Filthy: Oxford’s Bathing River
The UK’s rivers act as a dumping ground for excess sewage in times of high water, and Oxford’s rivers have been no exception. When students finish their examinations, they traditionally jump into the river to celebrate. Now it seems they may have been diving into raw sewage. In 2020, water compa
The Nordic Hut
Leaving you, I longed for one lone hut, red against the vast grey sea. Longed to sink my boots into the snow, to seek to spread the net of my spirit. To be more than a sister, a friend, a partner, when that cold courage blustered through me. I have now forgotten your name—or is […]
The Angler
The angler, taken in isolation, waits in preparatory study, his rod cast out and off the edge of the tall tide, which nearly banks the sky. The brown of the grass seems to climb station and cloaks his closed frame in an ascending glow of rust. The scene is not new. The […
In Conversation with Henry Dimbleby
What would it look like if you got fast food in heaven? What if food was not only accessible and affordable, but also really good for you and really good? This was the drive behind Leon, Henry Dimbleby’s restaurant chain, beloved by the British public. Now, Dimbleby is taking his ambitions for an
The Case of Karagarga
The modern cinematic experience faces a sustained dilemma. Once offering new models of seeing intended to tempt back waning audiences, the cinematic spectacle has become a parody of itself. An ethics of experience has supplanted film-viewing itself in the discourse surrounding the medium. Martin Sco
What’s Left of Murakami’s Tokyo?
As I arrived at Narita Airport, my head was filled with images of Haruki Murakami’s Tokyo. I imagined stepping out of my taxi to meet smoky jazz bars, bell pepper spaghetti, and Kafka-esque cityscapes. Instead, I confronted a globalised urban sprawl. Canned pop music echoed across the stree
Last Meal
Walking home from dinner last night, A party thrown by our friend, Five courses to celebrate the end Of a five-month divorce, I asked you what your favourite dish was. Me, I said, I’m stuck between the starter – Frisée leaves supporting The meat of a blue king crab Razor thin chives and strips
Becoming Human in Giuseppe Arcimboldo’s Paintings
It was New Year’s Day, 1569, and the Imperial Court of the Holy Roman Empire was alive with festive splendour: populated by an eclectic coterie of entertainers, furnished with exotic menageries, and known for its elaborate five-course banquets, it would have been an absolute feast for the senses o
Wisteria
Love never came and raved but bent low and whispered: spring wisteria that once dipped its neck to press its pretty face to yours. You bent too, to listen, and every building stooped to see your sunlit form find silence in the street. ∎ Words by James Turner. Art by Betsy McGrath.
