Noam M. Elcott at Artforum:

“MOHOLY-NAGY: FUTURE PRESENT” at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York, the artist’s first major American retrospective in nearly half a century and surely among the most stunning ever presented, compels us to ask a once-unthinkable question: His accepted biography is less exceptional than it is emblematic of artists of his generation. An assimilated Jew from Central Europe forced into exile after the short-lived Communist regime in Hungary, Moholy relocated to Berlin as the city became a capital of the avant-garde. He joined the Bauhaus and helped shepherd it toward a unity of art and technology. Forced into exile again, now due to the German fascists, he settled in Chicago to found the New Bauhaus. His American pedagogy and publications shaped the contours of art and design for much of the post–World War II period, which he barely lived to see, dying in 1946 at the age of fifty-one.

In the intervening years, Moholy’s reputation has suffered; he has been dismissed as a second-rate painter, a dilettante, and a halfhearted revolutionary. “Future Present,” however, made an eloquent, if convoluted, case for his primacy. The massive show, which was curated by Karole P. B. Vail, Matthew S. Witkovsky, and Carol S. Eliel, comprised some three hundred works in more than a dozen distinct and hybrid media, spanning photography of every stripe, paintings on myriad substrates, sculptures, printed matter, treatises, graphic design, films, exhibitions, theater, and works that still defy categorization. Yet objects were frustratingly grouped according to medium—paintings exalted in hallowed bays; photographs and photomontages (“photoplastics,” per Moholy’s neologism) bundled on floating gray walls; printed matter, including Moholy’s all-important books, trapped in vitrines; and Plexiglas sculptures perfectly lit on an ameboid platform.

more here.

Jon Baskin at The Point:

The director of four films beginning with Badlands in 1973, Terrence Malick studied philosophy with Stanley Cavell at Harvard before abandoning a doctorate on Heidegger, Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein. A promising journalist and academic—as well as an outstanding high school football player—in 1969 Malick published what is still the authoritative translation of Heidegger’s The Essence of Reasons. That same year he ended his academic career and enrolled alongside David Lynch and Paul Schrader in the American Film Institute’s new conservatory, developed to encourage “film as art” in America. Although his background has long encouraged commentators to investigate his influences and sources, Malick’s films also merit consideration as artistic achievements that confront their audiences with a distinctive experience. Like any great filmmaker, Malick demands that we see in a new way. Unlike most filmmakers, his films are also about the problem of seeing—that is, of perspective.

Avner Offer in Project Syndicate:

Of the elites who manage modern society, only economists have a Nobel Prize, whose latest recipients, Oliver Hart and Bengt Holmström, have just been announced. Whatever the reason for economists’ unique status, the halo conferred by the prize can – and often has – lend credibility to policies that harm the public interest, for example by driving inequality and making financial crises more likely.

But economics does not have the field entirely to itself. A different view of the world guides the allocation of about 30% of GDP – for employment, health care, education, and pensions – in most developed countries. This view about how society should be managed – social democracy – is not only a political orientation; it is also a method of government.

Standard economics assumes that society is driven by self-seeking individuals trading in markets, whose choices scale up to an efficient state via the “invisible hand.” But this doctrine is not well founded in either theory or practice: its premises are unrealistic, the models it supports are inconsistent, and the predictions it produces are often wrong.

The Nobel Prize in economics was endowed by Sweden’s central bank, the Riksbank, in 1968. The timing was not an accident. The new prize arose from a longstanding conflict between the interests of the better off in stable prices and the interests of everybody else in reducing insecurity by means of taxation, social investment, and transfers. The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences awarded the prize, but Sweden was also an advanced social democracy.

During the 1950s and 1960s, the Riksbank clashed with Sweden’s government over the management of credit. Governments gave priority to employment and housing; the Riksbank, led by an assertive governor, Per Åsbrink, worried about inflation. As recompense for restrictions on its authority, the Riksbank was eventually allowed to endow a Nobel Prize in economics as a vanity project for its tercentenary.

More here.

Michael Prodger at The New Statesman:

Nash’s paintings – and his photographs, woodcuts, writings and book illustrations for the likes of Robert Graves, T E Lawrence and Siegfried Sassoon – were proof that there was no intrinsic incompatibility between Britishness and European modernism. Indeed, what his work showed was that the avant-garde was a means of reinvigorating the British landscape tradition. There was everything personal about his art but nothing insular; Nash may have been, in the eyes of many, heir to the mystic pastoralism of William Blake and Samuel Palmer – and may have returned repeatedly to such heart-of-England subjects as Iron Age Dorset and Oxfordshire, the Sussex Downs, Romney Marsh, and the fields and orchards of Buckinghamshire – but he treated them with a sensibility that had a strongly European component.

