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Jonathan Gibbs

Jonathan Gibbs was shortlisted for the White Review Short Story Prize 2013. He has since published a novel, Randall or the Painted Grape (Galley Beggar Press).



Articles Available Online


Jessie Greengrass’s ‘Sight’

Book Review

February 2018

Jonathan Gibbs

Book Review

February 2018

Jessie Greengrass’s debut story collection caught my eye with its delightfully extravagant title, An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to...

feature

May 2016

Cinema on the Page

Jonathan Gibbs

feature

May 2016

Film is a bully. It wants to make its viewers feel, and it has the tools to do so....

She saw her father at Smith’s By accident She was paying the heat bill After paying the heat bill, she deposited some of the money he had given her for rent As she walked out of Aisle 6 near the cereal, she saw him His eyes were looking up, searching for something But she saw him She decided that when he turned his gaze towards Captain Crunch he couldn’t possibly see her Walking past him quietly, she snuck out of his view Her father was wearing a black sweater and black jogging pants He looked scrawny and not like her father Whenever she saw her father, her heart ached Especially from a distance, from a place where he couldn’t reciprocate her gaze   Her father had suffered extensively during his sixty years of existence Since arriving in the States in his thirties, he had worked for the poultry factory for nearly thirty years, and when he retired he was penniless, not from gambling, but from poor money management After all, her father never had a high school education He dropped out of school when he was 15 to join the Army, fighting against the communists and Viet Cong When the war ended, no one wanted to hire him, especially those from the North, moving South after the evasion He was a white sheet of paper that no one wanted So her father worked for a truck company that transported fruits and vegetables from the highlands of Vietnam into the cities He transported goods from Ha Giang, Lao Cai, Quang Ninh, and even from Dalat He transported Japanese plums, Asian pears, etc Domestic market was his expertise   For three weeks now, she hadn’t spoken to him Despite sharing the same bedroom and same bed, she hadn’t technically spoken to him She had purposefully been avoiding him She hid under the bedsheets in the late morning, concealing her face beneath a mask of fabric Sometimes the fabric clung to her nose and for moments she felt suffocated as if a cat had been sitting on her face and inhaling

Contributor

August 2014

Jonathan Gibbs

Contributor

August 2014

Jonathan Gibbs was shortlisted for the White Review Short Story Prize 2013. He has since published a novel, Randall or...

The Story I'm Thinking Of

fiction

April 2013

Jonathan Gibbs

fiction

April 2013

There were seven of us sat around the table. Seven grown adults, sat around the table. It was late. We had eaten, and we had...

READ NEXT

poetry

July 2014

Little Pistorius in a Sleevelet of Mirrors

Joyelle McSweeney

poetry

July 2014

INSERT: Little Pistorius in a Sleevelet of Mirrors A ballet performed by the corps du ballet of S——– to...

fiction

March 2017

Initiation

Guadalupe Nettel

TR. Rosalind Harvey

fiction

March 2017

Aside from its absence of windows, my apartment is a mausoleum which bestows an epic dimension upon the important...

poetry

January 2015

My Beloved Uncles

Tove Jansson

TR. Thomas Teal

poetry

January 2015

However tired of each other they must have grown from time to time, there was always great solidarity among...

 

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