What Are ‘Nation’ Interns Reading the Week of 5/15/15? What Are ‘Nation’ Interns Reading the Week of 5/15/15?
What Are ‘Nation’ Interns Reading the Week of 5/15/15?
May 15, 2015 / StudentNation / StudentNation
Entering the Mind of My Rapist: An Exercise in Extreme Empathy Entering the Mind of My Rapist: An Exercise in Extreme Empathy
What would it be like, I suddenly wondered, to put myself in the head of my rapist?
May 13, 2015 / Feature / Deborah Copaken Kogan
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