Slip
Liquid alignment of fabric and outer
………… thigh. Slip.
Which mimics the thing it’s meant to allow.
………… Passage
of air on either side of the tongue whose meat
………… as if
to thicken the likeness of substance and sound
………… meets just
that plot of upper palate behind the teeth.
………… And yet
at normal speed the very aptness loses its full
………… bouquet.
“Salomé was wearing red pumps and the palest of
………… pale blue
satin slips.” I would in my predictable girlhood
………… have much
preferred a word I took to be scented like Giverny:
………… “Salomé
was wearing red pumps and a pale blue satin
………… chemise.”
It’s taken me all this time to hear the truer
………… difference—slip—
which only wants a little lingering in the mouth
………… to summon how it
thinks about the contours of the body. So the
………… speed of it—
slip—and the lingering can resume their proper tug-
………… of-war. The boy
they’d had the wit to cast as Salomé, both nude
………… and may-as-well-be-
nude, was every inch presentable, flawless, as
………… though one
might live in the body and feel no shame. No
………… wonder,
forced to endure as they did the reek of the tidal
………… Thames, our
predecessors took this for the universal object of
………… desire.
The history of the English stage right there in the
………… slippage between not-
quite and already over and gone. And yes I
………… get
the part about predation the grooming in all of its
………… sordid detail,
I was never half so fair as this but fair enough
………… to have been
fair game. In a town with limited options.
………… I’ve spent
more than half my life trying to rid myself
………… of aftermath
so let me be enchanted now. Youth at a safe
………… remove
Linda Gregson
from the Academy of American Poets


I just read Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations for the first time. Not every word. It’s over a thousand pages, and there are long “Digressions” (Smith’s term) on matters such as the history of the value of silver, or banking in Amsterdam, which I simply passed over. I was mainly interested in what Smith has to say about work, so I also merely skimmed some other sections that seemed to have little relevance to my research. Time and again, though, I found myself getting sucked into chapters unrelated to my concerns simply because the topics discussed are so interesting, and what Smith has to say is so thought-provoking. Reading the book is also made easier both by Smith’s admirably lucid writing and by the brief summaries of the main claims being made that he inserts throughout at the left-hand margin.


About 75 percent of Americans
Pinker does get a lot of press, though most-covered doesn’t always mean most-loved. While Enlightenment Now received ecstatic blurbs — Bill Gates called it his “favorite book of all time” — other assessments were less kind. A New York Times reviewer panned it as “disdainful and condescending — sympathetic to humanity in the abstract but impervious to the suffering of actual human beings.” The dismissive term
Late last month, in between the firestorm over Congresswoman Ilhan Omar’s comments about AIPAC’s influence being “all about the Benjamins” and the firestorm over her comments about “allegiance to a foreign country,” the United Nations
I approached
Thrumming discreetly in the deep regions of Addenbrooke’s Hospital here in Cambridge, the X-ray projectors continue to chase a dodgy little cancer from one of my facial cavities to the next, so I am still catching up with Christmas. One of my presents was The Collected Letters of Flann O’Brien, edited by Maebh Long, who must have wondered, towards the end of her task, what kind of nut-bag she had taken on. Justifiably regarded as an adornment to Irish literature, O’Brien was a funny novelist who was even funnier as a columnist, but there is nothing funny about hearing a grown mind fooling around with the word “nigger.” In his later years O’Brien, in his correspondence, did so habitually, although we perhaps need to see his bad habit in the oblique light cast by the further fact that he never gave up on the idea that St Augustine might have been black.
Diamond Joe Esposito was once plain Joseph Carmine Esposito, an Italian-American mechanic’s son growing up in Chicago during the Second World War. In the paranoid 1950s, he was drafted into service and sent to West Germany, where he met and befriended Elvis Presley. After their discharge, the singer employed him as his road manager and they remained close until the end – at least, the premature, undignified end of Presley’s life on 16 August 1977. Esposito was among the first to see his still-young body sprawled on the floor of his bathroom, beside some vomit and a book about the Turin shroud. Ten years later, Esposito was in the service of another king – this time the king of pop, Michael Jackson, for whom he was overseeing the logistics of the Bad tour. Jackson was another kind of pop star altogether, and big on a scale that would surely have been unimaginable even for Presley. But his confounding descent from great American icon to lonely, seedy, delusional butt of lazy comedians’ jokes would follow – with considerably more darkness – the template established by the first rock ’n’ roll icon. Neverland substituted for Graceland, the powerful sedative propofol for sundry uppers and downers, yet the grand narratives rhymed. When Esposito encountered Jackson at the peak of his powers, did he think, “Here we go again”?
Although widely held, the belief that merit rather than luck determines success or failure in the world is demonstrably false. This is not least because merit itself is, in large part, the result of luck. Talent and the capacity for determined effort, sometimes called ‘
On a warm summer evening, a visitor to 1920s Göttingen, Germany, might have heard the hubbub of a party from an apartment on Friedländer Way. A glimpse through the window would reveal a gathering of scholars. The wine would be flowing and the air buzzing with conversations centered on mathematical problems of the day. The eavesdropper might eventually pick up a woman’s laugh cutting through the din: the hostess, Emmy Noether, a creative genius of mathematics.
I’ve of course been following the recent public debate about whether to build a circular collider to succeed the LHC—notably including