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Alice Hattrick
Alice Hattrick is a writer and producer based in London. Their book on unexplained illness, intimacy and mother-daughter relationships, titled Ill Feelings, will be published by Fitzcarraldo Editions in 2021.


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Ill Feelings

Feature

Issue No. 19

Alice Hattrick

Feature

Issue No. 19

My mother recently found some loose diary pages I wrote in my first year of boarding school, aged eleven, whilst she was clearing out...

Art

February 2016

'Look at me, I said to the glass in a whisper, a breath.'

Alice Hattrick

Art

February 2016

Listen to her. She is telling you about her adolescence. She is telling you about one particular ‘bender’ that...

 1 PhD   Blue bedroom, Grandma’s house, Aigburth, Liverpool   I gave birth to one hundred thousand words Tessellated, affectless, still   I was in a pair of stirrups, draped in black Behind me were cascades of water and municipal marble, people sitting inanimately I printed me out on acetate for the overhead projector   Vagabond pronunciation, vigilant renunciation, off with her head   Brashness and redness and badness and rudeness and leaving and wasting and waste   Fat lowly bearable extrapolation, fine gradations of change   Grandma came in and turned the big light on, offered photographs Women in terracotta silk, cars parked outside garage doors, Mum shoving an apple in Jeremy’s mouth She put a cup of Douwe Egbert’s on the side Was I sad because I wanted a boyfriend? I turned away, rinsed in salt     Hornsey, London   Matthew was in the kitchen, glancing with accusation at a Bolognese tidemark in the sink His grey jogging bottoms were tucked under his heels, nestling in his arches He switched off the little lights underneath the kitchen cupboards and turned it into the sort of conversation that is a prelude to an unlit room I don’t like those sorts of conversation He wished me luck   On the train a little boy was talking at his dad, who was thumbing his screen with maniacal grace They started a game of what five things the little boy would put in his supermarket basket Cucumber, ice cream, tomato, all the puddings, and trifle   Lunch with Paul He kneaded his sandwich with his fingers It was doughy and airless at the perimeters and the butter and salmon fattened into triangular pouches, a sophisticated solution to refrigerated bread His teeth were translucent   We spoke for ninety minutes, the foetus on my lap He gave me a gift, his book I asked him if he wanted to sign it My cheeks were hot Let me look at it No I need to see it No Can’t you blog it?     Rose’s, Bristol   We went to a café in the rain Children ate sausages from Falcon enamel The goats at the petting zoo had their horns zapped off If Rose were an animal she would be a fox Not

Contributor

August 2014

Alice Hattrick

Contributor

August 2014

Alice Hattrick is a writer and producer based in London. Their book on unexplained illness, intimacy and mother-daughter relationships,...

(holes)

Art

July 2014

Alice Hattrick

Kristina Buch

Art

July 2014

There are many ways to make sense of the world, through language, speech and text, but also the senses and their extensions. In his...

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Interview

March 2014

Interview with John Smith

Tom Harrad

Interview

March 2014

In 1976, whilst still a student at the Royal College of Art in London, John Smith made a short...

fiction

April 2014

Spins

Eley Williams

fiction

April 2014

Spider n. (Skinner thinks this word softened from spinder or spinner, from spin; Junius, with his usual felicity, dreams...

Art

Issue No. 8

A Fictive Retrospective of the Bruce High Quality Foundation

Legacy Russell

Art

Issue No. 8

Here are some details of art history that may or may not be true:   In 2008 I was...

 

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