When I was a child I was terrified
of the space between One and Zero
vast as the ages before my birth
strait as my death—late at night
I heard my parents arguing
lovingly in their locked room,
the angora cat coming home
with a sparrow in her mouth,
and the raindrops on the shingles
counting themselves—how to sleep,
how to cross the empty place
between the name “sparrow”
and that limp thing crying,
adamant, creating me with its cry
Ann Scott’s “Superstars” captures the last gasp of pre-Internet counterculture.
The world inside the South African novelist’s Waiting for the Barbarians bears striking resemblance to Trump’s racist empire.
In the latest rendering of the epic, there is plenty to feel guilty about even if you did not mean it.
The big-budget movie keeps much of the violence and spectacle but none of the nuance and wit of the classical epic.
In The Cultural Marxism Conspiracy, A.J.A. Woods looks at how the Frankfurt scholars became the latest bogeymen for the contemporary right.
In “Dog Days,” LaBarge blurs the lines between memoir and criticism.
