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With this issue, Liza Featherstone joins the masthead as a contributing editor.
In a Service Employees union hall in Boston, a hospital worker raises her hand.
The “war on terrorism” is in trouble, and at the very moment the Bush Administration needs it most–election season. George W.
Ronald Reagan lived a charmed life in many respects, none more so than in his relationship with the news media.
Perhaps the most important question–for present policy-makers as well as historians–posed by the presidency of Ronald Reagan is what role he played in ending the cold war.
The Gipper had a certain goofiness about him that was impossible not to like. He told “war stories” borrowed from old movies with such sincerity you were sure he must have been there.
With its blueprint for Iraq in tatters, the Bush Administration has been forced to recognize the United Nations as the only body that can confer legitimacy on its continued occupation.
It’s as if Gore Vidal coined the phrase “United States of Amnesia” for the moment of Ronald Reagan’s death.
Boston’s Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority recently announced a new policy of stopping people “randomly” to request identification from those whom police believe to be acting “suspicious
Nixon thought Reagan was “strange” and, so he told the secret tape recorder in the Oval Office in 1972, “just an uncomfortable man to be around.” The late President certainly was a very weird hum
Though theories of conspiracy crop up,
In fairness, one of them should be dissolved.
He died not in October but in June;
It should be clear that Rove was not involved.
Before the pork buns steamed in the pot,
moisture in their white folds, before
the dried tofu was trimmed into thin strips,
“Paris is a very old story,” Henry James wrote in 1878–so old, in fact, that it’s hard to write about it without falling into clichés about chestnut trees, couture, freedom and
In the fall of 1958, the second book by a young British poet named Philip Larkin made it across the ocean and into the consciousness of American poetry.
I’ve long considered E.L. Doctorow the most American of contemporary writers–in a particularly classic sense.