Here’s how I fell in love with the Supreme Court: riding a Boston city bus, earbuds in, listening to the justices’ voices. As the court debated a Chicago loitering law—a law that allowed the police t...
In celebration of its two-hundredth issue, The Paris Review is proud to present the Winter 1966 T-shirt. Modeled on a nifty shirt that we discovered on the back cover of issue 36, the design is Georg...
Dear Joan, Just wanted to check in, as I can’t help but feel slightly responsible for your actions in this week’s episode. I thought these letters from the future would do you all some good, providin...
RIP illustrator Leo Dillon. Just in time for Book Expo, ten literary bars in Manhattan. Book lovers rally around the marked-for-death University of Missouri Press. 50 Shades of Grey alternatives for ...
Queen Elizabeth has put Queen Victoria’s complete journals online. (Well, in collaboration with Oxford’s Bodleian Libraries and ProQuest.) The 141 journals, sourced from the Royal Archives, chronicle...
Dick DeBartolo’s first piece for Mad was published in 1962, when he was still in high school, and his work has appeared in every single issue since June 1966. He has written for sections throughout t...
Spend your lunch at MoMA with Frank O’Hara’s Lunch Poems, written while O’Hara worked at the museum. The name says it all: Gladwell title generator. Elif Batuman visits Orhan Pamuk’s Musuem of Innoce...
Summer has kicked off, and hereabouts, at least, it actually feels like it. In honor of the stifling humidity, enjoy Flavorwire’s gallery of writers in bathing suits. Chances are you’ve seen Sylvia P...
Ashley’s father died from a brain aneurysm two years ago. Chantal didn’t talk to her father for the last fifteen years of his life. Alli’s father came to her and was like, “Oh, you have a little sist...
While Baz Luhrmann’s Great Gatsby trailer is on everyone’s lips, it’s far from the first time F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel has been captured on celluloid. Everyone remembers the 1974 Robert Redford ve...
It is with deep sadness that we note the death of our reader Marina Keegan. Marina graduated last week from Yale, where she was a finalist for the Wallace Prize in creative writing, a leader of the O...
Cupcake invasion: American terminology replaces fairy cake among British children. At 62 White, we’re a bit obsessed with the Buranovskiye Babushki. Nature lovers? Meet the weekly Bookbirder report. ...
The most obvious attraction of quotation is that it gives you a little vacation from writing—the other person is doing the work. All you have to do is type. But there is a reason beyond sloth for my ...
I know it’s dumb to bet on which novels—which anything—will endure and which won’t. So why, reading Endless Love, Scott Spencer’s 1979 novel of romantic obsession, do I keep thinking, This will outla...
Apparently, typewriter erotica was a thing in the 1920s. (NSFW-ish.) The most influential lyricist in music? T.S. Eliot. Philip Roth writes in to the Atlantic to set the record straight on his mental...
Still from The Rough South of Harry Crews. I was making a film about a local author when I met Harry Crews. He was not my subject; he was my subject’s inspiration. “You oughta put a camera on this gu...
Some days, after eighth grade at Emerson Junior High, I would walk to the 7-11 on Overland, in the shadows of the monumental Mormon temple on Santa Monica Boulevard, and just loiter there. I never bo...
The one chance I had to see Siegfried and Roy perform live, in May 2003, I was too broke to go. A friend was getting married in Las Vegas, and all of us were staying four to a room at the (now demoli...
Dubious. Electric Literature’s Required Reading kicks off with a Ben Marcus story and accompanying animation. Your new favorite time waster: I Shot the Serif. Zach Galifianakis is Ignatius J. Reilly....
Dear Joan Holloway, First off, a thank you. Thank you for reminding me why I still tune in. Things were iffy for a while, what with Don’s extramarital dalliances confined to the boudoirs of his fever...
From the 92nd Street Y Poetry Center’s archives.
Francesca Woodman, Caryatid, 1980, diazotype, 7 5 in. x 3. Courtesy George and Betty Woodman © 2012 George and Betty Woodman We’re fascinated by artists who die young. Something about the unnaturalne...
Bad for owls The lit-flick streak continues! The Palme d’Or is likely to go to one of several adaptations. As Harry Potter mania fades, hundreds of pet owls are being abandoned across England. How to...
Thanks to Tongue Journal and the Poetry Foundation for bringing us this fantastic bit of annotation! In November 1924, Ernest Hemingway published “The Lady Poets with Foot Notes” in Der Querschnitt. ...
By now, the entire Internet is aware that last month A/V technicians at Coachella resurrected Tupac for a performance with Snoop Dog and Dr. Dre. Though a little phosphorescent, the rapper seems life...
Here’s something important: tonight, our friends at n+1 and the New York Institute of the Humanities are sponsoring a panel entitled “The Central Library Plan and the Future of the New York Public Li...
I always feel a pinch of unease whenever someone begins busking on the subway. Part of this is born of a purely selfish anxiety, a personal calculation of whether I should compensate this performance...
For those with Spotify, all the songs mentioned in Just Kids, in playlist form. (Perfect for a rainy day!) Duncan Jones has signed on to direct a biopic of Ian Fleming, based on Andrew Lycett’s The M...
As David Carr reported in today’s New York Times, The Paris Review is partnering with The Atavist to bring you an app worthy of the magazine, with complete issues, rare archival material, our entire ...
Christine Granville They ranged from girls barely out of high school to mature mothers, from working-class women to aristocrats, from the plain to the beautiful, from the prim and proper to wild high...
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