Book Review | Philip Roth’s Jewish America
The first time I read a book by Philip Roth, I read it from back to front.
The first time I read a book by Philip Roth, I read it from back to front.
In his foreword to Linda Sarsour’s memoir of political activism, Harry Belafonte remarks, “It wasn’t that long ago that we lost Martin and Malcom and Bobby.” He is comparing the vilification of Sarsour, the hijab-wearing, Brooklyn-born Palestinian-American, for her anti-Israeli politics to the murderous racist violence of the 1960s. It seems a stretch.
Imagine a U.S. law that kept thousands of European Jews and others from obtaining visas to the United States in the 1930s, leaving many of them to deportation and death.
Apeirogon, the new novel by acclaimed author Colum McCann, could take place anywhere, yet is also essentially
The larger-than-life figure of Wonder Woman strode back into popular culture in 2017 in the person of Gal Gadot, her red, white and blue costume
“The understandable desire to find Mengele alive and try him, presumably on television, contributed to a reluctance on the part of some to accept the fact of his death.”
How tragic that we recently lost one of Israel’s great writers—Ronit Matalon—who died at the young age of 58.
What quality did people see in David Ben-Gurion that made him indispensable, when so many other qualities made him plainly impossible?
If Call Me by Your Name, the bestselling 2007 romance novel by André Aciman, was an ode to the passions and discoveries of a first love, then Aciman’s new sequel, Find Me, asks us to believe in something much more perilous: second love.
I met Susan Sontag only once; it was after a dramatic reading of a translation of Witold Gombrowicz’s Trans-Atlantyk, which I went to hear with a group of friends in 1994.
Language is failing Beryl Dusinbery. She is 99 years old and having trouble retrieving words. “One minute she has a word, then she hasn’t. Where does it go?