Supply-Side Innovations and the Opioid Cycle

I first met Julia Pinto Hughes in Lima in the mid-eighties, when we were both doing the postgraduate programme in literary translation at the Institute...

by Leah Henrickson Introduction In 1984, a curious book was released: The Policeman’s Beard is Half Constructed. With its bright red cover and substantial size (22.6 x 20.3 x 1.5 centimetres), it stood out on any shelf. What was more striking, however, was the front cover’s claim that the book...

Women writers have often used a style of domestic realism – reflecting the family homes in which they have laboured and nurtured. But in the 1970s and 80s they also took up science fiction, fantasy or historical fiction to explore gender relations on an epic scale...

Sons and Lovers emerged with astonishing vividness, like an island from off which the mist has suddenly lifted...

Our culture is saturated with authenticity: we’re forever ‘finding ourselves’, ‘self-actualising’, ‘doing you’, ‘being real’, ‘going off the beaten path’, ‘breaking free of the crowd’...

Over the next decade, a growing community of black theatre practitioners emerged in Britain...

Winning or losing the trading race can be a matter of nanoseconds...

The trajectory of literature is intertwined with and also strains against the career of God...

To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations—such is a pleasure beyond compare...

One day I will be nothing but what I've left behind: a roomful of poetry books boxed for yard sale or library donation...

The postcolonial school may have claimed Coetzee, yet his attempt at a satirical sort of self canonisation actively resists any and all approaches to his writing within a single framework...

Nothing prevents us from using uchrony to look to the future...

Awareness joins inner and outer, near and far. It can also be referred to as compassion...

It was an “infernal machine” comprised of a clock, a pistol trigger mechanism, moving cogs and bars of a soft, chemical-smelling material...

The neuroscientist vows not to ruin his new beginnings as he re-enters academic life...

Tintoretto needed no more than the outlines of the figures—no more than their idea—for them to come to life...

Inside the great mirroring eye of my Heavenly Lake I regard the wide ocean of my sky reaching out along the glacial massifs and crystal heights of me...

Patterns assert themselves on the crust of our curves...

We will only take as many fish as can fit into this basket. We must only use what the tree gives us...