" When I was young I hoped to be a war poet. But then there was no war, so I was fucked." Q: … A: Writers today live in a melancholic time. Postlapsarian is the word. Nothing is more common now than the writer who believes literature has worsened in recent decades. It has not. Instead literature’s influence on culture has declined. Writers —we are invariably obsessed with power and approval— believe this signifies a decline in their craft’s quality. They wrongly assume the quality of their texts gave them influence. So they fetishise the days of “great” writing that could “change” culture. Really, they yearn for writers to become celebrities akin to “influencers” once more. Ultimately the problem is not one of quality. Relevant writing is not good. It is useful. Useful things do work: they exercise force across distance. Writers do not understand their irrelevance because they refuse to recognise the nature of their craft: they deny the fact that writing “changes” peop...
It was on his eighteenth birthday that Joseph’s parents said he could no longer live at home. They had no savings and no wealth. And as lifelong renters they planned to move to a one-bedroom unit now he could support himself. Joseph did not love or hate his parents and knew he was entitled to nothing. This was a fair decision. Without complaint or protest he moved into a flat in the city’s south with five other strangers. The flat was small and, from a certain perspective, depressing. Two of these strangers slept in the converted living room. The others Joseph rarely saw because they worked night shifts. Joseph illegally sublet the flat’s smallest room, originally a utility cupboard. At night Joseph would breathe dust and sweat into the mattress used by an unknown number of previous tenants. Joseph got a job filling packages at one of the large warehouses encircling the city. The multinational company that employed him paid minimum wage and his commute t...
When Matthew returned to a pornographic website for the first time in over a month —a visit he justified by insisting it was a “reward” for his weeks of ascetic restraint, a period of abstinence undertaken to “increase his dopamine,” “max out his masculinity,” and “fight his depression”—he was startled to recognise the face of a young woman in a trending video near the top of the website’s homepage. “ Hot Girl Fucks Her Stepbrother ” was its title. Its star, much to Matthew’s shock and admittedly, arousal, was his stepsister, Alice. Matthew’s urge to masturbate was overwhelming given his long period of self-control. But now he immediately closed his phone and tossed it across his bed. The dark undulated before his eyes and he flinched away from his phone, as if the slab of black glass had become cursed and dangerous to touch. On his back, his underwear around his ankles and his eyes fixed on his wall, Matthew’s mind raced with erotic and horrifying thoughts. His step-sister was a porn...