TMN Contributing Writer Elizabeth Kiem reads and writes in Brooklyn.
A decade after Osama bin Laden’s face achieved iconic status, one writer still can’t help thinking, it’s a handsome one—this definitive “face of evil.”
Six months after an earthquake shook Haiti to its core, our woman in Haiti seeks out what lies beneath the rubble and finds a history of violence and striking beauty.
Last month’s suicide attacks in Moscow shocked anyone who studied Dzhanet Abdullayeva’s photo. But it wasn’t her baby face or cold blood that impressed our writer. It was her choice of metro stations.
What kind of sound does a single tweet make? Our writer considers the reasons she left Twitter, and what it would take to bring other lapsed Tweeters back online.
Gauging the invasion of the well-intentioned a week after the devastation of Port-au-Prince and wondering what it really means for Haiti’s future.
If not for a tragic car accident in 2001, W.G. Sebald would be celebrating his senior citizenship next week. Recalling an obsessive introduction to the author’s unclassifiable genre.
Though his hair frequently resembled mid-‘70s Rob Reiner, his gaze was more erratic. On the occasion of Gogol’s 200th birthday, tracking the evolution of his visage.
On Tuesday, post-apocalyptic refugees from Battlestar Galactica—which airs its final episode tonight—spent an evening at the U.N. swapping war stories with rights activists. It was a convincing trailer, even for the uninitiated.
Following last Friday’s heartbreaking 93 deaths, another Haitian school collapsed yesterday, injuring nine. Our woman in Haiti shows what street-level looks like in Petionville.
Once clear of Yankee Stadium, the 4 train runs north toward Van Cortlandt Park along a thoroughfare named by a society matron in a fit of pique.
Ever since she left Little House on the Prairie behind and was forced, when she grew too old for books with pictures, to conjure up storybook settings, our writer has been placing the fiction she reads in the homes she knows.
Turning an elevated corner, in the crook of which stands a decaying apartment, shades drawn to half-mast, darkness inside where life is shared with a world not paying attention, Elizabeth Kiem does light research.