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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...

1 The Triumph of Capitalism   It was the end of the cold war and capitalism had won Everywhere people were either out of a job or making obscene amounts of money If you didn’t have a plan and a German car you were nobody   Because I could tell you were about to leave me, I had to come up with a grand gesture   We were sitting in the lobby of the American hotel, where the walls are painted gold and the rooms cost three times my annual salary You were wearing your best dress and I was wearing my new suit and sunglasses because I’d spent the day going to job interviews I’d been thrown out of the army along with everyone else   Businessmen were prowling the edges of the room like lions They were looking for sexy gazelles They all noticed the way the light reflected off the gold-painted walls and lit up your face   Spooked, I told you I’d buy you anything you wanted So you asked for a submarine fleet It totally served me right     2 Sergei the Submarine Salesman   I got together with a bunch of likeminded investors We were men of vision who saw the big picture and we were going to remake the world We hired a retired submarine Captain called Yuri who drank too much and told us stories of playing cat and mouse with the Americans for forty years under the arctic sea During a long and distinguished career he’d made more than seventy-two circuits of the globe and been married five times Then the oligarchs had taken over and stolen everything, including his fifth wife   We stood in the conning tower of a reconditioned Victor III class submarine fifty miles out to sea off Archangelsk, smoking brutally strong cigarettes in the grey dawn light   The air was so cold it smelt like iron   ‘She displaces seven thousand tons, and she’ll give you fifty five kilometres an hour at top speed,’ Sergei the submarine salesman was telling us ‘Power source is two pressurized water reactors Safe, but don’t stand too close, you know?’   ‘What about the crew?’ said Captain Yuri   ‘Usual crew complement

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. 17

Editorial

The Editors

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Issue No. 17

An Englishman, a Frenchman and an Irishman set up a magazine in London in 2010. This sounds like the...

Prize Entry

April 2017

Terre Haute

Lauren Van Schaik

Prize Entry

April 2017

We’ve been quarantined in the school gym for three weeks when we realise just how much we’ve forgotten. Not...

Art

February 2013

Haitian Art and National Tragedy

Rob Sharp

Art

February 2013

Thousands of Haiti’s poorest call it home: Grand Rue, a district of Port-au-Prince once run by merchants and bankers,...

 

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