A glance leads to a smile, a smile to a rendezvous: every love story begins the same way. These narratives are stored in songs and poems and live on beyond their inevitable endings, as Shakespeare’s titular sonnet 18 also suggests. In Mohammad Shawky Hassan’s metafictional essay, a female narrator who wishes to tell the story of a love between two men encounters a polyamorous chorus of lovers, and this oft-told tale is multiplied. In Club Scheherazade, there is no protagonist, and every song has various versions. Heteronormative dramaturgy is challenged polyphonically and across a range of media: lovers ask each other about threesomes, Grindr contacts and past dates. Pop clichés are twisted, heartache permeates the men’s singing, and poems by Wadih Saadeh are read out while a lover’s dirty laundry is aired. The narrator mischievously tries for a happy ending as her characters exit the story. “If pain could be forgotten through words,” we hear at one point, “no lover would ever have to walk away wounded.”
Agneta is a colorful and funny person, but it's not obvious on the surface. She has just turned 49, her children have flown the nest, her job at the traffic office is stagnant, and Agneta feels invisible. Her husband, on the other hand, has f
Every year, a family home is turned into a haunted house. The purpose is not only to be as terrifying as possible, but also to create a spectacular attraction to draw the neighbours in. In response to some criticism, the father commits irreparable damage.
A roughneck commits a hasty and brutal crime after discovering his scumbag brother is planning to run off with his cheating wife, completely upending the only life he's ever known.
