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Rose McLaren

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.



Articles Available Online


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’m riding the bus with a group of athletes from some provincial town they’re going to a competition in Milan; our bus has stopped at the border, and waits to go through customs what country are we entering? one of them asks me; Poland, I say so that’s what, the EU? he asks no, I say Poland’s not in the EU yet what other countries are we going through? Germany, I say, Austria he nods Portugal, I lie; he nods again; I could have said Greece, Syria, Ireland—he’d have nodded oh, mighty athlete, our bus will travel through Iceland, we’ll see sheep, deer, muskoxen; we’ll see camels; we’ll see the early ice— hills of not quite solid, not yet formed (they call it ‘uncrystallised’) but very real, early ice; we’ll see the Alps—they’ll be to both sides of us— there’ll be some nice places to cool off; we’ll see the ruins of Thebes, and the remains of mad Alexandria— but we won’t look at any of this; instead we’ll watch movies on our disc players; we’ve been watching movies the whole way from Moscow, one was an American film in which it gradually became clear that using the shampoo Head and Shoulders was the only way to save yourself from the alien invaders (at the end, it turns out the film has actually been an epic shampoo commercial)[1], and just now we watched an old Soviet film about World War II, the action takes place around here somewhere— I am ground, over, over, come in, this is ground, over, the communications officer says, she is a pretty young officer, but no one answers, they’re dead (they’re gone), they’ve been killed, though not before communicating the movement of the Nazi troops, and their impending attack from the northwest, I cried over this ‘I am ground, over, over, come in, this is ground,’ I’d had a lot to drink on the road from Moscow to Minsk, but I would have cried even if I hadn’t had a single drop between Moscow and Minsk; I remembered the poet Lvovsky, who said he cried when he watched Amélie, why did people love this Amélie so much? is it that they’re so hungry for some ordinary magic? it’s silly to explain that people liked it just because they were hungry for magic but there’s no time, and no chance, to explain why they really liked it; there’s a very popular, very stupid new word—positivity (it’s an idiotic

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...

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Interview

Issue No. 1

Interview with Will Self

Jacques Testard

Interview

Issue No. 1

Standing on the doorstep of Will Self’s London home ahead of this interview, last August, I was quite terrified....

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April 2013

Félix Fénéon, Bomb-Thrower

Tom McCarthy

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April 2013

Editors’ Note: On 25 April 2013, novelist Tom McCarthy announced the winner of the first annual White Review Short...

Interview

August 2016

Interview with Brian Evenson

J. W. McCormack

Interview

August 2016

There are at least three Brian Evensons, all of them EXCEEDINGLY IMPROBABLE. First, there’s Brian Evenson, the prolific author of...

 

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