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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...

Benson’s Syndrome   Grapefruit I have lost the word for it Popillo? Popello? No, no It escapes her, the word, she tries to dig into the layers of memory, a time when she used to know only this language, only this rhythm, this inflection, when she used to know the small of your back, or the ribs that sometimes pushed through your skin, but it fails her, it is always out of reach, hiding behind her second language that is now her first, a senseless language with silent letters: apostle, knot, doubt     Assignation   An appointment to meet someone in secret, typically one made by lovers We were never lovers, but no one will ever as easily cover me in goosebumps     Cavities   It was in Paris where I broke my tooth, the lower left second molar, while chewing the bread with the engraved cursive P upon its breast, brought at Poilâne on rue Debelleyme in Le Marais It was our first trip together as adults The lines in my face were settling in, laugh lines, I used to laugh then We had woken up early to walk there in the rain, a slight drizzle, and I was excited by the unevenness of the cobblestone, how I tripped at almost every step, how loud the automobiles sounded when they approached   The woman at the counter of the boulangerie asked if I wanted the whole loaf or the half, she directed the question to me as if she knew I would pay, as I often do I was surprised by her immediate knowledge of us, and by the smell of the dough rising just out of sight, which reminded me of my father’s calloused hands, how they could be violent but also subtle He used them to make gnocchi in our small kitchen   I did not understand her French, so she made wide shapes with her large palm, and then I understood but could not decide between the two choices, whole, half, you did not make eye contact to help me, so I told her yes, oui, the whole loaf, and made the

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

September 2012

Negation: A Response to Lars Iyer's 'Nude in Your Hot Tub'

Scott Esposito

feature

September 2012

I do not know whether I have anything to say, I know that I am saying nothing; I do...

Interview

Issue No. 13

Interview with Michel Faber

Anna Aslanyan

Interview

Issue No. 13

MICHEL FABER’S RANGE OF SUBJECTS – from child abuse to drug abuse, from avant-garde music to leaking houses – is as...

poetry

August 2013

Poem from fortune: animal spiral

Sarah Lariviere

poetry

August 2013

xi. inside friend friend is not the landscape: to turn into the water wears and deposits rock, time friend,...

 

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