Art for What’s Sake? Part X
“So,” Charley said after a pause, “the purpose of art—at least in the sense that you are using the word—is not simply to have an effect on the audience or reader, even if the effect is good?”
Category: Access
Wednesday’s Child: A General Miscast
Though my innate contrariness rebels against creeping literalism, it would be perverse not to mention the six-day war in which Putin’s army has already sustained greater human losses, 6727 dead and wounded as of this writing, than in either of the two Chechen wars or after a decade of fighting in Syria. I can, however, lessen the injury to my authorial ego by at least beginning from afar.
Humpty Dumpty Goes to Kyiv
The first thing our rulers do, when they want us to approve some act of folly or aggression, is to change names.
The Ukraine’s Got Electrolytes
The best reason to follow Facebook is the insight it gives you into the American mind, especially the bizarre mind of self-described conservatives.
Reopening the Cold War
What a mess in Ukraine! Is it reversible? That’s doubtful. From now on, it’s a long way back to normality in the international arena.
Masters of War
I am not a pacifist, but in my lifetime the US has not engaged in a war I could approve of.
The Logic of Secession–The Ukraine
A conservative on FB has made the plausible argument that Putin is not entitled to the Tsar’s patrimony, to which I responded:
Wednesday’s Child: Naivety and Nativity
As the gentle reader has surely noted, in my sketches of the last few weeks I sought to uncover some unacknowledged – I could even say hushed up – producers of dopamine and all the other happy hormones in the brain of modern man.
Happy Joe Biden Day!
Presidents’ Day weekend includes Joe Biden. So Happy Joe Biden Day! And weekend. Do the most American thing you can: Go shopping. Increase the GDP. Or the GNP. Or the CPI. It’s fun!
Cabbages and Kings, II
Bossi begins his memoirs with a depressing visit back to Cassano Magnago: the highway cuts right through what had been parkland, cement houses have sprouted up like tumors, and everywhere is the sound of traffic, the smell of asphalt.
