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Fiction

« Ce libre droit du temps à disposer de lui-même doit être reconnu au même titre que celui des peuples. »
« Ce libre droit du temps à disposer de lui-même doit être reconnu au même titre que celui des peuples. »

Alexander Kluge, Gerhard Richter

Futur antérieure

Ce que révèle mon histoire, l’histoire d’un être humain et vivant, n’est pas le PASSÉ RÉVOLU (ce qui fut, parce que ce n’est plus), ce n’est pas non plus le passé composé de ce qui a été et perdure dans ce que je suis mais l’AUTRE de ce que j’ai été pour ce que je suis en passe de devenir. – Si je vous comprends bien, c’est du deuil de « ce que je suis en train de devenir » qu’il s’agit. Je...
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Stephen Barber

An immodest proposal

J.G. Ballard’s self-declared ‘Immodest Proposal’ for a global war-­alliance to exact the destruction of America demonstrates the provocatory zeal of his last fiction plans, as well as their enduring prescience. As Ballard emphasises several times in the World Versus America notebooks, he is utterly serious in his concerns and visions.
Although the Ballard ­estate declined permission for any images of pages from the World Versus America archival notebooks to accompany this essay, any member of the general public interested to do so can readily visit the British Library and view the notebooks in their entirety in the freely-­accessible manuscripts collection there.

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Current Texts

Axel Dielmann

“Can you imagine something like that?”

The curators were probably worried that someone would stumble carelessly up the stairs while looking at the exhibits—could I simply have gone past the first object at the bottom? Number 1, “Formless Veil, curtain” Must have been attached to the wall just between the entrance and exitus … “My dear colleague …!” and staircase. “… curtain, height 310 cm, width 475 cm.” I must already have seen it in the previous section, wall-high thing. What I’m overlooking, it occurs to me, is what’s essential. Which is the simplest form of analysis. I should actually go back down the gently curving stone stairs. But it’s over. Before me the Anatomical Theatre opens up along a last flat landing. Lights …

Set into the rectangular space is the oval of a gleaming brown wooden balustrade. From here you look down. Someone is whispering. The funnel of the auditorium declines in three narrowing...

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The limp, voluptuous decadence of the place

Bruce Bégout

The limp, voluptuous decadence of the place

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Des Caughnawagas
Des Caughnawagas

Joseph Mitchell

Les Mohawks sur les hauteurs d’acier

Les plus lestes des Indiens d’Amérique du Nord appartiennent à une bande de sang-mêlé Mohawks originaires de la Réserve Caughnawaga, sur les bord du fleuve Saint-Laurent, au Québec. On les appelle en général les Caughnawagas. Autrefois on les appelait les Mohawks chrétiens ou les Mohawks qui prient. Ils sont trois mille, dont au moins six cent cinquante passent plus de temps dans les villes des États-Unis un peu partout que dans leur réserve. Certains sont aussi remuants que des gitans....
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Dietmar Dath

Do you want to believe in language?

Asleep, Patrick sees what he doesn’t believe while he’s awake.

The index calculates everything. Announcements of awards, mostly false, light up then die. His dopamine balance feeds the list. Limbic structures support it. Brain means house, should have windows. But they’re slow shutter pictures of the past.

 

Five minutes past four, Patrick is woken up by a noise. He’s lying in the small room. Renate is sleeping in the big one.

“Maybe I’ll get an idea during the night,” he had justified his move to the couch, “Then I’ll have to send it to them. We’re sending the thing off tomorrow.” He was afraid of saying what he knew about Kerstin in his sleep, while lying next to Renate. In the darkness he feels the room buzzing at him. His brain answers the hum, singing sugar and protein, talking perineural network that controls the form and function of the synapses which guide all...

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Jochen Thermann

I really should not have hired him…

I really should not have hired him, but he seemed like he could fill in for my regular cook. Schneider had called in sick it seemed like it could drag on, so I took him on without too much fuss. He was a stocky, small man who could speak only broken German. At the end of the day, business had to go on, and the guests were hungry.

The complex relationships that you maintain often are unclear, even to yourself. So too the code that goes along with them. It is hard to decipher. It is only when things go off the rails that you recognize how well the self-regulation mechanisms were working: how Schneider would organize his purchases, how he would talk to the staff, how he put together the ingredients, and how truly he was interested in keeping business humming.

On the surface, the assistant chef worked in the same...