Dolly's
Razor

Dolly's
Razor

Dolly's
Razor

Dolly's
Razor

Grounded SF from
The Netherlands
and Flanders
no. 1

Grounded SF from
The Netherlands
and Flanders
no. 1

AUTHOR

Willem Bosch

PITCH

A busy writer clones himself so he can do twice as much work. Soon enough, he is forced to look on as his clone starts to live a much better life than he does.

Grounded SF

Translated by: Sarah Welling

This is what you need to understand: to me, it felt like he was the clone. Cloning a person means making an exact copy of them, down to the last molecule, so we were the same in every way. The same memories, the same traumas, the same obsessions.

This is what you need to understand: to me, it felt like he was the clone. Cloning a person means making an exact copy of them, down to the last molecule, so we were the same in every way. The same memories, the same traumas, the same obsessions.

This is what you need to understand: to me, it felt like he was the clone. Cloning a person means making an exact copy of them, down to the last molecule, so we were the same in every way. The same memories, the same traumas, the same obsessions.

This is what you need to understand: to me, it felt like he was the clone. Cloning a person means making an exact copy of them, down to the last molecule, so we were the same in every way. The same memories, the same traumas, the same obsessions.

This is what you need to understand: to me, it felt like he was the clone. Cloning a person means making an exact copy of them, down to the last molecule, so we were the same in every way. The same memories, the same traumas, the same obsessions.

But this is how I experienced it: first, I was a thirty-two-year-old man who worked long hours, didn’t have enough time for his girlfriend, and drank too much. Then I heard about this thing you could do now: replicate yourself using a bio-printer. A process previously known as cloning. So I went to a little clinic with polished floors and paid a woman twenty thousand euros. They told me to lie down in a scanner, and four hours later, I had a clone. Only… I hadn’t actually experienced those things. I did have the memories, but I’d only just come into existence.

I was the clone.

---------------

I felt nauseous when we met. The doctor had warned us about this beforehand. Your brain has to get used to the idea. That’s why patients are asked to grow out their beards in the weeks leading up to the procedure. I knew that wasn’t a problem as Willem hardly ever used a razor anyway. After the procedure I was told to shave, to help our brains see me and my doppelganger as two different people. Like the way your eyes adjust when you’re hanging upside down for a long time, in the loop of a roller coaster for example; it takes a moment, but then you start seeing everything straight again. Your brain does that.

---------------

One thing I noticed right away is that we were overweight: the belly, the puffy face. Our hair was a mess, our hands were clammy, and our voice sounded strange and hoarse. I could smell the cigarettes and coffee on his breath, and I knew I smelled just as bad.

“How does it feel?” Willem asked.

“Good,” I said.

He smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile, I could tell. It was more like a grimace that said “Fine, OK, let’s not dwell on this subject too long.” A bit like an ape baring its teeth. The yellowing teeth of a smoker.

The doctor shook hands with Willem first and then with me, even though I was seated nearer. It was like Willem was responsible for me somehow, like a parent, or the owner of a pet. Even though I was exactly the same. Down to the last molecule.

Only I wasn’t called Willem anymore: I was now called Henry.

---------------

“Well, this is all of it,” Willem said, with a sweeping gesture taking in the whole house, which I had only just left that morning—or that’s how it felt to me. He laughed, saying, “Ah, but of course you know the place already.” I nodded; I knew what Willem had been thinking about while he was masturbating that morning.

Willem said, “This feels a bit strange because I’d like to talk about how we’re going arrange things, but I know you already know that.”

“Let’s discuss it anyway,” I said.

We were in the living room, and for the first time in years, I was sitting in the gray wicker chair. Or that’s how it felt to me, because I’d only just come into existence. This recurring thought was giving me a headache. Willem was in his corner of the couch where his weight had created a permanent indentation in the cushions. He plucked at the laces of his worn-out shoes.

“Right. As you know,” Willem smiled, “the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.” I nodded: we were writers, and we’d taken on too much this year. Working double hours wouldn’t do any harm.

Willem hesitated. “Of course the way I’d planned it was that you’d mostly work during the days, say from nine to five, and I’d work from eleven to seven, because I’m more of a night owl.” Willem looked at me carefully. “But then you’re a night owl too.”