How Nash managed to “Go Modern” and still “Be British” is the underlying theme of Tate Britain’s magnificent and comprehensive retrospective, which contains about 160
works. Nash the artist of two world wars is necessarily here, but the focus of the exhibition lies in his non-martial work. Nevertheless, it was the wars that defined him.

more here.

Donna Laframboise in Spectator:

We’re continually assured that government policies are grounded in evidence, whether it’s an anti-bullying programme in Finland, an alcohol awareness initiative in Texas or climate change responses around the globe. Science itself, we’re told, is guiding our footsteps. There’s just one problem: science is in deep trouble. Last year, Richard Horton, editor of the Lancet, referred to fears that ‘much of the scientific literature, perhaps half, may simply be untrue’ and that ‘science has taken a turn toward darkness.’ It’s a worrying thought. Government policies can’t be considered evidence-based if the evidence on which they depend hasn’t been independently verified, yet the vast majority of academic research is never put to this test. Instead, something called peer review takes place. When a research paper is submitted, journals invite a couple of people to evaluate it. Known as referees, these individuals recommend that the paper be published, modified, or rejected.

If it’s true that one gets what one pays for, let me point out that referees typically work for no payment. They lack both the time and the resources to perform anything other than a cursory overview. Nothing like an audit occurs. No one examines the raw data for accuracy or the computer code for errors. Peer review doesn’t guarantee that proper statistical analyses were employed, or that lab equipment was used properly. The peer review process itself is full of serious flaws, yet is treated as if it’s the handmaiden of objective truth. And it shows. Referees at the most prestigious of journals have given the green light to research that was later found to be wholly fraudulent. Conversely, they’ve scoffed at work that went on to win Nobel prizes.

More here.

The Unknown Bird

Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard
If others sang; but others never sang
In the great beech-wood all that May and June.
No one saw him: I alone could hear him
Though many listened. Was it but four years
Ago? or five? He never came again.
Oftenest when I heard him I was alone,
Nor could I ever make another hear.
La-la-la! he called, seeming far-off—
As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world,
As if the bird or I were in a dream.
Yet that he travelled through the trees and sometimes
Neared me, was plain, though somehow distant still
He sounded. All the proof is—I told men
What I had heard.

I never knew a voice,
Man, beast, or bird, better than this. I told
The naturalists; but neither had they heard
Anything like the notes that did so haunt me,
I had them clear by heart and have them still.
Four years, or five, have made no difference. Then
As now that La-la-la! was bodiless sweet:
Sad more than joyful it was, if I must say
That it was one or other, but if sad
'Twas sad only with joy too, too far off
For me to taste it. But I cannot tell
If truly never anything but fair
The days were when he sang, as now they seem.
This surely I know, that I who listened then,
Happy sometimes, sometimes suffering
A heavy body and a heavy heart,
Now straightway, if I think of it, become
Light as that bird wandering beyond my shore.
.

by Edward Thomas
from Poetry Magazine
.

Alexandra Fanning in AlterNet:

Artist Joseph Grazi is known for his eccentric shows, extensive research and balancing his fine art career with his Orthodox Jewish background, as documented in the film Primal Heritage. In his latest exhibition, Cecil: A Love Story, on view at Joseph Gross Gallery in New York, Grazi uses a variety of media, including drawing and taxidermy, to examine the public debate surrounding Cecil the lion, whose killing by Walter Palmer, a Minnesota dentist, sparked global outrage. Grazi creates a dialogue surrounding how we process atrocities committed against animals deemed beautiful versus those considered ugly, and delves into the rose-tinted lenses of Western privilege. At the same time, the artist explores the suction of internet activism with the consideration of easily digestible narratives such as, “Wealthy White Male Kills Defenseless Lion.” I spoke to Grazi about how he used the artistic process to explore Cecil’s story.

Alexandra Fanning: What did you initially think and how did you react when you first heard about Cecil the lion’s death?

Joseph Grazi: My initial thoughts were ruined by the public outcry, because I read about it first just like most everyone else probably did, which was through an angry friend posting it on Facebook. So my first reaction was to the reaction rather than the event itself.

AF: What encouraged you to explore this event in your artistic practice?

