On Guest-Editing the British Latinx Issue: Karina Lickorish Quinn and Leo Boix

We spoke to writer and lecturer Karina Lickorish Quinn and poet Leo Boix about guest co-editing Wasafiri 124: Presencia y Resistencia — British Latinx Writing & Art, which critically explores the vibrancy and creativity of the British Latin American and Latinx communities. They discuss their editorial process, the importance of foregrounding Indigenous languages, structural flaws in the British publishing industry, discovering new writers and hidden gems, plus more.

Why did you choose to edit this issue? 

Karina Lickorish Quinn: This issue has been a dream of mine for several years! In 2019, I met Nat Teitler when she was working with Nii Ayikwei Parkes on curating Un Nuevo Sol, the first major anthology of British Latinx writers. Once I saw how many other Latin American descended writers were working in Britain – many of us not yet recognised by the wider literary and arts industries – I dared to fantasise about how wonderful it would feel to be recognised in Wasafiri. Growing up Latin American in Britain in the nineties and noughties, there wasn’t any representation of Latin Americans in British media. The only Hispanic people I saw represented were the butts of jokes — think Manuel in Fawlty Towers. As a young writer, I felt there were no models for who I might become creatively. In some ways this offered creative challenge and freedom; I would have to find my own way of synthesising the Spanish, Latin American, and English literary traditions that I admired into my own particular mixture. There was also a loneliness, though — a sense that I was writing without community or companions. I hope that this issue will highlight to the world British Latinx presence and brilliance, invite collaborative exchange with the Latinx diaspora elsewhere, and also provide young writers of the future a sense of being in conversation with a community that has come before them. 

Leo Boix: When we first began talking about the possibility of editing a Latinx issue of Wasafiri, we both immediately recognised the urgency of the moment. I’ve been working within the British Latinx and Latin American literary world for many years, yet there has never quite been the opportunity to curate an issue of a major UK literary magazine that places our writers, poets, and artists at the centre rather than the margins. Too often, our work circulates in fragmented, informal, or community-led spaces — vital spaces, but ones rarely afforded the institutional visibility they deserve. 

As we argue in the editorial, this issue is not a culmination but a starting point. There is already an extraordinary amount happening: the launch of Un Nuevo Sol, a directory that now brings together over a hundred British Latinx writers; the steady publication of books by British Latinx authors across poetry, fiction, translation, and hybrid forms; and the emergence of collectives, reading series, and cross-disciplinary practices that refuse neat categorisation. This issue is about making that work legible to a broader readership — not by flattening difference, but by insisting that British Latinx writing is already part of the British literary present. Editing this issue was, for me, a political act of visibility: an attempt to claim space within a literary culture that has too often failed to recognise us. 

Tell us a bit about your curation process. What especially did you want to foreground, or perhaps avoid, in the issue? 

KLQ: I wanted to be sure Indigenous and Black writers were prominent in the issue. If possible, I wanted to feature at least one Indigenous language, and I am so pleased we have included the bridge translation of Raúl Cisneros’s Quechua poem ‘Killapa Chakram’, translated by Constantina Higbee and Leo Boix. It was also important to me to have an open call for submissions to give new voices a chance to be in the issue — several of the pieces in the issue came from that open call.  

Additionally, I wanted to ensure key terms and ideas were problematised. For instance, the title of the issue is itself tricky — is ‘British Latinx’ an appropriate label to use? ‘Latinx’ comes from the concept of Latin (aka Iberian or European) America, which invisibilises the many Indigenous communities in the region. And ‘British’ comes with uncomfortable baggage especially for many Scottish, Welsh, and Northern Irish writers. I am so glad that Yara, Jessica, and Andrés explore these complexities in their conversation.  

Finally, I wanted the issue to give a snapshot of the diversity of Latin American-descended writers here. We have so many different stories of how we came here, our heritages and experiences in Latin America, and our experiences of Britain. I think the issue manages to demonstrate how heterogeneous a community we are. There is still more work to be done, of course. For me, a real passion is to see more writing translated from or written multilingually with Indigenous languages of Abya Yala. If there are any writers out there who speak Indigenous languages of Abya Yala and want to collaborate, please reach out! 

Our work circulates in fragmented, informal, or community-led spaces — vital spaces, but ones rarely afforded the institutional visibility they deserve.

