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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).



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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...

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May 2016

Cinema on the Page

Jonathan Gibbs

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May 2016

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

A pale three-quarter moon lit up the state highway at two in the morning The road connected the province of Taranto to Bari, and at that time of night it was usually deserted As it ran north, the road oscillated, aligning with and diverging from an imaginary axis, leaving behind it olive groves and vineyards and short rows of industrial sheds that resembled aeroplane hangars At kilometre marker 38, a service station appeared It was the last one for a while, and aside from the self-service pumps, vending machines serving coffee and cold food had recently been installed To promote the new attractions, the owner had installed a sky dancer on the roof of the auto repair shop One of those puppets that stand 15 feet tall, pumped up by powerful motorised fans   The inflatable barker fluttered in the empty air and would continue to do so until the morning light More than anything else, it made one think of a restless ghost   After passing that strange apparition the countryside ran on, flat and unvarying for miles It was almost like moving through the desert Then, in the distance, a sizzling tiara marked the city Beyond the guardrail, in contrast, lay untilled fields, fruit trees, and a few country houses nicely concealed by hedges Through those expanses moved nocturnal animals   Tawny owls traced long slanting lines through the air Gliding, they waited to flap their wings until they were just inches from the ground so that insects, terrified by the sudden tempest of shrubs and dead leaves, would rush out into the open, sealing their own fates A cricket, perched on a jasmine leaf, extended its antennae unevenly And, all around, impalpably, like a vast tide suspended in the air, a fleet of moths moved in the polarised light of the celestial vault   Unchanged over millions of years, the tiny, fuzzy-winged creatures were one with the formula that ensured their stability in flight Tied to the moon’s invisible thread, they were scouring the territory in their thousands, swaying from side to side to dodge the attacks of birds of prey Then, as had

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

fiction

September 2011

Celesteville's Burning

Andrew Gallix

fiction

September 2011

            Zut, zut, zut, zut.             – Marcel Proust, A la recherche du temps...

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October 2013

Enjoy His Symptoms?

Michael Sayeau

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October 2013

We lack the philosophers that we require for an era marked by agitation and occupation. From the UK student...

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Issue No. 13

Writers from the Old Days

Enrique Vila-Matas

TR. J. S. Tennant

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Issue No. 13

Augusto Monterroso wrote that sooner or later the Latin American writer faces three possible fates: exile, imprisonment or burial....

 

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