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Rose McLaren

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.



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Talk Into My Bullet Hole

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July 2015

Rose McLaren

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July 2015

‘Someday people are going to read about you in a story or a poem. Will you describe yourself for those people?’ ‘Oh, I don’t...

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May 2014

Art Does Not Know a Beyond: On Karl Ove Knausgaard

Rose McLaren

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May 2014

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle has an oddly medieval form: a cycle, composed of six auto-biographical books about the...

I strayed into the church on an impulse It was a mistake to get off the bus in the village here I should have waited until we reached the summer cabins, but all of a sudden I wasn’t sure where we were I got off without asking It turned out to be eighteen kilometres too soon The next bus isn’t until three, which is another four hours yet It’s like that on Saturdays, in the outlying areas   Now I’m sitting in the church with my holdall, surrounded by people in their best clothes I might as well be doing something while I’m here The main door is still open and the sun is shining outside The church is on top of a hill When I turn round and look out, I can see the view of fields and the sky Many of the others keep turning round too, twisting their heads this way and that After a bit there’s some muffled activity in the porch The organ begins to play and the bride steps into the church on her father’s arm Everyone stands up, nodding and smiling   I look into the bride’s eyes as she comes past Her hair is blonde and arranged in an updo Her father nods An elderly woman next to me leans across   ‘Ooh,’ she says softly   Her voice is a tremble She smells of camphor   ‘Yes,’ I whisper back   ‘Isn’t she just!’ the woman says, still a tremble   We sit down and the ceremony begins       After it starts I nearly leave I ought to But on the other hand it’s anyone’s right to sit and gape And if I leave now I’ll only draw attention So I stay put and join in the hymns when it’s time to sing, and leaf on to the next one in plenty of time   It takes a while, but then it’s over and the happy couple kiss The door is opened and the organ plays They walk back up the aisle, holding hands and smiling   Once they’ve left the church the guests follow them out I wait until last A woman stands in the porch shaking everyone’s hand;

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.

The Prosaic Sublime of Béla Tarr

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Issue No. 6

Rose McLaren

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Issue No. 6

I have to recognise it’s cosmical; the shit is cosmical. It’s not just social, it’s not just ontological, it’s really huge. And that’s why we...
Stalker, Writer or Professor? Geoff Dyer's Zona and Genre

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February 2012

Rose McLaren

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February 2012

‘So what kind of a writer am I, reduced to writing a summary of a film?’ wonders Geoff Dyer half way through Zona. Such...

READ NEXT

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Issue No. 5

The White Review No. 5 Editorial

The Editors

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Issue No. 5

One of the two editors of The White Review recently committed a faux pas by reacting with undisguised and indeed...

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November 2015

Anatomy of a Democracy: Javier Cercas

Duncan Wheeler

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November 2015

20 November marks the fortieth anniversary of the death of General Franco. And while the insurrectionist’s victory in the...

Art

February 2016

'Look at me, I said to the glass in a whisper, a breath.'

Alice Hattrick

Art

February 2016

Listen to her. She is telling you about her adolescence. She is telling you about one particular ‘bender’ that...

 

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