LB: From the outset, we were committed to breadth without dilution. That meant bringing together more established voices – writers such as Luiza Sauma and Juana Adcock – alongside emerging poets like Patrizia Longhitano and Elida Silvey, and also recognising the importance of collective practices, for example the work of Las Juanas. We wanted the issue to reflect not a single aesthetic or political position, but a constellation of approaches that speak to the heterogeneity of British Latinx experience. 

At the same time, we were very conscious of what we wanted to avoid. We did not want to reproduce familiar tropes, folkloric expectations, or narratives that render Latinx writing palatable through exoticism or trauma alone. Nor did we want to replicate patriarchal, colonial, or racist structures that so often shape literary canons and publishing practices. Instead, the issue actively challenges those systems — linguistically, formally, and politically. 

This commitment is evident in our inclusion of Indigenous voices, such as Quechua poet Raúl Cisneros, and in the collaborative translation work undertaken with Constantina Higbee, which foregrounds process, relationality, and the politics of language. We were also particularly proud to include work by artist Liliana Romero, a Black Colombian practitioner whose work resists racialised, bodily, and colonial norms. These inclusions were not symbolic gestures: they were central to our attempt to rethink what British Latinx literature can look like when it refuses hierarchies of language, race, or form. 

What surprised you most throughout this process? 

KLQ: I am not sure I found anything especially surprising. I learned a lot from the different pieces, though. I found Amber Lascelles and Liliana Romero’s interview so educational, in particular, reading about Lilo’s reflections on Blackness in different contexts. I also found Gaël Le Cornec’s life writing incredibly moving as it made me reflect on the rich heritages we carry with us, the lessons of our ancestors that stay with us, and the weight of losing touch with their cultures and knowledges over generations and distances.  

One really wonderful, unexpected gift from the process of putting together this issue – an experience that I will never forget – is discovering the work of Pedro Pérez Sarduy. Pérez Sarduy is a well-established scholar, writer, and broadcaster, but I had not come across his work before (more my own ignorance than anything else, I am sure). I discovered his name while researching the history of Latinx writers in Britain: he was one of the authors listed in an anthology of Latin American writers writing in Spanish in London in the 1980s. A copy of the anthology is available at the National Poetry Library. As I Googled each of the writers listed there, I discovered so many names I had never encountered before, and when I researched Pérez Sarduy I came across a snippet from his unpublished journals, a wonderful witty extract about his experience of commuting in London and how strange the packed, dingy Underground seemed to him. I knew right then that I wanted to see some of his journal translated and published. It took me some time trying to contact him via email addresses and social media accounts that I was able to find before I managed to get hold of him, and I am so glad I did! The experience makes me wonder what other unpublished gems by Latinx writers in Britain are out there … 

We wanted the issue to reflect not a single aesthetic or political position, but a constellation of approaches that speak to the heterogeneity of British Latinx experience.

LB: What struck me most was the sheer range and complexity of the work we encountered. The diversity of voices, forms, and concerns exceeded even our own expectations. There is no single British Latinx story being told here — instead, we see writers engaging with questions of belonging and displacement, multilingualism and translation, ecology and ancestry, queerness and kinship, memory and resistance. The beauty of the issue lies precisely in that refusal of singularity. 

I was also struck by how confidently many contributors challenge literary and cultural norms — whether through language-switching, collective authorship, or by drawing on epistemologies that sit outside Western literary traditions. Taken together, the work demonstrates not only talent, but a deep critical awareness of how writing operates within systems of power. 

What kinds of conversations do you hope this issue will provoke, both within the British Latinx community and beyond? How would you like the issue to specifically impact the UK’s literary ecosystem, too? 

KLQ: I hope that the issue will inspire not just conversations but new creativity. I hope aspiring writers will be encouraged to create new work and literary institutions will seek out that work. I hope audiences in Britain and around the world will be excited to read more of us, including readers of US-based Latinx work. There are many ways British Latinx writing is resonant with US Latinx writing, but also many ways our experiences and literature are different. It would be fun to see more collaboration across the two spaces as well as with the Latinx diaspora elsewhere in the world.  

It would be great to see the literary ecosystem here give us due attention and, through our art, also pay more attention to our community more broadly. Social science researchers like Cathy McIlwaine and Patria Román-Velázquez have been doing important work for some time on the experiences of Latin Americans in Britain (including the challenges our community faces), and I hope that if more Latinx stories are told and heard, that might contribute to fairer outcomes for people in real life. I do believe in the power of stories to change minds, highlight issues, and inspire change. 

