Dishonoring Reagan Dishonoring Reagan
The former president set in motion a sizable slice of the fantasies destroying America.
Feb 10, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Alexander Cockburn
The Dying Swan: On Jennifer Homans The Dying Swan: On Jennifer Homans
Jennifer Homans thinks ballet is dying, its masters dead and gone. But ballet, which exists in time and leaves no record, is always dying.
Feb 10, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Marina Harss
Crooked Sticks: On Utopianism Crooked Sticks: On Utopianism
At the utopian community of Fruitlands, vegetables were not only eaten. They were also imitated.
Feb 10, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Brenda Wineapple
Amazement in Reverse: On Martin Creed and Gabriel Orozco Amazement in Reverse: On Martin Creed and Gabriel Orozco
Martin Creed and Gabriel Orozco reduce the artistic gesture to the smallest effective intervention into reality.
Feb 10, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Barry Schwabsky
Turning Oil Into Water Turning Oil Into Water
After a plan to tow icebergs from Antarctica ran aground, the Saudis used their oil wealth to build desalination plants for watering their desert kingdom.
Feb 10, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Frederick Deknatel
The Chutzpah Hall of Fame The Chutzpah Hall of Fame
Eric reflects on Martin Scorsese and Reed dissects the Groundhog Day mentality of Fox News's climate change "science," plus reader mail.
Feb 3, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Eric Alterman
Why I Call Myself a Socialist Why I Call Myself a Socialist
Is the world really a stage?
Feb 3, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Wallace Shawn
Duncan’s Divagations: On Robert Duncan and H.D. Duncan’s Divagations: On Robert Duncan and H.D.
Robert Duncan saw in H.D.'s poetry “The story of survival, the evolution of forms in which live survives.”
Feb 3, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Ange Mlinko
Rough Patch Rough Patch
You can tell, by symptoms of neglect, something of his circumstance: the chipped and buckled eaves, deflated jack-o-lantern beside the stoop, an ember under snow, or red ants swarming the sill, crossing a line of cinnamon in some far-flung military action. You can tell, by frying onions, their thick domestic weather, or the grim satisfaction with which his vacuum overlooks a plain of fur and dust. I can tell from a little just what a whole lot means. You treat me like somebody you ain't never seen. Hackle stacker, mayfly cripple, and Bloom's parachute ant crowd an ashtray—to rarify the quality of failure. Mornings, a frowzy Manx kneads his chest with claws unsheathed, thrumming with desire and contempt in equal measure. Every other weekend, he rolls out a court-appointed cot from the closet for his daughter. You can feel, with your fingertips against his metal door, vibrations from the interstate or seismic evidence of Furry Lewis, circa 1928.
Feb 3, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Devin Johnston
Viewing Conditions: On Jonathan Rosenbaum Viewing Conditions: On Jonathan Rosenbaum
For Jonathan Rosenbaum, the golden age of filmgoing is as dead as the drive-in, but cinephilia is thriving.
Feb 3, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Akiva Gottlieb