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Rosanna Mclaughlin
Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Articles Available Online


The Pious and the Pommery

Essay

Issue No. 18

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

Issue No. 18

I.   Where is the champagne? On second thoughts this is not entirely the right question. The champagne is in the ice trough, on...

Essay

April 2019

Ariana and the Lesbian Narcissus

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

April 2019

‘Avoid me not!’ ‘Avoid me not!’                                   Narcissus   Let me describe a GIF I’ve been watching. A lot....

POET AS CYBORG PORNSTAR   It starts with the turn Their slender edges, the slow reveal from margin to bombshell, the hormonal show of the real: whatever it is, you know it’s fucking hot I promise, I would do anything to get you off I am peeling my skin 4 u Let’s talk about it: how we fabricate intimacy, the wet scapes of the world scolded back to rigid, flashy                                                         direction Don’t                                                         you think every hero must grow to love their algorithm? Chemical action without consequences, good feeling, bad feeling—young, dumb, and full of poems! With her long French tips and how their bodies work Outsource ur erotics to the moneymakers This month, we are proud to be partnering with Donna Haraway in building a new kind of human-shaped sex robot who wants to write poems Would a friend catch the dog-ear, unreadable script, whir of systems, artificially leathered voice—       POEM AS ZERESHK POLLO   The white owner of the Persian restaurant says they keep wages low to avoid gentrifying the area with higher prices I think of the recipe from the place I used to wait: zereshk (barberries, or you can use dried cranberries if you can’t find barberries), saffron (use yellow food colouring as an alternative) Keep them guessing You are a classical text in the emperor’s encoded vision—sour red berries reclining on a carpet of chicken thighs, jewels set in broth like simmering gold If European culture generally has digested the Orient, what am I but a ferment of exotic things? A dish, a soul, a curated image—every time I chop and fry an onion I have to wonder what it means for my place in the market So what do you think? I mean, of all these grains, letters, this hot tahdig, this oil fallen into syntactic place, this formal glaze beneath which bubbles the threat that in some mouths even this could tell an unintended joke? Every way I look I can feel the cool twist, the crisp euphemism of middle-class taste, and I wonder how much this too will sell for How much would you pay? How good will it look on your plate?     GHAZAL                                                               My eyes were very stop look smell

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Ten Years at Garage Moscow

Art Review

November 2018

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art Review

November 2018

When I arrive in Moscow, I am picked up from the airport by Roman, a patriotic taxi driver sent to collect me courtesy of...
Becoming Alice Neel

Art

August 2017

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art

August 2017

From the first time I saw Alice Neel’s portraits, I wanted to see the world as she did. Neel was the Matisse of the...

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Interview

January 2017

Interview with David Thomson

Leo Robson

Interview

January 2017

David Thomson — the author of dozens of books, including an account of Scott’s expedition to the Antarctic and...

poetry

Issue No. 2

The Brothel

Kit Buchan

poetry

Issue No. 2

I unearthed a little brothel in the spring of forty-three, It was captained by a midwife who was ninety...

fiction

April 2013

Towards White, 1975

Scott Morris

fiction

April 2013

In the morning, the square was white. Voula’s hair was white. A pigeon on a bronze horse shifted, sent...

 

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