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Izabella Scott

IZABELLA SCOTT is an editor at The White Review.



Articles Available Online


Shola von Reinhold’s ‘LOTE’

Book Review

September 2020

Izabella Scott

Book Review

September 2020

To read Shola von Reinhold’s ornate, multi-layered novel LOTE (2020) is to encounter a baroque mind. It tells the story of a queer Black...

Art Review

November 2019

Actually, the Dead are Not Dead

Izabella Scott

Art Review

November 2019

During Bergen Assembly’s opening days, I am asked to attend a number of mock funerals, including one for a...

The President of a small European country was dozing on a wave bed when his platinum smartphone, resting upon his ebony nightstand, began to vibrate ever so slightly The bed rocked his sixty-eight-year-old body so softly and delicately that he didn’t want to raise his eyelids He just didn’t want to at all But the smartphone kept gurgling and vibrating, which meant it had a serious reason to do so Reaching out his swarthy hand with its short fingers, he picked up the smartphone and pressed his finger to its screen    ‘She’s been delivered, Mr President’   ‘Ah…’ he remembered ‘Good’   Putting the cold device back into its place, he rubbed his face, soft from a recently taken Turkish bath, exhaled, then, with a single movement of his muscular body, got up easily from the foam-rubber wave The President was short, squat, broad-shouldered, bald, thick-necked and big-headed; the features of his bronzed, black-browed, strong-willed face were very proper except for his small fleshy ears that looked as if they’d been haphazardly stuck onto his head The President was garbed in nothing but a terry towel that matched the colour of his body   Shrugging his damp towel off onto the floor, he walked into a dark-green shower room of sinewy marble Three wide showerheads loomed up on the left, but the President didn’t move toward them, instead going over to three copper buckets hanging from chains on the right Standing under a bucket, he pulled at a lever The bucket began to tilt, pouring icy water over the President Letting it wash over him, he hooted dully, shook his head, then slapped into the changing room on his strong feet A servant was already waiting for him there Having wiped over the President’s body, he delicately anointed it with Eau de Cologne and helped him to get dressed Dressed in loose beige pants, a sleeveless shirt and light boots, the President left the changing room, exited the bathing and sporting complex, got behind the wheel of a one-seater electric car, and headed for the palace A wide electric security vehicle equipped with assault rifles

Contributor

September 2015

Izabella Scott

Contributor

September 2015

IZABELLA SCOTT is an editor at The White Review.

Book Review

August 2019

Jordy Rosenberg’s ‘Confessions of the Fox’

Izabella Scott

Book Review

August 2019

It’s hot as fuck, said the friend who handed me Confessions of the Fox, a faux-memoir set in eighteenth-century...

Navine G. Khan-Dossos, Echo Chamber

Art Review

November 2017

Izabella Scott

Art Review

November 2017

A lattice of diamonds and crosses, painted onto a 21-metre long wall at the Van Abbemuseum in Eindhoven, scatters my gaze. Artist Navine G....
Hot Rocks

feature

November 2016

Izabella Scott

feature

November 2016

‘We have received around 150 of them,’ Massimo Osanna tells me, as we peer into four small crates stuffed full of dusty freezer bags....
False shadows

Art

August 2016

Izabella Scott

Art

August 2016

The ‘beautiful disorder’ of the Forbidden City and the Yuanmingyuan (Garden of Perfection and Light) was first noted by the Jesuit painter Jean Denis...

READ NEXT

feature

April 2012

Oradour-sur-Glane: Reflections on the Culture of Memorial in Europe

Will Stone

feature

April 2012

Que nos caravanes s’avancent Vers ce lieu marqué par le sang Une plaie au coeur de la France Y...

poetry

July 2011

Comfort Station

Medbh McGuckian

poetry

July 2011

A witness has said that you raped women And brought them to the barracks to be used by the...

poetry

October 2012

Bacon’s Friends

Stephen Devereux

poetry

October 2012

Always got caught out by their shadows: Stuck to their soles like monkeys on trapezes, Cellophane fortune tellers curling...

 

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