Alyosha was the younger brother. He was called the Pot, because his mother had once sent him with a pot of milk to the deacon’s wife, and he had stumbled against something and broken it.
Read MoreTrump’s popular appeal may hinge on the fact that he is an elder baby boomer. Clearly the candidate’s on-stage behavior speaks to the generation’s contrarian disposition. For Trump rejects tradition with persistent rebelliousness.
Read MoreNo matter what the weather, rain or shine, it’s my habit every evening at about five o’clock to take a walk around the Palais Royal.
Read MoreThe day a tank drove through the plate glass window of the Bar Británico, I happened to be sitting at a badly-positioned table, shoved into a corner between bar and bathroom.
Read MoreFor several days in succession fragments of a defeated army had passed through the town. They were mere disorganized bands, not disciplined forces.
Read MoreWhen I was three I’d toddled into our kitchen and spied my older sister lifting a steaming cup of chocolate-colored brew to her lips and I’d begged – begged – for a taste. It was likely something 1960s and horrible, like Folgers with some powdered creamer.
Read MoreYes because he never did a thing like that before as ask to get his breakfast in bed with a couple of eggs since the City arms hotel when he used to be pretending to be laid up with a sick voice
Read MoreThis is an essay to be taken with a child’s, or Gilles Deleuze’s, naïveté. To those who fail to find such thinking sufficiently serious, take heed—you may well find yourself neatly aligned with The Lego Movie’s antagonist, Lord Business.
Read MoreUntil very recently, I have avoided writing about Hamlet. With the occasional exception, I have also avoided teaching Shakespeare’s most famous play. I might have casually referred to this avoidance as “The Hamlet Effect.”
Read MoreGary juts his teeth out clean toward the cameras. He’s the spitting image of some long lost.
Read MoreThe designer Michael Graves, who passed away at the age of 80 on March 12th, was widely considered to be one of the founding fathers of postmodernism in architecture.
Read MoreI had never seen a neo-Nazi before. On a cloudless Sunday morning in January, the day of the Greek elections, I was making my way through people holding cups of coffee and pushing strollers in a polling station.
Read MoreNot that ‘the critic’ has ever been a greatly appreciated or understood figure. Some fat toad with a feather in his hat who thinks he is a modern-day Oscar Wilde.
Read MoreTwo gentlemen who were in the lavatory at the time tried to lift him up: but he was quite helpless. He lay curled up at the foot of the stairs down which he had fallen.
Read MoreTo distinguish between “good riots” like in Boston and the “bad riots” in Ferguson is itself an exercise in historical amnesia practiced by the left and right.
Read MorePromising herself that she would not evade the flickering cursor for more than a few moments, Anne O’Hanlon could not resist Googling her own name. As ever, the first result was her Wikipedia entry.
Read MoreIt was a deliberately outlandish thing to do, setting up a booth at the largest, noisiest book expo in the world and inviting a small group of writers to sit there, talk, type, and edit a series of answers to the question “what is the future of publishing?”
Read MoreIllustration from Venice, the city of the sea, by Joseph Pennell, 1913 by Vernon Lee To M.W., IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LAST SONG AT PALAZZO BARBARO, Chi ha inteso, intenda. They have been congratulating me again today upon being the only composer of our days—of these days of deafening orchestral effects and poetical quackery—who has…
Read MoreToday’s Russia is trying hard to deform itself into a duplicate of the evil empire…
Read MoreMrs. Mooney was a butcher’s daughter. She was a woman who was quite able to keep things to herself: a determined woman. She had married her father’s foreman and opened a butcher’s shop near Spring Gardens. But as soon as his father-in-law was dead Mr. Mooney began to go to the devil. He drank, plundered the till, ran headlong into debt. It was no use making him take the pledge: he was sure to break out again a few days after. By fighting his wife in the presence of customers and by buying bad meat he ruined his business. One night he went for his wife with the cleaver and she had to sleep a neighbour’s house.
Read More
