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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...

Forgive me Sister for I have sinned it’s been seconds since my last confession I sit in the dark accounting compassion Shamefully small change, in these damn tills Recently, I admit, things have dwindled – a tall glass of vermouth, a tin of oysters, a priest that rinses me of wrongness even though I haven’t even the grace to believe It’s not enough, I agree Please understand I am looking for a church where there is no God, there is often holiness within us, needy for its own blessèd house, undo the damage Softly now with your sermon, I am weary Sanctitude, solitude, it’s all language – let them speak so we might overhear them hidden in the vegetation, hostile and hopeful with ancient weapons Let me pay my respects to the gentle-hearted companions If I so desire it Let me pay in faltering litany – ‘O, what did you expect from your life?’ etc Let me set the table with good silver Let me inquire into the navy shoes traipsing through Let me throw open the doors The garden is blooming with news! We must diminish our sap, our sappiness, our sickness, it is ivy, it is stuck to our souls Older, now, I know how pleasure’s finances are a matter of balance How malice can accrue Careless daughter you are you could say I did not pay attention to what I allowed my life, but the truth is, I would allow it, gladly, even now Purposefully, I carried blue tidings (not my own), and when they were taken from me, it was cruel To be so alone with one’s cold papers The shady conservatory The eaves Hard to record this, but why not be faithful in one ledger at least? There are holes in my accounts, and I warned you of this Holes in what I held myself to account for Holes in my red capabilities We women of red We red women Red behind the ears Be still with your redness Please go on Relieving how, years later, I can place an apricot on a scale, and weigh a small blue object against it I can see it is only a tidy fruit of difficulty – manageable! I can divide it, I can lay it on a plate for my sisters, and ask them to eat it on my behalf, and they would do it Just like that Isn’t that the miraculous duty of love? Why must we continue this troubling

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


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Art

March 2015

Tropenkoller

Lothar Hempel

Art

March 2015

Taking the title Tropenkoller (Tropical Madness), German artist Lothar Hempel’s latest exhibition at Stuart Shave/Modern Art, London (Feb 27-Mar...

Interview

Issue No. 17

Interview with George Saunders

Aidan Ryan

Interview

Issue No. 17

The American short story writer George Saunders has the kind of reputation that makes one hesitate before typing his...

poetry

Issue No. 3

On an NY Balcony

Adrian Dannatt

poetry

Issue No. 3

Too much of my life so far has depended upon dressing-gowns, Some sort of ‘string-theory’ tied by myself wax-thumbed...

 

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