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Megan Nolan is a writer of essays, criticism and fiction born in Ireland and based in London. She writes a fortnightly column for the New Statesman.
My estimation of my own sexual and physical worth has always dramatically fluctuated depending on location and context.
Once, when my card was declined as I tried to get the Tube, I called to let him know that I couldn’t come over any more. “What?” he said. “Just transfer some money!”
It is time our major art institutions address the mucky business of money.
Without a companion, the idea of preparing something decent and nourishing feels absurd, and even frightening.
It used to be that only celebrities were subjects of biography, but life online has changed this.
In one dream, I’m back in New York, in March, as I was when Covid began to spread – but instead of returning home, I refuse to leave. Somehow my act of refusal changes everything.
It isn’t that I object to marriage on political grounds, it’s more that it has never seemed normal to me.
The only thing making me feel unsettled is my confusion about where to draw the line between girlhood and womanhood.
Even during a pandemic and nationwide protests against racial injustice, this 13-year-old story still dominates the media.
Haunting and gently chaotic, this International Booker Prize-shortlisted novel is a rare and strident debut.
