Book vs Film: The Stepford Wives
Pitting the written word against the moving image in a battle to determine the best fiction. Continue reading Book vs Film: The Stepford Wives
Introducing POINT BLOC
Our regular blog contributor Sam Burt shares another exciting project for readers of Bandit to get behind. Continue reading Introducing POINT BLOC
Book by Book: Plato’s ‘The Republic’
This week’s walk through the classics focuses on the Continue reading Book by Book: Plato’s ‘The Republic’
Review: ‘The Stairs are a Snowcapped Mountain’ by Judy Darley
Sam Burt In ‘Why Rivers Run to the Sea’, one of the many flash fictions making up this collection, a river running through Bristol warns us: ‘Don’t try to slow me; I have somewhere to be.’ It’s a tiny, insistent, sensuous story, written in prose that manages to be both economical yet lyrical, and that wisely keeps the river’s personification at the surface level of … Continue reading Review: ‘The Stairs are a Snowcapped Mountain’ by Judy Darley
new world denial by Andrea Laws
land ho! on banks and
shores that seem to be
losing memories
with each landing Continue reading new world denial by Andrea Laws
Introducing Scratch Books
Tom Coganhan Editing at Bandit Fiction teaches you a few things. In the years I’ve worked here, I’ve got to read some brilliant stories, and some less than amazing stories. It’s made me question what makes a good short story. How would you attempt to write something brilliant? How would you know if you had achieved it? Because they are so various, one amazing story … Continue reading Introducing Scratch Books
lucky in love by Becca Fang
I have dabbled in desperate, dirty things,
knelt for jesters dressed as kings,
pretending to be fooled, although I knew. Continue reading lucky in love by Becca Fang
The Spare Room by Safiya Cherfi
though if they didn’t, they would be admitting defeat. Or they’d be facing the silence. If they had gone straight home, she would have been able to cry openly, all day. She was glad they went into town. Continue reading The Spare Room by Safiya Cherfi
The Lilac Line by Rhiannon Jones
People said Mark was A Good Lad, but sometimes when he ran past my window I could taste blood. Feel the terror I felt when he broke my sister’s nose, and the shame. Once again I stood at a cold sink trying to wash blood from the lines in my hands. Continue reading The Lilac Line by Rhiannon Jones
Review: ‘In the Cut’ by Susanna Moore
‘In the cut. From vagina. A place to hide. To hedge your bet. But someplace safe, someplace free from harm’ by Harry Wilding Content Warning: Discussions of sexual violence and gender based violence Susanna Moore’s brutal novel, full of explicit violence and sex, was originally released in 1995, but its depictions of misogyny, the police force and victim blaming has kept it unfortunately relevant for … Continue reading Review: ‘In the Cut’ by Susanna Moore
The Man in the Rain by David Christopher Johnston
They sat in the tiny bus shelter, hoods up, huddled together to ward off the bitter wind. The whole structure shuddered and creaked like it could collapse at any moment. Nathan tore through his burger like a starved cayote devouring a fresh kill. Cassie ate hers slowly, taking small bites and savouring the taste, enjoying the warmth in her stomach. She watched Nathan shovelling food into his mouth and laughed. Continue reading The Man in the Rain by David Christopher Johnston
Review: ‘Sterling Karat Gold’ by Isabel Waidner
Sam Burt Describing the story of Sterling Karat Gold, Isabel Waidner’s third, Goldsmiths prize-winning novel, is probably a fool’s errand – a struggle against ‘bullfighters, football players and time-travelling spaceships’, according to the blurb. But here goes. Sterling Beckenbauer (the estranged child of German football legend Franz Beckenbauer) lives in Camden with their bestie, Chachki, with whom they organise Cataclysmic Foibles, ‘a quarterly series of … Continue reading Review: ‘Sterling Karat Gold’ by Isabel Waidner
Quemperi by Camila Torres
Two white men arrived in Quemperi in the morning. They were two white blemishes in the perfect brown and green of the rainforest. They were no children of Mama Sacha, and their mere presence disturbed her eternal peace. To the white men, it seemed as if the grass and bushes were becoming taller and thicker; as if mosquitos’ bloodthirst was growing, biting their eyes, ears and necks; and as if the mist was becoming warmer and wetter only to suffocate their airways. Continue reading Quemperi by Camila Torres
Fish by Amita Basu
A couple in ice-blue jeans, silk kurtas, and sunhats turn to glare. I understand: they’re policing social distancing. I await my turn outside. Fingering their PM-95 masks for a perfect seal, they turn away. Continue reading Fish by Amita Basu
Butterfly Stitches by Jeremiah K. Balko
Dad’s still only twenty minutes away, which is why he can still see us all the time. He’s not like these dads you hear about who don’t want their kids. Mum made it seem like she got us during the school week because she was the mum and he got us on the weekend, like it was the law. Mum doesn’t make us do chores, so we like that, and Rita would’ve picked her anyway. She hates Dad. She has no taste in things. Continue reading Butterfly Stitches by Jeremiah K. Balko
Oh Baby by Sam Burt
To stave off hunger, he does another line. He pulls a chair to the table and delights in the newfound compliance of physical objects. He wants music, so gets up and puts it on and there it is! It wanted to be heard. He sits down again but suddenly knows there should be different music and a different drink, something fruity to take the edge off, and the curtains drawn, and then enough time will have passed to check his messages again. Continue reading Oh Baby by Sam Burt
Sink by HLR
I stare at him for a second too long and then flick some ash off my tights. We watch it fall one two three four floors down until it disappears. The air has changed, as if charged with uncomfortable static. I only came here for a fuck, and now he seems… upset. Continue reading Sink by HLR
Leaving Orua (The Last of the Estuary’s Sun) by Gregory Dally
It could be called piquant, the tangleft by a haystack once it’s dried.The rain has dispersed. You breathe in.It’s an indulgence that has you imagining tussock fire. These vapours can only keep moving your atomsin a quest for the ultimate condition.You assay the tide’s fleet of shiversaround your legs and your mind. It’s soothing to take in the coolness on light raysturned in jade over … Continue reading Leaving Orua (The Last of the Estuary’s Sun) by Gregory Dally
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