JG: I actually never thought about it artistically at first. Morality and aesthetics have always been a part of my work and I executed a few lion pieces before I realized that it was all really just one thing, almost perfectly contained into one news story and public reaction.

AF: Tell me about your fascination with animals, dead or alive.

JG: Always had pets growing up and gravitated towards animals in general. Although I can’t tell you 100 percent why. Though many non-human species have “culture,” there is something about the bareness of animals’ appearance and behavior—no clothes, no laws—just pure existence. I definitely found something tranquil in that.

…Cecil’s life compared to the life of a chicken or pig in a factory farm is not even comparable. One lived a life of being purely wild up until the day; the other is literally tortured to death over long spans of time. Yet only the first induces mass rage. I hope my work helps viewers to look further inward at the inconsistency of these behaviors and perhaps, over time, adjust for the better.

More here.

Owen Bennett-Jones in the LRB:

Should women carry out knife attacks? In the September issue of its Inspire Guide, al-Qaida in the Arabian Peninsula argued against it. In October an article in the Islamic State publication Rumiyah (‘Rome’) took the opposite view. Having discussed possible targets – ‘a drunken kafir on a quiet road returning home after a night out, or an average kafir working his night shift’ – the magazine praised three women who, on 11 September, were shot dead as they stabbed two officers in a Mombasa police station.

More here.

Caelainn Hogan at Harper's Magazine:

On a gray Sunday in Belfast, police stood cross-armed in front of a line of armored jeeps, primed like racehorses in the stocks. They formed a barricade across a wide shopping street in the center of the city, starting at Poundworld and cutting off the KFC from the Disney Store one door down. The street was an eventual meeting point of the famous Falls and Shankill roads, the thoroughfares of West Belfast’s predominantly Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods, divided by a looming peace wall. A solid concrete barricade topped with metal fencing, the wall runs for miles along the lonely bend of Cupar Way, rising higher than a double-decker bus. One of many peace lines built up more than four decades ago to prevent clashes between the two communities, on one side of the wall, fenced-off estates fly the English Cross of Saint George, while on the other, houses hang the Irish tricolor. Spike-topped security gates stand at the point at which the peace line crosses Lanark Way, traffic streaming through during the day. But the gates still shut automatically at designated times, barricading one side from the other.

That morning, Khaled Berakdar, his head and face freshly shaven, nipped down a back alley lane, making his way through empty streets and past the line of police, to meet his younger brother Ibrahim. With slicked-back hair and a thick beard, Ibrahim was sporting a rubber bracelet that read “Syria.” They embraced before making their way towards the Falls, where a crowd was mustering for a parade in honor of the Irish uprising against the British.

more here.

Tyler Zimmer at the Los Angeles Review of Books:

IN THE COLD WAR era and the decade or two following it, a few cheap jabs were enough to shut down any public conversation about the merits of socialist ideas. The mention of the Gulag, Pol Pot, or Stalin was sufficient to put the entire matter to rest. This is no longer the case.

If polls are to be trusted, young people today are decidedly more positive about the idea of socialism than they are about the profit-driven system they currently inhabit. A few months ago, 43 percent of Iowa Democrats said they identify as socialists. It is anything but clear what will become of the excitement generated by the (now failed) candidacy of Bernie Sanders, a self-proclaimeddemocratic socialist, but the surprising success that his campaign enjoyed in the last year is itself significant; if nothing else, it shows that there is a large audience for the idea that we need, as Sanders put it, a “political revolution against the billionaire class.”

The reasons for this left-wing shift in political consciousness ought to be obvious. For an entire generation of people, the 2008 global economic meltdown cast profound doubt on the once hegemonic myth that the free market always knows best.

more here.

Jerry Saltz at New York Magazine:

Over the years, the Met's rooftop installations have been hit-and-miss and have included Jeff Koons doing his shiny thing there in 2008 and Dan Graham building one of his typical translucent pavilions there in 2014. The high point was easily Mike and Doug Starn's incredible Big Bambu (2010), a huge hand-cobbled-together bamboo castle-tower that viewers moved through like some fantasy termite mound. Tie for the low points go to Tomás Saraceno's 2012 metallic jungle gym last year and Pierre Huyghe's overintellectualized yawn featuring removed paving stones and an aquarium. The rule of thumb for a successful rooftop piece seems to be a combination of actively engaging viewers, not just doing something arty that only the art crowd gets (Graham), and looking like you really tried. The Starns' worked because the material, scale, look, and feel of the overall structure was so imaginative; Saraceno flopped because it was just a slick silly playground device for adults.

