When I was growing up with my parents, brother, and two sisters in an apartment on Cooper Square in the East Village, my father, the saxophonist Archie Shepp, always worked late, going to bed at four or five in the morning even when he wasn’t performing. His “studio” was separated from our apartment by a creaky hallway. But in the dysfunctional design of tenement buildings, the bathtub was part of that unit, so we sometimes trooped through rehearsals wet and shivering, and I would go to bed listening to him playing with Roswell Rudd, Beaver Harris, and other musicians.
The poet Kay Ryan’s own essays on literature—recently published in Synthesizing Gravity: Selected Prose—are so deliriously good, so in excess of usefulness, that they’re often on their way to poetry. Whether Ryan is expressing enthusiasm (Annie Dillard “could get high C out of a potato”) or skepticism (a conference panel on The Creative Writer as Teacher “looks like the Last Supper but just with water glasses”), her essays frequently draw on her quizzical-lyrical gifts. The seemingly lightweight keeps turning lightly weighty.
The selective, skewed use of the law is dangerous precisely because it has the veneer of legal legitimacy that covers a corruption deeply corrosive to the political order. We are seeing versions of this playing out in countries like Poland and Hungary. A country governed through rule by law—especially the US, given its military power and global influence—is not remotely a desirable state of affairs. The threat that faces this country is of an increasingly dominant rule by law that could include a more comprehensive deployment of the criminal justice system against perceived opponents of the administration.
For Stanley, the person who best exemplified American culture’s possible grandeur was Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington, whom he worshipped. Stanley had no chance of climbing to the top of Mount Ellington, even as he traded in his dashikis for suits. He wasn’t suave or elegant. He was a heavy-set, bald man from a working-class family whom no one would have described as handsome: a bruiser, not an aristocrat. But Stanley was shrewd enough to turn his manner and looks into an asset. That a self-made man like him could become one of the country’s best-known cultural critics would become a source of rugged pride.
New York’s subways are consistently the most expensive in the world. It is not immediately clear why. The effect of these runaway costs is dire: first, they inhibit the expansion and development of high-capacity rapid-transit systems at a moment when concerns about climate and unequal access to affordable housing, jobs, education, and services are paramount. The incredibly high costs of phase one of the Second Avenue subway highlight three problems that plague transit-infrastructure costs across the country.
The translator is a writer. The writer is a translator. How many times have I run up against these assertions?—in a chat between translators protesting because they are not listed in a publisher’s index of authors; or in the work of literary theorists, even poets. Others claim that because language is referential, any written text is a translation of the world referred to.
She entered the law at a time when men wielded virtually all political and economic power, women were barely taken seriously in the legal profession or by the law itself, and the statute books were shot through with sex-based laws. She used her skills to elevate the status of women in the United States forever. The world she has left behind was transformed by her work. But at every turn, she pursued change methodically, with care and attention to her own imperative that one must always seek to bring others along.
Imogen Greenhalgh: Aspects of lockdown behaved a bit like art does, in that they altered our sense of time and our attention to what is right in front of us.
Chantal Joffe: I’ve been painting my own mum a lot during lockdown, pictures of her now and when she was young. I love thinking that all of that isn’t lost—her youth, us little. It’s still present. You can hold on to the person she was. When I was painting it, I was there, in the picture: it was electric, like time travel.
Well before this summer’s historic protests against police brutality, the CAHOOTS program of crisis response teams had been advising similar projects and pilot programs in cities such as Denver, Oakland, Portland, and Olympia, Washington, which voted to create an unarmed Crisis Response Unit in 2017. But the experiences of CAHOOTS and its spinoffs have gained a new instructive pertinency as municipalities nationwide look to divest parts of their public safety apparatus from police departments. The idea is that armed police officers are simply called to address too many situations, often ones in which trained mental health or social workers would be more effective and more humane.
The beach, a scintillating embodiment of the California Dream just hours earlier, now looked more like the landing pad for Charon, the ferryman of Hades, with wisps of yellow smoke hovering above leaden waves and pebbles. It is hard not to think of California’s wildfire plight as a metaphor for America’s decline. “Just come to the state of California,” Governor Newsom said. “This is a climate damn emergency. This is real.” When the president finally visited the state, for a mere two hours this past Monday, he told its suffocating residents to be patient: “It’ll start getting cooler. You just watch.” It felt like an inverted déjà vu of what Trump had said about the coronavirus in February, when he told Americans to wait till “when it gets a little warmer, it miraculously goes away.”