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Skye Arundhati Thomas
Skye Arundhati Thomas is co-editor of The White Review.

Articles Available Online


Interview with Bani Abidi

Interview

Issue No. 33

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Interview

Issue No. 33

In the three-minute short Mangoes (1999) by Berlin-based Pakistani artist Bani Abidi, two women sit next to each other on a white table, each with...

Art Review

February 2019

Simryn Gill, Soft Tissue

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Art Review

February 2019

I walked into Simryn Gill’s exhibition SOFT TISSUE at Jhaveri Contemporary on one of the worst days of an...

Windblown: gone with the summer wind Windblown: gone with the autumn wind Windblown: gone with the winter wind Windblown: gone with the vernal wind Dowson spits into a china cup, his pocket-watch has broken; recalling a tryst with a pretty shopgirl he writes from his Catford cot in Tarling’s Superior No2 blue-black ink Our tongues entwined But did not knot Tanned by the summer wind Depressed by the autumn wind Frozen by the winter wind Driven by the vernal wind John Gawsworth tried to set the record straight contra Arthur Symons & Frank Harris’ misrepresentations, quash that sordid legend of Dowson the soak You were just a hard-pressed bloke, tubercular Pierrot, a fin-de-siècle card, Old Cheshire Cheese outsider with bad teeth and shiny kneed Baudelairean trousers! Windblown: gone with the summer wind Windblown: gone with the autumn wind Windblown: gone with the winter wind Windblown: gone with the vernal wind In the iconic Oxford photo you look dapper, a crème-de-menthe poet in the making, verses soon to prove unprofitable: bunches of cut flowers spoilt by English weather, each word a stain, each thought a cliché: ‘sad waters of separation Bear us on to the ultimate night’ [1] Tanned by the summer wind Depressed by the autumn wind Frozen by the winter wind Driven by the vernal wind; sleepwalking towards the twentieth century, in Romanticism’s last light quote/unquote an empty shell, quote/ unquote a private hell in the arms of gin or absinthe, puffing a Vevey cigar Windblown: gone with the summer wind Windblown: gone with the autumn wind Windblown: gone with the winter wind Windblown: gone with the vernal wind Stuck in a cabbie’s shelter on Charing X Road a gaslit rue of papers, books and Cockney strollers, warped Elysian images throng your poor head, lust the shade of Colman’s mustard advertised on trams clopping

Contributor

February 2018

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Contributor

February 2018

Skye Arundhati Thomas is co-editor of The White Review.

Bani Abidi & Naeem Mohaiemen, I wish to let you fall out of my hands (Chapter 1)

Art Review

February 2018

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Art Review

February 2018

Loneliness is mostly narrative. It also has an aesthetic: an empty tableau in which the lonely act is performed. In Naeem Mohaiemen’s Tripoli Cancelled...
The characters in We That Are Young reside at ‘The Farm’ – a sprawling house in New Delhi complete with its own topiary of fat peacocks, bulbous pink flowers with English names, Fendi furniture, and a room in which it snows at the press of a button It’s not far removed from reality – Antilla, the world’s first billion-dollar residence for a single family of four, is a 40-storey building that towers over the suburbs of South Mumbai, replete with a staff of over 600 people, its own electrical power grid, ten-storey parking for a collection of unusable vintage cars, and a room, of course, where it snows on demand In dialogue with Shakespeare’s King Lear, Taneja’s debut novel explores the lives of a family that owns a multinational conglomerate, ‘The Company’, to which each character’s fate (and inheritance) is inextricably tied We have our patriarch, the Lear figure, Devraj; his three daughters Sita, Radha and Gargi; and his right-hand man Ranjit’s two sons, Jeet and Jivan The embarrassment of riches makes for an irresistible, if outlandish, setting; Taneja vividly indulges our intrigue in the way the rich conduct their daily lives, letting her words ooze out their luxury – filthy, yet so desirable After a particularly gruesome scene in which Radha administers the plucking out of a man’s eyes, she steps back into her suite and calls for a pot of first flush Assam, and rose macaroons   A reinterpretation of Shakespeare is the perfect postcolonial conquest: he remains the epitome of the Western canon, patriarchal, and repeatedly failing to include representations of the ‘other’ without recourse to parody Mainstream appropriations of Shakespeare in South Asia, such as Bollywood filmmaker Vishal Bharadwaj’s trilogy Maqbool (Macbeth), Omkara (Othello), and Haider (Hamlet), have generally taken us to rural settings, wherein tragedy is relegated to a matter of the lower castes Taneja, a Shakespearean academic and human rights activist, eschews such stereotypes, and goes straight for the jugular: the innate hypocrisy of the Indian class and caste system ‘It’s not about land, it’s about money,’ states the first line of the book, taking
Preti Taneja’s ‘We That Are Young’

Book Review

October 2017

Skye Arundhati Thomas


READ NEXT

fiction

April 2014

by Accident

David Isaacs

fiction

April 2014

[To be read aloud]   I want to begin – and I hope I don’t come across as autistic...

feature

April 2017

Everywhere and Nowhere

Vahni Capildeo

feature

April 2017

Part of my reluctance to write on citizenship is that as a poet, a worker in delicate, would-be-truthful language,...

poetry

January 2016

Sex-Desert

Galina Rymbu

TR. Joan Brooks

poetry

January 2016

I’m screaming lying alone in this settlement     everything empty only emptiness sex – is a desert  ...

 

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