I knew we were the same, but I also felt I was the clone here and a little humility was in order. So I said, “No, that’s all right.”

After that, I worked during the day and he worked at night.

But this is how I experienced it: first, I was a thirty-two-year-old man who worked long hours, didn’t have enough time for his girlfriend, and drank too much. Then I heard about this thing you could do now: replicate yourself using a bio-printer. A process previously known as cloning. So I went to a little clinic with polished floors and paid a woman twenty thousand euros. They told me to lie down in a scanner, and four hours later, I had a clone. Only… I hadn’t actually experienced those things. I did have the memories, but I’d only just come into existence.

I was the clone.

---------------

I felt nauseous when we met. The doctor had warned us about this beforehand. Your brain has to get used to the idea. That’s why patients are asked to grow out their beards in the weeks leading up to the procedure. I knew that wasn’t a problem as Willem hardly ever used a razor anyway. After the procedure I was told to shave, to help our brains see me and my doppelganger as two different people. Like the way your eyes adjust when you’re hanging upside down for a long time, in the loop of a roller coaster for example; it takes a moment, but then you start seeing everything straight again. Your brain does that.

---------------

One thing I noticed right away is that we were overweight: the belly, the puffy face. Our hair was a mess, our hands were clammy, and our voice sounded strange and hoarse. I could smell the cigarettes and coffee on his breath, and I knew I smelled just as bad.

“How does it feel?” Willem asked.

“Good,” I said.

He smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile, I could tell. It was more like a grimace that said “Fine, OK, let’s not dwell on this subject too long.” A bit like an ape baring its teeth. The yellowing teeth of a smoker.

The doctor shook hands with Willem first and then with me, even though I was seated nearer. It was like Willem was responsible for me somehow, like a parent, or the owner of a pet. Even though I was exactly the same. Down to the last molecule.

Only I wasn’t called Willem anymore: I was now called Henry.

---------------

“Well, this is all of it,” Willem said, with a sweeping gesture taking in the whole house, which I had only just left that morning—or that’s how it felt to me. He laughed, saying, “Ah, but of course you know the place already.” I nodded; I knew what Willem had been thinking about while he was masturbating that morning.

Willem said, “This feels a bit strange because I’d like to talk about how we’re going arrange things, but I know you already know that.”

“Let’s discuss it anyway,” I said.

We were in the living room, and for the first time in years, I was sitting in the gray wicker chair. Or that’s how it felt to me, because I’d only just come into existence. This recurring thought was giving me a headache. Willem was in his corner of the couch where his weight had created a permanent indentation in the cushions. He plucked at the laces of his worn-out shoes.

“Right. As you know,” Willem smiled, “the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.” I nodded: we were writers, and we’d taken on too much this year. Working double hours wouldn’t do any harm.

Willem hesitated. “Of course the way I’d planned it was that you’d mostly work during the days, say from nine to five, and I’d work from eleven to seven, because I’m more of a night owl.” Willem looked at me carefully. “But then you’re a night owl too.”

I knew we were the same, but I also felt I was the clone here and a little humility was in order. So I said, “No, that’s all right.”

After that, I worked during the day and he worked at night.

As you know, the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.

As you know, the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.

As you know, the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.

As you know, the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.

As you know, the main idea is that we can get twice as much work done in the same amount of time. You can work while I sleep, and I can work while you sleep.

“So, here he is then!” Evie shook my hand while Willem just stood there in the kitchen looking at his phone. I introduced myself as Henry which made Evie laugh very loudly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Willem-Henry. It’s just so bizarre.”

I could understand that. All my memories of her were just as real as those Willem had, and yet they had never happened. “It is very strange,” I said. Suddenly I wasn’t quite sure whether I was in a relationship with Evie as well.

But that afternoon, Willem took me aside in the kitchen and said, “Let’s be honest, there is also something inside you that is very keen to be single again.” And Willem was right about that, too. So he was in a relationship with Evie and I wasn’t. That night they went out for dinner and on to a bar afterwards. I went to bed, because I had to get up early the next morning for the first time in years.

Even though I’d only just come into existence.

