Killing Dickens
The New Yorker|July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue)
Why I wrote a historical novel.
ZADIE SMITH
Killing Dickens

For the first thirty years of my life, I lived within a one-mile radius of Willesden Green Tube Station. It's true I went to college-I even moved to East London for a bit but such interludes were brief. I soon returned to my little corner of North West London. Then suddenly, quite abruptly, I left not just the city but England itself. First for Rome, then Boston, and then my beloved New York, where I stayed ten years. When friends asked why I'd left the country, I'd sometimes answer with a joke: Because I don't want to write a historical novel. Perhaps it was an in-joke: only other English novelists really understood what I meant by it. And there were other, more obvious reasons. My English father had died. My Jamaican mother was pursuing a romance in Ghana. I myself had married an Irish poet who liked travel and adventure and had left the island of his birth at the age of eighteen. My ties to England seemed to be evaporating. I would not say I was entirely tired of London. No, I was not yet-in Samuel

This story is from the July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue) edition of The New Yorker.

Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.

This story is from the July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue) edition of The New Yorker.

Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.

MORE STORIES FROM THE NEW YORKERView All
YULE RULES
The New Yorker

YULE RULES

“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point.”

time-read
6 mins  |
November 18, 2024
COLLISION COURSE
The New Yorker

COLLISION COURSE

In Devika Rege’ first novel, India enters a troubling new era.

time-read
8 mins  |
November 18, 2024
NEW CHAPTER
The New Yorker

NEW CHAPTER

Is the twentieth-century novel a genre unto itself?

time-read
10+ mins  |
November 18, 2024
STUCK ON YOU
The New Yorker

STUCK ON YOU

Pain and pleasure at a tattoo convention.

time-read
10+ mins  |
November 18, 2024
HEAVY SNOW HAN KANG
The New Yorker

HEAVY SNOW HAN KANG

Kyungha-ya. That was the entirety of Inseon’s message: my name.

time-read
10+ mins  |
November 18, 2024
REPRISE
The New Yorker

REPRISE

Reckoning with Donald Trump's return to power.

time-read
10 mins  |
November 18, 2024
WHAT'S YOUR PARENTING-FAILURE STYLE?
The New Yorker

WHAT'S YOUR PARENTING-FAILURE STYLE?

Whether you’re horrifying your teen with nauseating sex-ed analogies or watching TikToks while your toddler eats a bagel from the subway floor, face it: you’re flailing in the vast chasm of your child’s relentless needs.

time-read
2 mins  |
November 18, 2024
COLOR INSTINCT
The New Yorker

COLOR INSTINCT

Jadé Fadojutimi, a British painter, sees the world through a prism.

time-read
10+ mins  |
November 18, 2024
THE FAMILY PLAN
The New Yorker

THE FAMILY PLAN

The pro-life movement’ new playbook.

time-read
10+ mins  |
November 18, 2024
President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.
The New Yorker

President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.

On a mid-October Sunday not long ago sun high, wind cool-I was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a book festival, and I took a stroll. There were few people on the streets-like the population of a lot of capital cities, Harrisburg's swells on weekdays with lawyers and lobbyists and legislative staffers, and dwindles on the weekends. But, on the façades of small businesses and in the doorways of private homes, I could see evidence of political activity. Across from the sparkling Susquehanna River, there was a row of Democratic lawn signs: Malcolm Kenyatta for auditor general, Bob Casey for U.S. Senate, and, most important, in white letters atop a periwinkle not unlike that of the sky, Kamala Harris for President.

time-read
8 mins  |
November 11, 2024