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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....

On Sunday right after lunch, my father began preparing muskrat skins and cut his finger on a dirty penknife An orange erythema appeared around the wound When he got a fever, his lymph nodes swelled up and purple spots spread over his back, my mother called the ambulance from the village mayor’s house It came two hours later and took him away to the hospital, sirens blaring, with a suspected case of blood poisoning My mother said they replaced all his blood and pumped medicines into his stomach with a special pump   Miraculously, he managed to turn the corner after three weeks, but when he came home I hardly recognised him: he had lost more than twenty pounds and had gone almost completely deaf His eyes had lost their brightness, and his formerly swarthy face had turned the colour of a horseradish root He was given sick leave and for the time being stopped going to the paper mill He would get up at seven, throw his camouflage jacket over his shoulders and look out of the dining room window at the pond and the beehives, which stood scattered among bare currant bushes At nine, he would wash, put on his loafers and change into a shirt and his favourite, slightly too tight jumper with a black and white diamond pattern After swallowing two raw eggs, he’d look through old illustrated books about birds and fish which he’d brought home from the recycling centre at the mill, or he’d take out an old hunting knife with a deer-hoof handle from his taxidermy box and would sit opening and closing it as if he were playing some sort of game That’s how it was almost every day: he didn’t stuff animals any more, he didn’t play poker, he didn’t go fishing and, increasingly, he hardly ever said a word to anyone   He perked up only when he read in Beekeeping magazine that over the course of the harsh winter the frost had destroyed numerous apiaries in southern Poland He jumped up from the sofa, fetched a blackened saucepan from the dresser, poured

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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feature

February 2011

The dole, and other bailouts

Chris Browne

feature

February 2011

One of my first actions as a Londoner was to sign on for as many benefits as I could...

fiction

Issue No. 17

Boom Boom

Clemens Meyer

TR. Katy Derbyshire

fiction

Issue No. 17

You’re flat on your back on the street. And you thought the nineties were over.   And they nearly...

fiction

March 2015

Wedding Watcher

Helle Helle

TR. Martin Aitken

fiction

March 2015

I strayed into the church on an impulse. It was a mistake to get off the bus in the...

 

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