---------------

Things look very different in the early morning. Birds are singing and the world looks kinder, more upbeat. And I woke up without a hangover for the first time in my life. In the kitchen I saw that Willem and Evie and a couple of friends had been sitting up into the small hours: the large kitchen table was covered in a mess of full ashtrays, beer cans, and assorted bottles of liquor. A tea light candle had been crumbled into a waxy little heap.

Shoving the mess to one side, I opened our laptop. Instantly, the sound of Fleetwood Mac blasted through the tiny speaker on the window sill. Knowing us, Willem and Evie had roared along to this at the end of the night.

I switched off the music, cleaned up all the mess, and got to work.

---------------

The novel Willem and I were working on was terrible. We both knew it,  but we’d taken the advance and spent it, so it had to be finished. But seeing the sun come up outside, and with a clear head, I decided to go out first and get breakfast. Shopping turned into a morning walk, and after an hour I had two or three pretty decent ideas. I was satisfied.

Willem would be satisfied.

---------------

“I’m worried about Willem.”

I was three weeks old, and Evie still hadn’t gotten used to me. She hadn’t seen I was already there, sitting at the table working. Now she was standing in the kitchen, on the phone. It was her mother; I could tell by the affected tone of her voice. “He works so hard, and you can see how he neglects himself. He’s also put on loads of weight again, have you noticed? And now he’s gone and had one of those copies made of himself.”

I made a small coughing sound to show I was there. Evie stood bolt upright, thinking it was Willem, then turned bright red and said, “Oh, hi there Henry, sorry…”

I asked, “Where’s Willem?”

She made a gesture that meant what do you think?

“Still in bed.”

I nodded: Ah. And I told her I’d gone out for croissants. Only Evie hated croissants. And I knew that really.

---------------

While he was reading, Willem had lit two cigarettes at the same time. Hunched over, his eyes narrowed, I saw him pretend to concentrate, but I knew he’d had to start over again twice because his thoughts kept wandering off. After twenty minutes, he mumbled “Yes.”

I nodded. What I’d written was really good.

Smiling that fake smile again, Willem said, “Yes, it’s so bizarre because I can see it’s good, and I know it’s me who actually wrote it, or could have written it, but it still takes a little getting used to.”

I could understand that. It is a strange feeling. And while Willem started deleting sentences here and there and changing things, I took another look at myself in the reflection of the large window at the back of our house and asked him if it wasn’t about time we did something about that belly. Didn’t he think we’d gotten very overweight?

“Oh, Christ, are we doing that now?’ Willem said.

I asked, “Are we doing what now?” But I knew what he meant.

Willem sighed as if any conceivable form of stress was too much for him: “Get that damn book finished first, then a vacation with Evie, and then we hit the gym, five or six days a week, straight off – bam, bam, bam!”

“But that’s in July,” I said.

This made Willem angry, even though I didn’t mean anything by it. “What do you want me to do, go to the gym now and just screw the deadline?! Or do you want me to write? Go on, tell me, it’s up to you,” Willem said. I knew it was a trick so we wouldn’t have to discuss it anymore.

I shook my head and said, “You’re right.” That afternoon, I joined a gym.

--------------- 

“He’s an odd kind of clone, isn’t he?”

Evie had invited me along to Michael’s birthday at a bar called De Evenaar, though I should have been working. Willem wasn’t very happy about it, but one stern look from Evie shut him up. I was introduced to all our friends, whom I already knew. Michael, Willem’s best friend, studied me with fascination. “He doesn’t look exactly the same.”

Evie put her arm around Michael’s shoulder and said, “That’s because Henry goes to the gym.”

Willem came by holding two beers and gave one to Michael. He’d forgotten to bring me one. “Someone has to do the work around here,” Willem said, even though I was getting more work done than he was. I noticed the short walk from the bar to our table had left him out of breath.

“So, here he is then!” Evie shook my hand while Willem just stood there in the kitchen looking at his phone. I introduced myself as Henry which made Evie laugh very loudly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Willem-Henry. It’s just so bizarre.”

I could understand that. All my memories of her were just as real as those Willem had, and yet they had never happened. “It is very strange,” I said. Suddenly I wasn’t quite sure whether I was in a relationship with Evie as well.