This time, I left the Met roof with my typical Parker middling admiring reaction — a shrug, but not an annoyed one. Then I decided to circumnavigate the Met and watch Transitional Object in transition. I started on Fifth Avenue, where I couldn’t see anything. So I got a hot dog and went into the park looking; I kept walking and looking but didn’t see anything until I got to an old favorite spot, Cleopatra’s Needle, where I sat and had my hot dog. Maybe it was the Sabrett and the squawking crows. I looked up, and there it was — super-strange, incongruous, stranded in spatial purgatory, seemingly afloat on the Met’s roof, phantasmagoric, and scary. Psycho in the city! This uncanny, Oedipal mansion of crazed obsession became part of the skyline, making the Met below seem like a modern ossuary of bodies and bones.

more here.

Laura Minor in Berfrois:

British writer and actor, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, writes and stars in BBC and Amazon television series Fleabag. Waller-Bridge’s character is unnamed throughout the episodes, though the viewer is meant to directly conjure this soul-infested heroine. A single woman appearing to be in her early 30s, she wallows in her financial despair, the loss of a best friend, family trouble, and a flimsy breakup, all the while fucking her way through her pain with a morally rudderless abandon. I’m not usually the sort who would fall in love with a woman who “can’t even call herself a feminist,” but the surprise here is that Fleabag turns out to be incredibly endearing.

Fleabag’s delivery of the term, ‘bad feminist’, recalls a more heady delivery of Roxanne Gay’s bestselling 2015 book, Bad Feminist. Fleabag grapples with a similar complexity of “post-feminist” thought, and given the several times Fleabag uses the phrase ‘bad feminist’, it is probable that Waller-Bridge is familiar with Gay’s work. Like Roxanne Gay, she defiantly contradicts any singular kind of feminism by suggesting that sometimes all we ever really want to do in the face of unrelenting, daily misogynies, but rarely take the chance, is to “shut the door and cry.”

I came away from my six viewings of Fleabag wanting to be Waller-Bridge’s new best friend. In fact, I’ve been waiting for her all my television life; this singular performance of the single woman’s plight. Fleabag is not as materialistic or broadly comic as the characters in Sex in the City, and she is wiser, cooler, and more irreverent than the gaggle of twenty-somethings populating Girls. With her emotional authenticity and vulnerability as a character, her unusual depths, Fleabag captures my greatest empathy.

More here.

Todd Gitlin in Dissent:

My favorite clip from the many obituaries of Tom Hayden in circulation is this, from Michael Finnegan in the Los Angeles Times:

After the deadly 1967 riots in Newark, N.J., where Hayden had spent several years organizing poor black residents to take on slumlords, city inspectors and others, local FBI agents urged supervisors in Washington to intensify monitoring of Hayden.

“In view of the fact that Hayden is an effective speaker who appeals to intellectual groups and has also worked with and supported the Negro people in their program in Newark, it is recommended that he be placed on the Rabble Rouser Index,” they wrote.

One of the more perceptive of FBI observations, though the G-men neglected his wit. Tom was gifted with the power to inspire and at the same time to ironize—an unusual combination. He was surely devoted to “working with.” I met him at Harvard in the spring of 1962. I was nineteen and had helped organized a march on Washington against nuclear weapons (grand crowd total, some 8,000) and Tom was scouting me, as he was scouting for colleagues, comrades, throughout the incipient student movement, or “The Student Boat-Rockers,” as he put it in an article in (yes)Mademoiselle. Al Haber, the founder and first president of tiny SDS, based in Ann Arbor, had endorsed our march; SDS was an unknown but I liked the sound of “a democratic society” and also the suggestion that, as students, we had a special mission, though the handful of us involved in these endeavors were freaks, a paltry minority, and we knew it.

Tom almost always spoke with strong rhythms, and in whole sentences. He was incandescent—all intensity, all intelligence; full of self-assurance and a righteous indignation that I shared; rabbinical, or ministerial, even, but not pompous; glowing but also twinkling, as if to say, “We’re going to do great things. Let this sound crazy.Look at what we’re up against; look at our ambition; there’s a way forward.” Tom spoke American and he charged up the atmosphere.

More here.

