The Bard’s most famous sonnet very nearly wasn’t a Shakespearean sonnet. Rejected pairings of content and form, from rondelet to an acrostic hiding his name.
The Jazz Age blasts into orbit, adding oxygen parties and mighty pincers to the rise-and-fall decadence of the intergalactic one percent.
Continuing our series where we ask novelists to write restaurant reviews that are absolutely not restaurant reviews, the author of the Southern Reach trilogy meets his match in a Dublin brie.
A generation of women read the Harry Potter series as teens, Twilight in college, and Fifty Shades of Grey in their twenties. Five readers discuss what it meant to them.
After visiting more than 2,000 independent bookstores—at least virtually—the Amazon annihilation, Orwell misquotes and all, doesn’t seem quite so inescapable.
Between love and tacos, sometimes it’s better to choose tacos. Our series continues where we ask novelists to dine out, then write us something that 1) is a restaurant review; 2) is not a restaurant review.
Even someone who writes erotica for a living has to find ways to get through moments of shame.
A redacted version of Mao Tse-tung’s Little Red Book, illustrated with photographs of contemporary China, becomes a story for modern times.
Sinclair Lewis despised his hometown in Minnesota. It disliked him, too, especially after being lampooned in a bestselling novel that mocked the citizens for their small-town ways. These days, though, he’s all they’ve got.
Lawbreaking occurs, a man calls for help, the police detain an endless lineup of men. Sometimes fraud comes as no surprise.
Photographs from a new book of American public libraries—some famous, some neglected, some both—plus an essay by former Poet Laureate Charles Simic.
Good books are frequently credited with being worth reading twice. But when was the last time anyone had time for that?