On noticing, by Verlyn Klinkenborg

Is it possible to practice noticing? I think so. But I also think it requires a suspension of yearning and … More

I want to disappear

‘I’ve lost my nerve,’ says the book. ‘It’s gone, can’t do it any more. I’m done.’ ‘You haven’t of course, … More

‘Did you hear?’ says the book. ‘Ted Hughes’s brother has died.’ ‘I did see that, yes,’ I say. ’95, though. … More

‘I’ve been out,’ says the book. ‘So I see,’ I say. The book is dressed in a pith helmet and … More

‘What are you doing?’ ‘What’s it look like?’ I say. ‘Hanging out the washing,’ the book says. ‘That’s right. I’m … More

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and … More

Every year, the bright Scandinavian summer nights fade away without anyone noticing. One evening in August you have an errand … More

‘I need to get away.’ ‘But there’s work to be done,’ says the book. ‘A holiday. That’s what I need.’ … More

The only real difference between people is not health or illness but the way each holds onto a sense of … More

‘Do you miss it?’ the book says. ‘Miss what?’ I say. ‘Having cancer,’ the book says. ‘Is this a joke?’ … More

It is necessary to write a book in which there will be a little less of the first person singular, … More

‘What are you doing?’ the book says. ‘What’s it look like?’ I say. ‘Running a bath,’ the book says. ‘Genius,’ … More

‘What will you miss most?’ the book says. ‘About what?’ I say. ‘Me,’ says the book. ‘I didn’t know you … More