But that afternoon, Willem took me aside in the kitchen and said, “Let’s be honest, there is also something inside you that is very keen to be single again.” And Willem was right about that, too. So he was in a relationship with Evie and I wasn’t. That night they went out for dinner and on to a bar afterwards. I went to bed, because I had to get up early the next morning for the first time in years.

Even though I’d only just come into existence.

---------------

Things look very different in the early morning. Birds are singing and the world looks kinder, more upbeat. And I woke up without a hangover for the first time in my life. In the kitchen I saw that Willem and Evie and a couple of friends had been sitting up into the small hours: the large kitchen table was covered in a mess of full ashtrays, beer cans, and assorted bottles of liquor. A tea light candle had been crumbled into a waxy little heap.

Shoving the mess to one side, I opened our laptop. Instantly, the sound of Fleetwood Mac blasted through the tiny speaker on the window sill. Knowing us, Willem and Evie had roared along to this at the end of the night.

I switched off the music, cleaned up all the mess, and got to work.

---------------

The novel Willem and I were working on was terrible. We both knew it,  but we’d taken the advance and spent it, so it had to be finished. But seeing the sun come up outside, and with a clear head, I decided to go out first and get breakfast. Shopping turned into a morning walk, and after an hour I had two or three pretty decent ideas. I was satisfied.

Willem would be satisfied.

---------------

“I’m worried about Willem.”

I was three weeks old, and Evie still hadn’t gotten used to me. She hadn’t seen I was already there, sitting at the table working. Now she was standing in the kitchen, on the phone. It was her mother; I could tell by the affected tone of her voice. “He works so hard, and you can see how he neglects himself. He’s also put on loads of weight again, have you noticed? And now he’s gone and had one of those copies made of himself.”

I made a small coughing sound to show I was there. Evie stood bolt upright, thinking it was Willem, then turned bright red and said, “Oh, hi there Henry, sorry…”

I asked, “Where’s Willem?”

She made a gesture that meant what do you think?

“Still in bed.”

I nodded: Ah. And I told her I’d gone out for croissants. Only Evie hated croissants. And I knew that really.

---------------

While he was reading, Willem had lit two cigarettes at the same time. Hunched over, his eyes narrowed, I saw him pretend to concentrate, but I knew he’d had to start over again twice because his thoughts kept wandering off. After twenty minutes, he mumbled “Yes.”

I nodded. What I’d written was really good.

Smiling that fake smile again, Willem said, “Yes, it’s so bizarre because I can see it’s good, and I know it’s me who actually wrote it, or could have written it, but it still takes a little getting used to.”

I could understand that. It is a strange feeling. And while Willem started deleting sentences here and there and changing things, I took another look at myself in the reflection of the large window at the back of our house and asked him if it wasn’t about time we did something about that belly. Didn’t he think we’d gotten very overweight?

“Oh, Christ, are we doing that now?’ Willem said.

I asked, “Are we doing what now?” But I knew what he meant.

Willem sighed as if any conceivable form of stress was too much for him: “Get that damn book finished first, then a vacation with Evie, and then we hit the gym, five or six days a week, straight off – bam, bam, bam!”

“But that’s in July,” I said.

This made Willem angry, even though I didn’t mean anything by it. “What do you want me to do, go to the gym now and just screw the deadline?! Or do you want me to write? Go on, tell me, it’s up to you,” Willem said. I knew it was a trick so we wouldn’t have to discuss it anymore.

I shook my head and said, “You’re right.” That afternoon, I joined a gym.

--------------- 

“He’s an odd kind of clone, isn’t he?”

Evie had invited me along to Michael’s birthday at a bar called De Evenaar, though I should have been working. Willem wasn’t very happy about it, but one stern look from Evie shut him up. I was introduced to all our friends, whom I already knew. Michael, Willem’s best friend, studied me with fascination. “He doesn’t look exactly the same.”

Evie put her arm around Michael’s shoulder and said, “That’s because Henry goes to the gym.”

Willem came by holding two beers and gave one to Michael. He’d forgotten to bring me one. “Someone has to do the work around here,” Willem said, even though I was getting more work done than he was. I noticed the short walk from the bar to our table had left him out of breath.

What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.

What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.

What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.

What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.

What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.

“I have an idea,” Willem said.

