What You Need From the Night
Granta Magazine
by Lucy Diver
2d ago
It was Bernard from the section who alerted me. ‘Hey, have you got a sec? I need to tell you something. You know the comrades were out near the depot yesterday? We were sticking up posters for the first of May when we saw that gang from the FN at the end of the tracks. They were sticking up posters for their Joan of Arc thing, under the bridge and all along the wall that goes up to the switch. We snapped in, there weren’t many of us, same as them, no better, no less tooled up than them. Nobody really wanted a scrap. Mimile and Ominetti had gone home already, and the rest of us weren’t exactly ..read more
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The Flesh Strip
Granta Magazine
by Lucy Diver
3d ago
When the daughter found the doll at The Salvation Army, she knew right away that her mother would love it. The mother had always loved her dolls, perhaps more even than the daughter. But now that the mother was endlessly dying, her mind more occluded each day by dementia, there was little the daughter could see to deny her. Plus, the daughter preferred to think well of herself. The daughter saw the doll’s feet first, sticking out of the top of the bric-a-brac bin between the DVD rack and the kitchen appliances; there were tiny blue booties glued onto the legs. They looked slightly forlorn stic ..read more
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Hungry Ghosts
Granta Magazine
by Brodie Crellin
4d ago
The rain outside had stopped, but its apparition still flicked its idle fingers against the galvanised roof. A slow tut tut tut sound as the water dripped into the already overflowing barrels. Krishna rubbed his eyes. His parents asleep. A few nicks of light pinched through the slats in the upper part of the wall. Still, inside the barrack remained dimly lit in the dawn. The languid shuffling of dust like methane from a rice paddy. The ground mostly dry. The caulk had managed to hold, though rainwater was still dripping from the roof. Krishna, careful not to wake his mother, unlatched the door ..read more
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Tantrum
Granta Magazine
by Luke
1w ago
I’d never asked for a disciple, but having a disciple had benefits. When my lessons were over, one of my pupils – wandering, satchelled, by herself – would bring my coat to me with an air of routine, as though bringing my coat to me were something she was required to do, as though we had agreed she was the best person for the job. In the same spirit of fake obligation, I found myself talking to her about my life awhile, with the image in my mind of a man loading a donkey with a heavy stack. In class, too, Daša tried to prove she was the most attentive and practical in the ways that mattered. B ..read more
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Trembling
Granta Magazine
by Lucy Diver
2w ago
Somewhere, it was raining. So I thought as I checked the arrival schedule of the shipment of apricot gummies that a client had enquired about. A light muffled pitter-patter tickled my eardrums, like large raindrops crashing into the surface of my umbrella in rapid succession. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always loved holding an umbrella, and even now as an adult, this soft music still brings me shivers of joy. All the same, it was a little strange to hear that sound not at the edge of a busy street corner, but here within the confines of my office. Yet the light tapping  reverberated on ..read more
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Brutes
Granta Magazine
by Brodie Crellin
2w ago
The first time we really noticed Sammy Liu-Lou was one year ago. She started eighth grade when we started seventh. We did not know much about her then, only that she lived in one of the big white houses on the other side of the wall around Falls Landing. We knew her dad was a famous TV preacher who travelled the world doing revivals. Sometimes he spoke at our church on Sunday, and we noticed Sammy and her mother sitting in the front row, their long, dark hair hanging in sheets over their faces, their hands clasped tight. When Sammy’s dad preached, especially after we failed a school eye test o ..read more
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Three Poems
Granta Magazine
by Brodie Crellin
2w ago
Haw I looked away, ashamed, then raised my hand to the hawthorn and plucked its fruit. I wanted this metallic sweetness on the tongue, a gin of feral blood decanted to carry my desire inward, to self-intoxicate a longing I could not act out. The men passed me, lingered at the boundary of the green labyrinth – conspiratorial, holding my eye – and though I could not be taken by the arm, I wished at least to be proximate, enveloped and sated as the gin would be by the berry, coloured or infringed by it. I stood as each paired off and disappeared behind the leaves. That evening, in bed, the bowl i ..read more
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Two Poems
Granta Magazine
by Brodie Crellin
3w ago
Field, Forest, Cloth, Road what animal running through the leaves, across the green or screen the calf whose eyes I was gazing into the bottom of deep brown where I had fallen then the calf had fallen down and I was eating it foxes and wolves go into the village and play with the children Chernobyl foxes go Fukushima crows go flying ‘No one told the stork,’ wrote the child under her drawing Not the crows greedy at radiocesium-soaked persimmons aflame at the tips of blacked-silk branches, this strangest orange equation One woman dreams she’s given birth to a puppy with the head of a hedgehog Sh ..read more
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Two Poems
Granta Magazine
by Brodie Crellin
1M ago
People Just Add Something; This Time the Thing Is a Mole I went to Enid’s funeral and there was a mole on the coffin and it seemed aware of us but unconcerned. Also – and not to underplay this – the seats were made of moles and everyone there was a mole. After, I shook their clawed hands as best I could and they said Fee you are the great-niece who is always talking about moles! It struck me as odd how earlier they must have paid someone to dig the big hole with spades. Now around six months later all the mole hills fall flat at once, bespoke sinkholes calculated perfectly by a podium of child ..read more
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Top Reads 2022 | Fiction
Granta Magazine
by Lucy Diver
1M ago
With 2022 coming to a close, we have collected together our top ten fiction pieces from the year.   Small Girl Landlady | Adachioma Ezeano ‘She must have loved gold seeing that everything in the penthouse was gold. We didn’t sit. Fear didn’t let us see where to sit.’ A new story by Adachioma Ezeano.   Junket | Lauren Groff ‘Please, if you have to waste, waste your diamonds into the pockets of the world’s artists, all you sons and daughters of ease, she thinks with a flare of hatred.’ New writing from Lauren Groff.   E-Friends | Emily Adrian ‘I had also, a week earlier, been f ..read more
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