Zadie Smith’s new novel, Swing Time, will be published in November. (August 2016)

IN THE REVIEW

Fences: A Brexit Diary

Nigel Farage canvassing for ‘Leave’ votes during the Brexit campaign, London, May 2016. He resigned as leader of the UK Independence Party on July 4, shortly after the referendum.
One useful consequence of Brexit is to finally and openly reveal a deep fracture in British society that has been thirty years in the making. The gaps between north and south, between the social classes, between Londoners and everyone else, between rich Londoners and poor Londoners, and between white and brown and black are real and need to be confronted by all of us, not only those who voted Leave.

Windows on the Will

Michael and Lisa, voiced by David Thewlis and Jennifer Jason Leigh, in the stop-motion animated film Anomalisa

The Polar Express

a film directed by Robert Zemeckis

Anomalisa

a film directed by Charlie Kaufman and Duke Johnson
On a wintry afternoon, alone with the kids, I visited the Central Park Zoo. It’s not a very big place, just zoo-sized, and after seeing the animals, we found ourselves lining up to enter the little movie theater to watch something called The Polar Express 4-D Experience.

Find Your Beach

New York City, 2009; photograph by Amani Willett. A collection of his images, Disquiet, was published by Damiani last year.
The pursuit of happiness has always seemed to me a somewhat heavy American burden, but in Manhattan it is conceived as a peculiar form of duty. In an exercise class recently the instructor shouted at me, at all of us: “Don’t let your mind set limits that aren’t really there.” You’ll find this attitude all over the island.

On ‘Crash’

J.G. Ballard, London, 1987
I met J.G. Ballard once—it was a car crash. We were sailing down the Thames in the middle of the night, I don’t remember why. A British Council thing, maybe? The boat was full of young British writers, many of them drunk, and a few had begun hurling a stack …

Elegy for a Country’s Seasons

Wyatt Gallery: Displaced Home in Marsh, Midland Beach, Staten Island, ­November 2012; from the book #Sandy: Seen Through the iPhones of Acclaimed Photographers, to be published by Daylight in September. ­Gallery’s photograph also appears in the exhibition ‘Rising Waters,’ on view at the ­Museum of the City of New York until April 6, 2014. For more on the exhibition, see Michael Greenberg’s review on the NYRgallery blog, www.nybooks.com/gallery.
There is the scientific and ideological language for what is happening to the weather, but there are hardly any intimate words. Is that surprising? People in mourning tend to use euphemism; likewise the guilty and ashamed. The most melancholy of all the euphemisms: “The new normal.” “It’s the new normal,” I think, as a beloved pear tree, half-drowned, loses its grip on the earth and falls over. The train line to Cornwall washes away—the new normal. We can’t even say the word “abnormal” to each other out loud: it reminds us of what came before. Better to forget what once was normal, the way season followed season, with a temperate charm only the poets appreciated.

Man vs. Corpse

Luca Signorelli: Man Carrying Corpse on His Shoulders, circa 1500

The World’s Masterpieces: Italian Painting

by Michalena Le Frere Carroll and Frances Cavanah

My Struggle: Book One

by Karl Ove Knausgaard, translated from the Norwegian by Don Bartlett
Walking corpses—zombies—follow us everywhere, through novels, television, cinema. Back in the real world, ordinary citizens turn survivalist, ready to scale a mountain of corpses if it means enduring. Either way, death is what happens to everyone else. By contrast, the future in which I am dead is not a future at all. It has no reality. If it did—if I truly believed that being a corpse was not only a possible future but my only guaranteed future—I’d do all kinds of things differently. I’d get rid of my iPhone, for starters. Lead a different sort of life.

Love in the Gardens

The Boboli Gardens in Florence, 2002; photograph by Chris Steele-Perkins
When my father was old and I was still young, I came into some money. Though it was money “earned” for work done, it seemed, both to my father and me, no different than a win on the lottery. We looked at the contract more than once, checking and rechecking it, just like a lottery ticket, to ensure no mistake had been made. No mistake had been made. I was to be paid for writing a book.

NYR DAILY

The North West London Blues

An 1894 drawing of Willesden Green Library

What kind of a problem is a library? It’s clear that for many people it is not a problem at all, only a kind of obsolescence. At the extreme pole of this view is the technocrat’s total faith: with every book in the world online, what need could there be for the physical reality? This kind of argument thinks of the library as a function rather than a plurality of individual spaces. But each library is a different kind of problem and “the Internet” is no more a solution for all of them than it is their universal death knell.