Ignore the critics: Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar is not only a serious, complex comment on space policy, it’s a heartbreaking, philosophical look at the value of time.
An American in Dijon, France, brings his country’s grasp of recent terrorism to a nation enthralled by theory, traumatized by attack.
In which the novelist and magician Tim O’Brien makes the author disappear, and a family funeral puts a father’s sleight of hand on full display.
Writers who haven’t quit their day jobs, who cram in the writing hours around full-time work, discuss juggling office life, family, and creativity.
New clothes, AP classes, middle-aged angst. A New York City mom reflects on being pulverized by the first day of school.
When a genetic disease looms, we’re more like our parents than we’d like to believe—and when we become parents, that fear only grows.
A court order is found buried in a desk. A private detective is hired. But tracking down a doppelgänger is not the same as confronting one.
Disney’s Frozen juggernaut has been criticized for “sexy walking.” But the roots of what’s wrong lie in Midwestern pageants, not hip-hop videos.
Years go by easier when there are 2,000 miles separating a father and son. Then an American flag turns up in your lap.
A youthful pledge to become an essayist gets lost.
A family that relies on the satisfactions of the logical—calculus, physics, chemistry—finds itself haunted by ghosts.
Eventually a man who’s always in motion, always fixing something, will stop. Decline of the patriarch reveals an entire family’s vulnerability.