Nehmat Kaur in The Wire:

Here’s a fun fact to start you off – the most exclusive culinary group in the world is Club Des Chefs Des Chefs (CCC) and the only way you can be a member is if you are the personal chef for a head of state. The group recently held a press conference in New Delhi, the venue for their annual meeting this year, where founder Gilles Bragard stressed the importance of “culinary diplomacy” – how a good meal can ease tense political negotiations and also how the chefs who make that food act as ambassadors for their countries.

As anyone who’s ever had a good meal knows, making and eating food can be an incredibly emotional experience. So yes, I agree with Bragard about the power of a good meal to set a positive tone, for say, nuclear disarmament talks (ridiculous as that sounds). And he’s right, food and national pride seem to go hand in hand too. In a way, each chef does act as an ambassador for his country by being responsible for representing something as integral and important as a nation’s food to the world at large. It may be stereotypical but we do tend to associate countries with specific dishes – Italy and pizza or pasta, France and croissants or baguettes. The press secretary of the President of India, who was also present at the event, even added that India’s cuisine is a part of its soft power. And the same holds true for each country.

Following this line of thought, Bragard decisively added, “Fusion is confusion.” If the food we eat is so uniquely bound to our national identity, then yes, mixing different kinds of cuisines is bound to cause some kind of an identity crisis.

But how do we know where ‘fusion’ starts? This may sound like a weird question, but I’m asking because we live in an increasingly globalised world and ingredients move across national borders much more easily than we humans do. And the internet makes it easy to find recipes from other places. So the barriers that made it impossible to cook other cuisines are being broken down. For instance, there are Indian grocery stores and Asian supermarkets all across the US and closer home, Amul is making its own gouda cheese. So if fusion is off limits, is all this culinary expansion also off the table?

And that’s just the latest cycle of globalisation.

More here.

Adrienne Lafrance in The Atlantic:

It seems almost farcical that the 2016 presidential campaign has become a referendum on misogyny at a moment when the United States is poised to elect its first woman president. Not that this is surprising, exactly. There’s a long tradition of politics clashing spectacularly with perceived gender norms around election time, and the stakes often seem highest when women are about to make history. Today’s political dialogue—which often merely consists of opposing sides shouting over one another—echoes another contentious era in American politics, when women fought for the right to vote. Then and now, a mix of political tension and new-fangled publishing technology produced an environment ripe for creating and distributing political imagery. The meme-ification of women’s roles in society—in civic life and at home—has been central to an advocacy tradition that far precedes slogans like, “Life’s a bitch, don’t elect one,” or “A woman’s place is in the White House.” Much of the imagery that circulated in the early 20th century made fun of suffragists, even in illustrations that weren’t explicitly anti-suffrage. Mainstream humor at the time relied heavily on gender-based tropes and stereotypes, and political humor was no exception.“It made no difference that the bulk of this material was not intentionally anti-suffrage,” wrote Lisa Tickner in her 1988 book, The Spectacle of Women: Imagery of the Suffrage Campaign 1907-14, “It represented an enormous mass of material, and some very deep-seated prejudice.”

One common theme was the subversion of male and female roles in society—with men often depicted holding crying babies or doing housework, and women portrayed as ultra masculine and detached from home life.

More here.

Simon Makin in Scientific American:

As the U.S. presidential campaign has highlighted, the more a person lies, the easier it seems to become. But politics is not the only realm where dishonesty abounds. In 1996 Bernard Bradstreet, co-chief executive of the technology company Kurzweil Applied Intelligence was sentenced to jail for fraud. His initial transgressions were relatively minor: To boost quarterly accounts he allowed sales that had not quite been closed to go on the books. But before long customers' signatures were being forged, documents altered and millions of dollars in fake sales reported—allowing the company to show profits when it was losing money while investors paid millions for company stocks. Similar tales emerged after the Enron scandal, one of the largest bankruptcy cases in U.S. history.

Anecdotal reports of dishonesty escalating over time are common, so a team of researchers from University College London (U.C.L.) and Duke University decided to investigate. “Whether it’s evading taxes, being unfaithful, doping in sports, making up data or committing financial fraud, deceivers often recall how small acts of dishonesty snowballed over time,” U.C.L. neuroscientist Tali Sharot, the work’s senior author, told members of the press during a teleconference last Friday. The team's findings, published today in Nature Neuroscience, confirm in a laboratory setting that dishonesty grows with repetition. The researchers also used brain imaging to reveal a neural mechanism that may help explain why. “We suspected there might be a basic biological principle of how our brain works that contributes to this phenomenon, called emotional adaptation,” Sharot said.