I could tell from his expression that it wasn’t an idea so much as a proposal, or rather an order. But Willem put an arm around my shoulder as if he was including me in his thinking process.

“What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.”

The idea came as a surprise. Over  the past months, I’d noticed Willem throwing more and more dirty looks at me—me and my healthy complexion and short hair. I hadn’t expected he would do something about it himself, though.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said.

Willem patted me on the shoulder. “Great, let’s do this.”

I could tell from the look on his face he thought he’d made a smart move.

---------------

“How could you have known?”

Evie kept forgetting how the cloning process worked. For her twenty-eighth birthday, I’d gotten her a small gold chain with red coral in an antique store on Haarlemmerdijk. She told me four years ago how much she liked coral, when we first started seeing each other.

I told her that I’d been there, four years ago. Not really, of course, but it felt like it to me. And suddenly Evie was on the verge of tears. She hugged me, and her skinny arms fit all the way round my toned body.

Willem had come back from the bathroom and looked at the chain. Evie said, “Look Willem, moonstone.”

Willem said, “What’s moonstone?”

--------------- 

It had been weeks since Willem started working days, but he hadn’t lost any weight. He still stayed in bed till ten, although he kept complaining how all that getting up early was really tough.

I, on the other hand, was greatly enjoying the evenings, which I hadn’t been able to experience much of since I came into being.

From Monday to Wednesday evening, I worked through the night. On Thursdays I read books while enjoying a glass of wine, and on Fridays I took Evie to the theater or an exhibition. Evie had been asking for years why we couldn’t go to the theater more often. Willem never had time, because of his work. But I noticed it made my writing better.

--------------- 

“Take a look at what I found.”

Willem looked like a hunted animal. He hadn’t done any work in the past few days. Instead, he’d been getting up and going to bed later and later, which meant our waking hours had started to overlap more and more. He sat behind our computer for hours, immersed in shady WordPress sites with flashing GIFs that would trigger an epileptic attack in any person susceptible to them.

Willem had found a pdf of a research paper dating from 2024 about the harmful consequences of cloning on the human brain. It made for interesting reading, he said. Very interesting indeed. He insisted both Evie and I read it as he walked up and down behind us, buzzing with excitement, like he’d suddenly found all the answers.

Dolly’s Razor 
on the process of cloning and the human condition

The study explained that the human brain rejects the idea of an exact copy, just like a body will sometimes reject a donor kidney. It can’t help but see the other as an impostor, a Mr. Hyde, an abomination that should be destroyed.

The researchers named their law Dolly’s Razor.

“Put two clones together long enough, and it’s bound to end in murder.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” Willem asked. “Now I think that’s pretty interesting.”

I didn’t think it was very funny though. And I could tell Evie didn’t think so either.

Willem went to bed— he’d been up for twenty-four hours already on a cocktail of double espressos, Gauloise cigarettes, and red wine.

Evie and I were alone. She looked at me in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time, or so it felt to me. “If you’re identical down to the last molecule,” she started, carefully, “then who’s to say you aren’t the original and he the copy?”

And that was an idea I did find very interesting.

“I have an idea,” Willem said.

I could tell from his expression that it wasn’t an idea so much as a proposal, or rather an order. But Willem put an arm around my shoulder as if he was including me in his thinking process.

“What about you start working nights for a while, and I do the days. Those nights are taking a bit of a toll on me, and maybe you’d enjoy going out some evenings, right? To go for a drink with our friends? And I’ll be able to get to the gym more often.”

The idea came as a surprise. Over  the past months, I’d noticed Willem throwing more and more dirty looks at me—me and my healthy complexion and short hair. I hadn’t expected he would do something about it himself, though.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said.

Willem patted me on the shoulder. “Great, let’s do this.”

I could tell from the look on his face he thought he’d made a smart move.

---------------

“How could you have known?”

Evie kept forgetting how the cloning process worked. For her twenty-eighth birthday, I’d gotten her a small gold chain with red coral in an antique store on Haarlemmerdijk. She told me four years ago how much she liked coral, when we first started seeing each other.

I told her that I’d been there, four years ago. Not really, of course, but it felt like it to me. And suddenly Evie was on the verge of tears. She hugged me, and her skinny arms fit all the way round my toned body.

