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Kate Zambreno
Kate Zambreno is the author most recently of Drifts (Riverhead) and To Write As If Already Dead, a study of Hervé Guibert (Columbia University Press). Forthcoming in Summer 2023 from Riverhead is The Light Room, a meditation on art and care, as well as Tone, a collaboration with Sofia Samatar, from Columbia University Press in early 2024. ‘Insekt’ is part of an in-progress work of fiction, Realisms. She is a 2021 Guggenheim Fellow.

Articles Available Online


Insekt or large verminous thing

Fiction

September 2022

Kate Zambreno

Fiction

September 2022

Around dusk one evening in March, I went out back to the small garage, and switched on my small square of artificial light at...

Feature

January 2018

Accumulations (Appendix F)

Kate Zambreno

Feature

January 2018

I’ve been keeping a mental list of all the pieces of art that I’ve nursed Leo in front of...

If you don’t want to lose your eyes, grab them by the veins sticking out of their behinds and wind those together into a bunch (They’re as pliable as pipe cleaners They stay put)   As for milk teeth, keep those with spare buttons in a Fosters Mints tin Shake them when you feel cranky See how their little lives rattling about in there can calm you so much better than any shop-bought stress-ball   When it comes to hair bands, keep one on each door handle, in case   With needles, stick them into the kitchen notice board   And as for tampons and shotgun cartridges, keep them in the sewing box with the Fosters Mints tin That way you’ll always be sure of finding one when you’re desperate   By eyes, I mean glass ones They’re sold like that, by the dozen, in a bouquet Ours came from a shop in Chester Rows, not far from Lowe’s, where all the family’s engagement rings came from Green eyes with a devil-red spark in the pupils We had ten eyes left after someone in the family made Foxy   All families have secret boxes, right? For things you’re not quite ready to throw out but can’t bear to have around you either And an odd uncle who causes embarrassment in back bars and midnight masses And unwanted, scary heirlooms It’s part of being in a family, isn’t it? Clutter accumulates   We had Mam’s sewing box It was meant to be a tool box, metal blue, cold, and it folded out like an upside-down iron bridge with gaps and nooks and slots for bits and bobs and a huge space at the bottom Magic Mam hadn’t done any sewing since the summer we came back from Normandy and she tried making a section of the Bayeux Tapestry by hand A yard of sea crossing Her fingertips and her patience wore away by the time she got to the decorative shields along the side of the ship, so the box became a resting place for odds and ends   There was a scrap of paper with hooks in it: I never knew for sure if they

Contributor

August 2014

Kate Zambreno

Contributor

August 2014

Kate Zambreno is the author most recently of Drifts (Riverhead) and To Write As If Already Dead, a study...

Heroines

feature

March 2013

Kate Zambreno

feature

March 2013

I am beginning to realise that taking the self out of our essays is a form of repression. Taking the self out feels like...

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feature

Issue No. 16

Editorial

The Editors

feature

Issue No. 16

The political and internet activist Eli Pariser coined the term ‘Filter Bubble’ in 2011 to describe how we have...

Art

March 2013

Strangely Ordinary: Ron Mueck's art of the uncanny

Anouchka Grose

Art

March 2013

Since the Stone Age, people have been concerned with the problem of how to represent life.   Cave paintings...

Interview

Issue No. 4

Interview with Ahdaf Soueif

Jacques Testard

Interview

Issue No. 4

In 1999, Ahdaf Soueif’s second novel, The Map of Love, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, eventually losing out...

 

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