I press my hands against my ears and try to shut out the Arabic music that has been coming from…
peirene press
‘Je voudrais un verre de vin rouge et un expresso, s’il vous plaît.’ Peirene is sitting on a chair in…
Peirene and I are swimming in the Kenwood Ladies pond on Hampstead Heath. It’s a beautiful summer’s evening and we…
Thursday 4 October • Waterstones, Brighton • 6.30 p.m. Chair: Meike Ziervogel, publisher and novelist at Peirene Press (World Literature…
‘No! No!’ Peirene shrieks in disbelief. ‘Impossible!’ Startled, I jump up from my seat. ‘What has happened?’ The Nymph stares…
It’s London Bookfair. Peirene and I hurry from one half-an-hour meeting to the next, up and down stairs, from one…
‘I can’t stand International Women’s Day.’ Peirene turned off the radio. ‘Women are great. Women are powerful. Women will change…
Peirene is alone in the office. And disaster has struck. The Nymph is pacing up and down, trying to breathe…
‘Freedom for all writers!’ Peirene stands in the middle of the office wearing full combat gear: camouflage trousers, camouflage jacket,…
‘What disgrace! What humiliation!’ Peirene kneels in front of the fire place in our front room. She dips her hands…
I bend over the conveyor belt and grab my suitcase. ‘Ok, let’s go.’ The Nymph, Syrian editor Suhir and I…
I wake with a start. I’m sure I heard some strange noise. It’s pitch dark. I turn my head to the…