Willem had come back from the bathroom and looked at the chain. Evie said, “Look Willem, moonstone.”

Willem said, “What’s moonstone?”

--------------- 

It had been weeks since Willem started working days, but he hadn’t lost any weight. He still stayed in bed till ten, although he kept complaining how all that getting up early was really tough.

I, on the other hand, was greatly enjoying the evenings, which I hadn’t been able to experience much of since I came into being.

From Monday to Wednesday evening, I worked through the night. On Thursdays I read books while enjoying a glass of wine, and on Fridays I took Evie to the theater or an exhibition. Evie had been asking for years why we couldn’t go to the theater more often. Willem never had time, because of his work. But I noticed it made my writing better.

--------------- 

“Take a look at what I found.”

Willem looked like a hunted animal. He hadn’t done any work in the past few days. Instead, he’d been getting up and going to bed later and later, which meant our waking hours had started to overlap more and more. He sat behind our computer for hours, immersed in shady WordPress sites with flashing GIFs that would trigger an epileptic attack in any person susceptible to them.

Willem had found a pdf of a research paper dating from 2024 about the harmful consequences of cloning on the human brain. It made for interesting reading, he said. Very interesting indeed. He insisted both Evie and I read it as he walked up and down behind us, buzzing with excitement, like he’d suddenly found all the answers.

Dolly’s Razor – on the process of cloning and the human condition

The study explained that the human brain rejects the idea of an exact copy, just like a body will sometimes reject a donor kidney. It can’t help but see the other as an impostor, a Mr. Hyde, an abomination that should be destroyed.

The researchers named their law Dolly’s Razor.

“Put two clones together long enough, and it’s bound to end in murder.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” Willem asked. “Now I think that’s pretty interesting.”

I didn’t think it was very funny though. And I could tell Evie didn’t think so either.

Willem went to bed— he’d been up for twenty-four hours already on a cocktail of double espressos, Gauloise cigarettes, and red wine.

Evie and I were alone. She looked at me in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time, or so it felt to me. “If you’re identical down to the last molecule,” she started, carefully, “then who’s to say you aren’t the original and he the copy?”

And that was an idea I did find very interesting.

Willem-Bosch

WILLEM BOSCH 

Willem Bosch (1986) is a scriptwriter, film director, and novelist. In 2015 he won the Dark Matters Feature Award for best scenario at the Austin Film Festival for his script Sunny Side Up. In 2017 he was awarded Best Narrative Short at RiverRun International Film Festival for his directorial debut, Weg Met Willem. In 2011 Van God Los, a TV series written by Bosch, received a Gouden Kalf nomination for best TV drama at the Netherlands’s most important film and TV awards. The series Penoza, for which he wrote nine episodes, was remade in five countries, including in the US as Red Widow. In 2017 he wrote ten episodes for the American series Hunter Street (Nickelodeon). The rights to his first novel, Op Zwart (Black Out), have been sold to Pupkin Film, one of the largest producers in the Netherlands. He lives in Amsterdam with his girlfriend and son.

Photo: Geert Snoeijer


Published twice a year by Lebowski Publishers
© Lebowski Publishers  |  Amsterdam

For international rights please contact:
Oscar van GelderenTracy Fisher, Jill Gillett or Sylvie Rabineau

This literary magazine for Grounded SF
from The Netherlands and Flanders is
published twice a year by Lebowski Publishers.
© Lebowski Publishers  |  Amsterdam

For international rights please contact:
Oscar van GelderenTracy Fisher , Jill Gillet or Sylvie Rabineau

This literary magazine for Grounded SF from The Netherlands and Flanders is published twice a year by Lebowski Publishers.


For international rights please contact: Oscar van GelderenTracy Fisher, Jill Gillet or Sylvie Rabineau

© 2018 Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele, Gina Hay, Joost Devriesere

© TRANSLATIONS Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart, Paul Evans

© 2018 Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2018 Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2018 Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens,
Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2018 Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens,Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

EDITORS Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design

EDITORS Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging



DESIGN
 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design

EDITORS 
Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson, 
Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman
uncanny.design

EDITORS 
Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson,
Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design

EDITORS 
Oscar van Gelderen, Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design