More here.

These Eggs

I carry them up old stairways
into unfamiliar rooms, I lie down
with them on the blue and white bedspread,
and talk to myself openly about the future.
These eggs survive my hatred of my mother,
of the way she placed a hand
on her belly, as if it was the belly
of a stranger.
Hatred of the legs that opened,
the body that let me go
alone with my own body.
I wanted to be born from my father,
without blood, without trouble.
I carry these sticky flowers inside me
without feeling their weight,
I do not fall when they fall.
I do not know what their shadows look like.
One day I’ll have a child who may hate me.
For my sake two people lay down
and touched bones.
And I’ll lie down with light
on the long bones of my thighs.
I’ll marry my shoulder to a man’s shoulder.
I’ll live my life around
the uncreated dark
of these eggs.

Rita Gabis
from The Wild Field
Alice James Books, 1994
.

Rajeev Balasubramanyam in the Washington Post:

Every year I root for Ngugi wa Thiong’o to win the Nobel Prize for literature.

The Kenyan writer has been a favorite to win for years. This year, according to gambling site Ladbrokes, the odds were 4-to-1 in Ngugi’s favor, with Haruki Murakami second at 7-to-1, and Don DeLillo at 12-to-1. Had Murakami or DeLillo won, I would have been disappointed. Ngugi’s novel “Wizard of the Crow” was a 700-page masterpiece that seemed to invent a genre of its own, in between satire and magical realism, yet it had far fewer readers outside of Africa than “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle“ or “Underworld,” though it is a work of equivalent stature.

When I first heard about Bob Dylan’s selection for the 2016 literature prize instead of Ngugi, I wasn’t concerned that the award had gone to a musician; I was disturbed that the committee had demonstrated an apparent obliviousness to the times we are living in. Alfred Nobel directed that the prize be awarded “in the field of literature [to] the most outstanding work in an ideal direction.” “Outstanding work” refers to literary merit, and “ideal direction” to values, indicating a role for the prize in shaping humanity’s outlook in each given year.

In October 2016, the United States is saddled with a presidential candidate who peddles in misogyny and appeals to white supremacists. In many other countries, neo-liberals are vying with the far right for power, and the left is at its weakest. In light of all of this, the Nobel committee’s decision felt infuriatingly myopic. This was the year we needed a writer like Ngugi.

More here.

Ken Wessen in Plus Magazine:

As computers are constantly becoming faster and better, many computational problems that were previously out of reach have now become accessible. But is this trend going to continue forever, or are there problems computers will never, ever be able to solve? Let's start our consideration of this question by looking at how computer scientists measure and classify the complexity of computational algorithms.

Suppose you are responsible for retrieving files from a large filing system. If the files are all indexed and labelled with tabs, the task of retrieving any specific file is quite easy — given the required index, simply select the file with that index on its tab. Retrieving file 7, say, is no more difficult than retrieving file 77: a quick visual scan reveals the location of the file and one physical move delivers it into your hands. The total number of files doesn't make much difference. The process can be carried out in what is called constant time: the time it takes to complete it does not vary with the number of files there are in total. In computers, arrays and hash-tables are commonly used data structures that support this kind of constant time access.

Now suppose that over time the tabs have all fallen off the files. They are still indexed and in order, but you can no longer immediately spot the file you want. This introduces the requirement to search, and a particularly efficient way to do so is a binary search. This involves finding the middle file and seeing whether the file you need comes before or after. For example, when looking for file 77, pull out the middle file and see if its index is smaller or larger than 77, and then keep looking to the left or right of the middle file as appropriate.

With this single step you have effectively halved the size of the problem, and all you need to do is repeat the process on each appropriate subset of files until the required file is found. Since the search space is halved each step, dealing with twice as many files only requires one additional step.

Writing for the total number of files, it turns out that as grows, the number of steps it takes to solve the problem (that is, the number of steps it takes to find your file) grows in proportion to the logarithm to base of (see the box below to find out why). We therefore say that a binary search is logarithmic, or, alternatively, that it has computational complexity This is the so-called big O notation: the expression in the brackets after the O describes the type of growth you see in the number of steps needed to solve the problem as the problem size grows (see the box on the left for a formal definition).

A logarithmic time process is more computationally demanding that a constant time process, but still very efficient.

But what if over time the loss of the tabs has allowed the files to become disordered? If you now pull out file 50 you have no idea whether file 77 comes before or after it.

More here.