Mailing List


Rosanna Mclaughlin
Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Articles Available Online


The Pious and the Pommery

Essay

Issue No. 18

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

Issue No. 18

I.   Where is the champagne? On second thoughts this is not entirely the right question. The champagne is in the ice trough, on...

Essay

April 2019

Ariana and the Lesbian Narcissus

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

April 2019

‘Avoid me not!’ ‘Avoid me not!’                                   Narcissus   Let me describe a GIF I’ve been watching. A lot....

 I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you – William Carlos Williams, ‘January’   A new train set changed the living room into her playground Just a little engine and two cars, red and green, going around the metal track, but the little girl imagined more, because the trains followed the curves, stayed on the track, and kept circling and going, going Her father sat beside her on the floor, like her, beaming      A very long line of freight trains took a long time to pass She knew it would come to an end, and was patient at the railroad crossing The cars of many colours – yellow, red, green – lumbered by, boxes on wheels, while the train’s lonesome whistle kept calling, Here I come, here I am, here I go      Freight trains, at all times of day and night, wailed through hundreds of small towns, just a gas station, a luncheonette, maybe a beauty parlour, towns undone by human failure and natural disaster, flood, drought, towns with no product but the wind blowing      Her toy train rounded an old track               Estranged mountains bulged under the sky, the big sky, the endless sky Anyway, no one could see an end to it, which reassured her, since so much seemed to be coming to an end It felt that way      But it seemed impossible – the universe dropping off, ending, there would be an end, and then there would be nothing, a no more, a vacuum of no more Her imagination couldn’t let her go there               A jumble of metal and tires, grease stains, goop, the shop looked a big mess The guts of cars, tools, scattered all over the floor, but he knew where everything was He’d say to his wife, ‘I know where it all is, just don’t touch anything’ His place was like the back of his hand, and he was just as attached to it      Folks brought in their cars and trucks for fixing Dented, broken down, crashed The fixer-uppers The ‘keep ‘em going until I get some money’ cars Junkers The shit that happened to their rides, to them,

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Ten Years at Garage Moscow

Art Review

November 2018

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art Review

November 2018

When I arrive in Moscow, I am picked up from the airport by Roman, a patriotic taxi driver sent to collect me courtesy of...
Becoming Alice Neel

Art

August 2017

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art

August 2017

From the first time I saw Alice Neel’s portraits, I wanted to see the world as she did. Neel was the Matisse of the...

READ NEXT

feature

April 2017

The White Review Short Story Prize 2017 Shortlist (UK & Ireland)

feature

April 2017

  click on the title to read the story   A Journey Through Famous by Kanye West by Liam...

feature

Issue No. 1

In Somaliland

feature

Issue No. 1

On a traffic island in the middle of Somaliland’s capital city, Hargeisa, is the rusting shell of fighter jet...

feature

January 2015

'Every object must occupy ...'

Herta Müller

TR. Philip Boehm

feature

January 2015

I’d like to introduce you to a book, an impressive book that no one read when it first came...

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required