When I visit the Poetry Publication Showcase, an annual display of the year's new poetry books at Poets House in Manhattan, I feel as if I've been granted a precious audience with Poetry itself.
Long before I'd gone to a theater and lashed myself to a seat, I formed two expectations about The Perfect Storm.
It is a depressing rule for students of American political discourse that the more one happens to know about a given subject, the more amazing one finds the brazen ignorance that passes for publi
The United States never held a large number of direct colonies, a fact that has prompted many political leaders to declare it the great exception to colonialism.
"This is a story about a spy," writes Millicent Dillon in Harry Gold: A Novel.
In Me, Myself & Irene, Jim Carrey bullies a series of small children, gets into senseless fights (on the grounds that "he started it") and reverts hungrily to breast-feeding.
William Randolph Hearst is one of those people we all know was very, very famous but are never quite sure why, or what we are to think of him.
At a quarter to 3 in the afternoon on March 14, 1883, one of the world's brainiest men, Karl Marx, ceased to think. He passed away peacefully in his favorite armchair.
A revealing question: Why has V.S. Naipaul come to be much better known in the West than the great African writer Chinua Achebe?