Jay Lovestone is not only one of the oddest characters in the history of the American left but easily its most slippery.
I still kick myself for not having saved the short story I wrote for composition class in seventh grade in which I described how the Russians took over my small suburban community.
I coined the term "global brunch" several years ago after seeing a film of the Stravinsky-Cocteau Oedipus Rex as staged by Julie Taymor.
Thanks principally to the reports of Barton Gellman in the Washington Post since last October, we know that US intelligence services fatally misused the United Nations Special Commission
Iraq is out of the news, mostly, except for the occasional report of a missile fired from a US jet flying over it on patrol. And Maj. Scott Ritter is off the air.
As I'm driven to the home of Ivan Klima, one of the Czech Republic's most internationally respected writers, the hand of fate slips in beside me in the taxi.
From the Satanic Versifier, more love and more death, with a song in his heart.
Hark! The squeal of the two-headed amphibian. Mating season must have begun.
After we admit that all historical circumstances are specific and all sufferings absolute--that Serbian "police" are not Nazis and ethnic Albanians not Jews (and NATO forces cannot be compared p
Recent French philosophy has been most passionately loved and hated for its militant radicalism.