Reviews

In my early teens, my family attended a Hasidic synagogue in Milwaukee, Wisconsin; my father had chosen this synagogue, I think, because it was unabashedly, unequivocally, and anciently Jewish.

Is there life after death? More important, does it resemble a celestial choir with harps handed round, or is it more like Grand Central Station at rush hour? Or maybe more than one sort of afterlife exists.

A survey of ten recent, celebrated poetry books suggests that today’s poets have, in our unprecedented times, come upon an unprecedented discovery: each of us, it turns out, has a body. Actually, each of us has the body.

Few singers so supremely talented have been so consistently maligned by critics as the Libertines’ co-frontman, sometime Babyshamble, and solo artist, Peter Doherty.

As the Washington Post reporter Ben Bagdikian in Steven Spielberg’s The Post, Bob Odenkirk wears dress shirts that are not quite white and not quite beige, not quite green and not quite yellow.

A warmup exercise I do at the gym involves touching the fingertips of my two hands behind my back, parallel to the spine. Approximating this task, which I can never actually accomplish, involves inching my fingers toward each other along my vertebrae until they’re on the edges …

“It is terribly hard,” Elizabeth Bishop confessed to Robert Lowell, in a letter dated 10 April 1972. She had become “very good friends” with the poet Frank Bidart, a generation her junior. Born in Bakersfield, California, Bidart had moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, …

On 7 May 2017 New York’s Metropolitan Opera officially celebrated with a gala evening the fiftieth anniversary of performances in the “New Met,” a term employed in its initial years to distinguish the current building at Lincoln Center from the 1883 “Old Met,” …