A special Fourth of July edition of our series where an editor randomly calls people in small towns around America to see what’s happening.
Experiencing a piece of art can be transporting, but the act of explaining it to someone else is an art form in itself. No wonder that docents, professors, even patrons get caught up in the act.
A man follows his grandparents’ trek to Morocco—where the Alaouite Dynasty has ruled since 1666—to search for so-called “sacred music” amid a feedback loop of riots, arrests, and the promise of miracles.
As New York City changes, so do its trains; our worries about life above and below ground move hand in hand. So which came first, the jitters or the subway?
After six months in Leipzig, a German reporter asks the novelist what he’ll miss. But it’s back here in the United States where more dangerous questions take shape, none easily answered with good beer.
Western museums aren’t exactly known for possessing sterling records when it comes to acquiring the treasures of foreign countries. So when the Met is pressured to return its valuables, a mea culpa seems due.
Epistolary relationships leave behind plenty of evidence. But a man is always more complicated than his paper trail—especially when he’s your father, who walked out one day.
India’s prevailing image is one of noisy animation—development, overcrowding, and horrible traffic. In comparison, night-scapes of urban India capture the life, or lack thereof, that darkness conceals.
The world of the myope is often a nicer place—faces lack wrinkles, and trees seem to be painted by Monet. Then, during a visit to Moscow, a black spot appears.
An unexpected pregnancy, tuna sandwiches consumed in darkness, and woman after woman of a certain age living by the ocean—eventually, all connections make sense when it comes to prescient grandparents.
Black and white portraits of young men and women at the Milton Margai School for the Blind in Freetown, Sierra Leone.
When your name prompts questions in several continents, how you answer—and whether or not you stick an accent above the “a”—says a lot about who you are.