I was nine months old when my father died. After his death, my mother remained a widow until December 29, 1979, when she married Cooper, who, by virtue of this fact, became my stepfather, although I was twenty-seven at the time and hardly in need of a new parent. But Cooper was not new to me.
Negative energy is shorthand for a whole lot of variables we would rather not, often cannot, itemize.But as a summary of subtle perceptions, it is entirely valid.
Elvis in Vegas is about this moment of resurrection for Elvis, the triumphant return to Vegas in 1969, the course correction from the abominable film career.
This is a fascinating book, especially important because it strips the function of foreign policy to first principles of national security and prosperity.
Calloway offers an incisive analysis of Washington’s most significant half-century of Indian relations (1748-1799) employing ethnohistory, a discipline that here integrates Native American cultural perspectives in evaluating Washington’s complete legacy, warts and all.
The plague that devours Oran is less a proxy for a manifestly odious occupying force than it is emblematic of the contradictions inherent in democracy, in which the limits of liberal universalism and equality collide against the violent reality of state power.
Inside Portland Place was the house made of stone, the building material of kings. Inside the house, the castle, the fortress, were Mark and Patty, heroes of an imagined apocalypse, soft centers in a crunchy shell. Looking out of their own skins.
Ignoring the blithe optimism practiced by motivational speakers even in his day, Seneca urges us toward a “steadiness of heart” that is purposeful and “cannot be dislodged from its position.” His advice sounds simplistic, the stuff of cliché and needlepoint pillows. But when have I ever pulled it off?
(Photo by Dick DeMarsico for the New York World-Telegram, now in the Library of Congress) “What would you rather go through, a war or a pandemic?” I asked a friend the other day. She thought a minute. “A pandemic. That way I’ve at least got a little control over my…
(Photo by Jörg Schreier via Flickr) The night was muggy, a storm grumbling as it approached, and I was rushing the dog through a boring walk around the block. Then I heard it. A warm strum of guitar chords, intricate and lilting. Not a recording. Live. Funny, how quickly you…