LB: Within the British Latinx community, I hope this issue affirms that our writing matters — that it belongs not only to our communities, but to the broader literary landscape of the UK. I hope it encourages emerging writers to see themselves as part of an ongoing conversation, and to claim space with confidence. 

Beyond the community, I want this issue to function as an intervention. I hope festival programmers, publishers, educators, critics, and cultural policymakers encounter this work and recognise the depth and force of British Latinx creativity. Too often we are overlooked not because the work isn’t there, but because institutional frameworks have failed to look properly. If this issue can contribute to opening doors – to commissions, publications, invitations, funding, and sustained support – then it will have begun to do its job. 

I hope that if more Latinx stories are told and heard, that might contribute to fairer outcomes for people in real life. I do believe in the power of stories to change minds, highlight issues, and inspire change. 

In your Editorial, you mention that ‘the introduction of great Latin American and Abya Yalean writing to British audiences remains too dependent on the efforts of a few individuals’ — how do you think this could change moving forward? What can we as audiences and institutions do respectively? 

KLQ: It would be great if organisers of events, festivals, mentoring programmes, and prizes would think about whether Latinx writers are represented on their rosters and if publishers would consider whether there are any Latinx authors in their catalogues — in particular they should focus on Latinx writers who are Black or have Indigenous heritage. If Latinx writers are underrepresented in Britain, then Black and Indigenous writers from Latin America/Abya Yala are even more so. Audiences can ask after our work when they see Latin Americans haven’t been included in a particular space. For readers interested in reading contemporary Latin American writers in translation, Charco Press is a great publisher to start with, but I would also urge readers to read the Latinx writers who are writing from within Britain and the UK. Many of these writers are well-known names now, but many more are just starting out their careers. Nat Teitler is leading work on creating a directory of Latinx writers working across forms and genres and it will be launched later this year. The directory will make it so much easier for literary organisers and audiences to find Latinx writers in Britain. 

LB: This issue is only the beginning. Change requires a shift from individual labour to structural commitment. We need more events, readings, books, performances, and educational initiatives that include British Latinx writers not as exceptions, but as integral contributors to British culture. Visibility matters, because visibility disrupts stereotypes and creates the conditions for more nuanced, intersectional conversations. 

Institutions must take responsibility by diversifying their editorial teams, commissioning editors, translators, and decision-makers, and by investing in writers from Indigenous communities, endangered-language communities, and other marginalised positions within the Latinx spectrum. Audiences, too, have a role to play — by seeking out this work, supporting independent presses, and demanding broader representation. Our community is growing, and its impact is already being felt. The task now is to ensure that growth is met with sustained attention rather than fleeting interest. 

If Latinx writers are underrepresented in Britain, Black and Indigenous writers from Latin America/Abya Yala are even more so

Finally – as your Editorial powerfully ends with ‘our work is only just beginning’ – which writers/texts/cultural works would you recommend to readers who are interested in learning more and exploring this topic further? 

KLQ: Most of the writers published or named in this issue have other published works. Readers can start there! Nat Teitler, Leo Boix, Monica Parle, and I run Un Nuevo Sol, a community organization we recently founded to help raise awareness of Latinx literary creativity in the UK. The website is up and running and features a timeline of British Latinx writing, and later this year will also hold the Nuevo Sol Directory of dozens of Latinx writers. That will be a great place to find new writers to read. I would suggest readers delve into the Un Nuevo Sol (2019) anthology edited by Nat Teitler and Nii Ayikwei Parkes, and the Equidistant Voices (2023) anthology edited by Enrique Zattara. Many Latinx writers in Britain are not writing in English and so there is a challenge of translation if Anglophone readers want to access that work. But for readers who are able to read Spanish or Portuguese, there is a wealth of wonderful work to read in those languages. The Equidistancias press features many British-based Latin American writers writing in Spanish. 

LB: I would encourage readers to follow publishers such as Charco Press, And Other Stories, and Daunt Books Publishing, all of whom are doing vital work in bringing Latin American and Latinx literature into English. Beyond individual texts, I’d urge readers to attend readings, engage with collectives, and follow the conversations unfolding across community spaces and independent platforms. This field is alive, dynamic, and still expanding — and there is much more to come.