Dorothy wonders what it even means to feel “embarrassment” in the situation of sex with a six-foot-seven-inch aquatic monster-man. The upshot is: no shame. They spend the rest of the day having sex all over the house.

Devil’s Bargain is the first thing I’ve read in the last year and a half that manages to make some sense of the human catastrophic weather event that is Steve Bannon.

Out of his own turbulent encounter with the home country after living for decades in the United Kingdom, Mukherjee forges sentences of distinct, crystalline beauty.

Salter practiced the indulgence of writing with a kind of operational humility, even on topics like war and sex that other male writers of his generation could crow about ad nauseam.

Stories write our history. Stories write our culture. Once sewn into that history and culture, the hoax and the lie are almost impossible to separate from the truth.

The business of being a writer is a business, and Hemingway’s letters demonstrate that even the most celebrated writers encounter countless setbacks. Writing is a struggle. Publishing is a struggle.

Writing remains an anguished, halting process—confidence an account that is zeroed out each time McPhee files a piece.

Eastman, whose 'urges were totalitarian,' is a man-child premonition of the Age of Trump.

The Mutiny got shut down, but a new generation of wealthy criminals has turned all of Miami into the same thing.

You can’t help but read these murders as a parable of alienation. The lone drifter stalking the country by train, itself a mode of transport from a bygone era, to literally smash apart families with an instrument that evoked America’s timbered frontier.