Dennis Mahoney is the author of the novels Bell Weather (Henry Holt & Co.) and Fellow Mortals (FSG). He can be found online at AuthorDennisMahoney.com.
A father writes his son a note on election night. It gets passed around their family and friends—and soon the entire world. What viral impact looks like, post-Trump.
Yes, yes, The Exorcist and Night of the Living Dead are reliably traumatizing, but at this point they’re comfort food, and there’s plenty more to discover in the world of horror cinema.
Beethoven said Handel was the greatest who ever composed—so why do we only seek him out at holidays? Marking the 250th anniversary of Handel’s death with a guide to all the life in his music.
Marjorie had a perfectly functional, model family in the suburbs, until the Blessed Face of Holy Mother Mary appeared on her television. New fiction by Dennis Mahoney.
Spring has arrived, and on its tails we spot daisies, rain showers, and dead bodies floating to the surface. That is, if you’re a rather unlucky girl with an eye for corpses. New fiction by Dennis Mahoney.
Terror warnings be damned! This Valentine’s Day you can hug with your honey without fear of attack—with these handy tips.
Some people hear voices inside their head, others simply hear voices, and it tortures them to death. A sufferer begs you to leave him alone, you and your constant demands.
It’s been popular for years to say Super Bowl ads are more entertaining than the game, and the ad industry started the rumor. Unfortunately, the ad industry is prone to lying.
Yearly these 12 days of Christmas bring us many gifts: partridges, pear trees, and many maids equipped with pails. Our writer recounts the bevy of presents, and responds.
Experts answer what they know. The Non-Expert answers anything. This week we answer four questions about Thanksgiving, which is apparently a holiday, or something.
A purple thing with eyes will make you buy cheeseburgers. Shaking rumps will make you buy beer. Bears are supposed to do something too.
If Godspeed You Black Emperor! looked out the window and said, ‘You know, maybe the world isn’t a vast, apocalyptic shit-hole after all,’ they might sound like Sigur Ros....