Bill Marx
“The Boston Book Festival is doing really well. It feels like an established part of Boston’s cultural scene.”
Imaginary Beasts is to be congratulated for bringing public attention to the brilliant, idiosyncratic-to–the-max-and-beyond work of Daniil Kharms, a writer silenced by Stalin.
In The Days Trilogy, Expanded Edition, H. L. Mencken comes off as a marvelously mellowed master, his trademark savagery smoothed over, its energy focused on generating a pungently picturesque vision of a vanished America.
Serbian writer David Albahari’s fascination with uncertainty fuels a grim, sardonic tragi-comedy in which silence plays an elemental but enigmatic role.
When it comes to race relations, America has a lot on its plate — there is no good reason to serve leftovers.
We intend to stage work by all the living American poets we can lure into our sphere: starting right here in Cambridge.
Today’s increasingly corporate-approved theater stays within safe, civic-minded boundaries.
Despite commentary to the contrary, Jonathan Blumhofer thinks that in the negotiations between the Met management and the unions there was a winner and a loser.
Clocking in at around three hours, the show is a surreal grab bag filled with gags, skits, and sketches, the whole kooky kit and kaboodle tied up (too) neatly in a paranoid ribbon.
Critical Commentary: But Can You Relate?
Fighting for the intellectual integrity and independence of arts reviews means demanding more analysis and less sales talk.
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