How US Evangelicals Fueled the Rise of Russia’s ‘Pro-Family’ Right How US Evangelicals Fueled the Rise of Russia’s ‘Pro-Family’ Right
An alliance is born between anti-gay, anti-abortion American groups and the Russian Orthodox Church.
Jan 7, 2014 / Feature / Adam Federman
What Bill de Blasio Can Learn From New York City’s Last Radical Mayor What Bill de Blasio Can Learn From New York City’s Last Radical Mayor
Fiorello La Guardia also took office in a time of crisis—and he was open to new ideas and bold reforms.
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / D.D. Guttenplan
Letters Letters
Don’t follow the money… a Nation memory… Twitterverse?… Hannah and her misters…
Jan 7, 2014 / Our Readers
How Your Tax Dollars Are Funding Overseas Sweatshops How Your Tax Dollars Are Funding Overseas Sweatshops
While feigning outrage at worker abuse in Bangladesh, the US government has been quietly supporting the same sweatshop factories used by Walmart and The Gap.
Jan 7, 2014 / Robert J.S. Ross and Foreign Policy In Focus
Why Does Obama Want to Extend a War He Doesn’t Believe In? Why Does Obama Want to Extend a War He Doesn’t Believe In?
Obama wants another decade of war in Afghanistan—but a new book says he’s already lost faith in the mission.
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / George Zornick
An Artful Imbalance An Artful Imbalance
Treme is an understated and deeply melancholic patchwork of American stubbornness.
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Akiva Gottlieb
Infamy or Urn? Infamy or Urn?
How was Emily Dickinson able to be frugal and fruitful in her art?
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Ange Mlinko
Pop & Circumstance Pop & Circumstance
The teenpop of the teens has proved discomfiting, like the dead brought back to life.
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Joshua Clover
Wolves’ Hall Wolves’ Hall
Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street, Alain Guiraudie’s Stranger by the Lake, Asghar Farhadi’s The Past
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Stuart Klawans
Destination Wedding Destination Wedding
Drunk as a persimmon on the wine of Cana or myself, I couldn’t tell— the old pain and the old dream mingled and seasickness threw kisses in shapes upon the wall like shells upon the shore outside the conch- shaped hall in whose pearled hum I danced as if my feet were small and free of gravity as sea lice. When above the palms, horns, drums and silks I heard a creature high in moss- tangled eucalyptus cry for milk— a creature not my own, yet still my milk let down. I looked up and it locked me in a stare, half-child, half-marsupial, that transfixed me on the scallop of the terraced white hotel it squatted on until sure that I had seen it dove back into the lagoon like a weasel chasing an eel ever further into the nature of oblivion.
Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Danielle Chapman