If they show me stone and I say stone they will say stone. If they show me wood and I say wood they will say wood. But if they show me blood and I say blood they will say paint. If they show me blood and I say blood they will say paint. Translated from…
A boy is out doing a man’s work with a chainsaw, when his sister comes to call him in for supper. Suddenly, the chainsaw leaps and cuts deep into his hand. The boy looks at the bleeding gash and begs his sister, “Don’t let him cut my hand off— / The doctor when he comes.”…
I knew the jig was up when one day, in the fall of 1995, my boss and publisher Peter Osnos asked me to lunch. I was then editorial director of Times Books, an imprint of Random House. Previously, I had been publisher of Hill & Wang, a nonfiction division of Farrar, Straus & Giroux. I’d…
Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527) To my son I still remember Hedley Bull his slow, regular footfall in front of the podium; the sudden way he would look up and turn his handsome head to us before asking in that droll Australian accent: “Gentlemen, it all hinges on the meaning of the word virtù. Bacon, Hobbes, Adams,…
“I am no more than a secretary of the invisible thing.” Czesław Miłosz begins one of his poems with this evocative declaration of artistic vocation. In this spare statement, the poet abandons any pretense of authorship in the conventional sense and presents himself as a vessel, one who listens inwardly and transcribes what he cannot…
The following is, for the first time translated and brought to print, the written correspondence between Sigmund Freud and Rainer Maria Rilke. The record was only completed in late 2022, when the German Literature Archive (GLA) acquired Rilke’s entire literary estate from his descendants. Letters between the two went unnoticed by scholarship; the GLA itself…
The hero of The Magic Mountain — the perfectly ordinary, blond, blue-eyed Hans Castorp — is the typological bourgeois male. I spent seven years writing a book about the novel of which he serves as protagonist and in that time I wondered often what possessed me to devote so much energy to him and to…
Frequently, in conversation with others or in an incessant inner monologue, I try to imagine what a world after this, after this political crisis, after this historical paroxysm, will look like. I love two countries — America and Israel — which have, let us say, transformed themselves. I am rich in crises, overwhelmed by hopelessness…
Remembering Jonathan Lear A vision of the future must never be only about the future. Otherwise we will commit the terrible mistake known as futurism, which is nothing more than an attempt to make a virtue out of velocity. Whether in the form of impatience or dread, the…
I have started thinking of them as spaceships to nowhere. In my city, another one is always on the way; the latest touches down at 213 Bowery this fall. The last to arrive at that address, the SANAA-designed New Museum, was finished in 2007, the year of Obamamania and the iPhone and the first gentle…
A Conceptual Trash Heap Toni Morrison was wrong when she intoned that language is violence. But let’s give her this: the reckless use of words can do violence, idiomatically speaking, to clear thinking and therefore to political analysis. Slinging about words whose meaning is muddled, misleading, or tendentious — or whose usage is meant to…
In the summer of 1981, the novelist Italo Calvino published an article on the great books in the Roman weekly news magazine L’Espresso. “Why Read the Classics?” is classic Calvino: playful, charming, erudite, skeptical, humane. It consists of fourteen “suggested definitions” of a classic that deliberately contradict each other. Per definition one, the classics are…
