May 13, 1910: Joe Louis Is Born May 13, 1910: Joe Louis Is Born
“His face was puffed and sore. He dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, revealing bruised knuckles. …He sat dazed, stupefied from punishment. Again he dabbed his eyes.&...
May 13, 2015 / Richard Kreitner and The Almanac
Human Rights Groups to Obama: Investigate All Civilian Victims of Drone Strikes Human Rights Groups to Obama: Investigate All Civilian Victims of Drone Strikes
Groups from Amnesty to the ACLU to Reprieve are calling for the same standard of accountability that followed the killings of Warren Weinstein and Giovanni Lo Porto.
May 13, 2015 / Ali Gharib
The Trials of Hannah Arendt The Trials of Hannah Arendt
Many have delighted in judging Hannah Arendt, maybe because they have feared her judgment.
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Corey Robin
Dark Night’s Fly Catcher Dark Night’s Fly Catcher
Thatched myself Over with words. Night after night Thatched myself Anew against The pending eraser.
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Charles Simic
Sufferahs Sufferahs
Marlon James’s characters are caught in “the shitstem,” eternally waiting for something to change.
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Aaron Thier
Graphs and Legends Graphs and Legends
Raymond Williams tried to save culture from a priestly elite. Can the same be said of the digital humanities?
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Moira Weigel
Uninvited Guest Uninvited Guest
Dark thought on a sunny day Languid miss in distress Everyone’s blind date With a look of having a secret Knife drawer in a madman’s kitchen A lone crow flying about in the head Suicide’s friend Soft-footed gravedigger of our hopes Hell’s night nurse Bending over a cradle.
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Charles Simic
Nimbler Than Nimbyism Nimbler Than Nimbyism
D.W. Gibson gets beyond the banter about gentrification.
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Abigail Savitch-Lew
Diminishing Returns Diminishing Returns
The writings of Tom McCarthy are a case study in the application of theory to fiction.
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / William Deresiewicz
Silent Film Silent Film
O winter evenings, When mother led me by the hand Into darkened cinemas Where a film had already started Like a dream someone else was having Into which we had walked in To find a young woman writing a letter And pausing to wipe her eyes In a room with a view of the gray sea And a bird flying about in a cage No one was paying any attention to, Nor to the white ship on the horizon, Perhaps drawing closer, perhaps sailing away. It was an occupied city, I forgot to say. We trudged our way home Bundled heavily against the cold, Keeping our eyes to the ground Along the treacherous, dimly lit streets
May 12, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Charles Simic