Pull up a chair and sit with us a while. We’ll ring out this miserable year together and flip the calendar with, dare I say, some hope?
Brian Phillips uses the essay form to map the limits of America’s cultural-historical imagination, from our highest achievements to our kitschiest expressions of who we think we are, and who we think everyone else is.
There can be no future, Héctor Abad seems to be arguing, when everything you are is hidden away in a time you can never fully know.
Thomas Clerc’s novel reminds us of a stubborn truth: we are all narcissists that live to accumulate shit in rooms.
The critic settles too comfortably too often on a familiar trope — Ireland’s sense of promise squelched.
Evening at the Talk House is a savage indictment of our country’s acceptance of the immense, horrific violence necessary to maintain our consumer comforts.
Jack Taylor is a Beckettian character on the skids; he can’t go on, and yet he goes on.
Some of our critics talk about the books that meant the most to them over the past year.
Laurent Binet’s entertaining detective yarn is set in the harum-scarum social scene of French literary theory, philosophy, and politics.
Iliazd is more interested in working through all the possible reasons that generate behavior rather than grappling with issues of morality.