A Reign Not of This World A Reign Not of This World
Juan Carlos Onetti immerses himself in reality just long enough to fashion an escape. This is his peculiar gift.
Apr 14, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Jonathan Blitzer
Extravagant Disorder Extravagant Disorder
Miroslav Tichy's haphazard, eccentric photographs are disciplined, even rigorous--and indifferent to the claims of their female subjects.
Apr 14, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Jana Prikryl
Scattered Threads Scattered Threads
This year's Whitney Biennial fails to address the question of which art pertains to our time rather than any other.
Apr 8, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Barry Schwabsky
Anderson’s Amphibologies: On Perry Anderson Anderson’s Amphibologies: On Perry Anderson
Perry Anderson deftly punctures the EU's self-serving myths, but his own pieties make him a better prosecutor than judge.
Apr 8, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Mark Mazower
Explaining Michael Steele Explaining Michael Steele
What's his deal?
Apr 8, 2010 / Column / Calvin Trillin
A Caller of the Dove A Caller of the Dove
In his poems, Mahmoud Darwish greeted even his own name warily, knowing it was something else he'd be forced to leave behind.
Apr 8, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Jordan Davis
Impossible to Ignore Wikileaks Tape Impossible to Ignore Wikileaks Tape
Martin Luther King's words in 1967 are still relevant to today's war, as the Wikileaks tape shows.
Apr 7, 2010 / Laura Flanders
Morning on the Island Morning on the Island
The lights across the water are the waking city. The water shimmers with imaginary fish. Not far from here lie the bones of conifers washed from the sea and piled by wind. Some mornings I walk upon them, bone to bone, as far as the lighthouse. A strange beetle has eaten most of the trees. It may have come here on the ships playing music in the harbor, or it was always here, a winged jewel, but in the past was kept still by the cold of a winter that no longer comes. There is an owl living in the firs behind us but he is white, meant to be mistaken for snow burdening a bough. They say he is the only owl remaining. I hear him at night listening for the last of the mice and asking who of no other owl.
Apr 5, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Carolyn Forché
A = A A = A
Mine to ask a mask to say, A is not A. No one, ever the contrarian, to answer. The moon is both divided & multiplied by water: as chance, as the plural of chant. O diver, to be sea-surrounded by a thought bled white-- a blankness as likely as blackness. What is the word for getting words & forgetting? Might night right sight? I, too late to relate I & I, trap light in sound & sing no thing that breath can bring.
Apr 5, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Andrew Joron
Reading on the Brain Reading on the Brain
In the history of reading, does progress hinge on the weird, obsolete or eccentric among us?
Apr 5, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Ange Mlinko