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Aliya Whiteley

Aliya Whiteley is a British novelist, short story writer, and poet. Her novels The Loosening Skin (2018) and Skyward Inn (2021) were both shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award.

Aliya Whiteley was born in Barnstaple, North Devon, and raised in Ilfracombe, a coastal town, where she drew inspiration for many of her stories and novels.

She graduated from Ilfracombe College in 1995, gaining a BA in Theatre, Film, and Television Studies from the University of Wales, Aberystwyth.

In 2011, Whiteley obtained an MSc in Library and Information Management from the University of Northumbria. For her dissertation, she conducted a case study on the research techniques employed by contemporary novelists.

Aliya Whiteley explores various genres and writing lengths. Her work spans science fiction, horror, historical fiction, and dark fantasy. Notably, her SF horror The Beauty, published in 2014, received critical acclaim and was shortlisted for James Tiptree and Shirley Jackson awards.

Another novella, The Arrival of Missives, blending historical and science fiction elements, was a finalist for the Campbell Memorial Award.

In 2021, Aliya Whiteley published a collection of dark fantasy short stories titled From the Neck Up.

Over one hundred of her short stories have been published in Interzone, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Black Static, Strange Horizons, The Dark, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, and The Guardian. Furthermore, her writing has been included in notable anthologies, e.g., Unsung Stories' "2084" and Lonely Planet's "Better than Fiction."

Aliya Whiteley also contributes a regular non-fiction column to Interzone.

Currently, Aliya Whiteley resides in West Sussex.

Photo credit: aliyawhiteley.uk
masa pakai: 1974 sekarang

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This loneliness I feel is of the womb, borne by women. I was sixteen when they all died and I thought I understood this loss, but it comes to me that I didn’t know what women gave to the world. It wasn’t about their lips, their eyes or the gentle quality of their voices. It was about the way that all men are a part of them. And now we are part of nothing
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There are signs of change, of regeneration, and I saw the first mushrooms in the graveyard on the morning after I ripped up the photograph of my mother’s face and threw the pieces over the cliff, into the fat swallowing folds of the sea.

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