhere else She’s been quiet lately and spends most of her time lying around I’ve caught her talking in her sleep a few times and had to slap her awake Now that it’s winter and there’s less work to do, she’ll get lazier and lazier Or maybe she’s just at that age She’s sixteen now, and I can tell from the way she turns clumsy and stupid whenever we have young guests staying at the camp that she’s started noticing boys I feel excluded as a father, or like I don’t exist to her anymore A long time ago, I had a mare that followed a wild horse into the steppes and disappeared That mare meant a lot to

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...

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Art

March 2016

Seeing from behind: Park McArthur

Anna Gritz

Art

March 2016

In a public conversation between Park McArthur and Isla Leaver Yap that accompanied the former’s exhibition Poly at the...

Art

Issue No. 11

Sarah Jones

Sarah Jones

Art

Issue No. 11

A series of photographs by the acclaimed British artist Sarah Jones is published in The White Review No. 11. 

Art

May 2015

(E-E) Evgenij Kozlov

E-E

Art

May 2015

Madder than the World is a series by Russian artist (E-E) Evgenij Kozlov, who came to prominence as a founding member of the...

 

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