Term: Nonfiction
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Pitch: Thames Symphony
Thames Symphony by Nicolas D. Sampson is a literary fiction novel with elements of London-focused psychogeography. On the one hand, it’s an immersive meditation –...
Adaptations
The only way I could leave California was to trick myself with a promise to return. I made my vow in Tuolumne Meadows, part of Yosemite...
Death by Fox, Cow or River? Suburbanite in the Yorkshire Countryside
Who’s there? From my house’s mustardy Picasso face, I peer sleepily in the morning through one of its offset eyes. I’m trying to motivate myself...
How to Make Love to Fire
My wife will see the fire first. Or so she claims, whilst unfolding the picnic and arranging the cheese sandwiches and soft-boiled eggs. She asks...
In Conversation with Arturo RodrÃguez
Being in front of a volcanic eruption, from the perspective of someone who hasn’t been there, might seem like standing on an alien planet. But,...
Sachunterricht
Growing up on two acres next to a lake in upstate New York, I spent many hours outside. Pretending there was quicksand in the reeds,...
A World Burning with Life: On Zoe Schlanger’s The Light Eaters
Back in the 1970s, a book called The Secret Life of Plants exploded onto The NY Times bestseller list, and ironically, set the field of...
Under A Blood Red Sun
Outside, an injured, blood-red sun. You’ve never seen anything like it. You’ve never smelled this smell before: earth on fire. You stand on the narrow...
Buongiorno
“I’m betting airport security is looking through your things,” says my host Ursula over our Italian breakfast, a sugary pastry and full-strength coffee, on her...
Under Your Flaming Shirt
You too might have done this. No, you, of all people, my friend, must have. I say that not just because I relish the security...
Pilgrim's Fire
As I walk farther up Woodenshoe Canyon its walls grow closer together and more sinuous. The floor of the canyon is mostly sand, and the...
Cold Hearths
This is a remote part of the Scottish highlands — an abandoned township two miles from the nearest scrap of civilisation, a seldom-used road. It’s...
Walking to Pho in Hanoi
The unassuming pho shop in question sits just down the road, about 150 paces from my Hanoi apartment. I walk up my green-canopied alley and...
Kre-mas-i
On my way back from Sidemen to Canggu, the traffic barely moved. Otherwise empty rural roadsides were packed, bike to bike, bumper to bumper. I...
Permeation
There are many moves with unlimited manoeuvres in chess. Before the opening gambit, it was known to us – Paula and me. Despite this, as...
What I Thought I Had
My father’s property sat at the end of the newly cut Dream Farm Road—a steep rutted track through uncut forest, bordered by the Point Reyes...
I Walk in the Dark Because the British AI Lady Told Me So
The bug-eyed black goldfish, Sukoshi (which means “little-bit” in Japanese) wiggles his pretty lacy tail goodbye as I sneak out the front door of my...
Kamata: A Place for Dumplings in a Laundromat
In Japan, Mr. Shirota is a famous bluegrass banjo player. Yes, I will be picking up several of his CDs to bring back to Eastern...
Smouldering
Zain squinted his eyes. The temperature was in the high nineties. The sky was clear but the air felt humid. He was short of breath,...
Appalachian Fire: Activism in Demon Copperhead
Demon Copperhead is on fire. And he’d rather die than let that flame go out. From the moment he arrives – blue and cold and...
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