Yasemin Saplakoglu in Quanta Magazine:
The pillow is cold against your cheek. Your upstairs neighbor creaks across the ceiling. You close your eyes; shadows and light dance across your vision. A cat sniffs at a piece of cheese. Dots fall into a lake. All this feels very normal and fine, even though you don’t own a cat and you’re nowhere near a lake. You’ve started your journey into sleep, the cryptic state that you and most other animals need in some form to survive. Sleep refreshes the brain and body in ways we don’t fully understand: repairing tissues, clearing out toxins and solidifying memories. But as anyone who has experienced insomnia can attest, entering that state isn’t physiologically or psychologically simple.
To fall asleep, “everything has to change,” said Adam Horowitz(opens a new tab), a research affiliate in sleep science at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The flow of blood to the brain slows down, and the circulation of cerebrospinal fluid speeds up. Neurons release neurotransmitters that shift the brain’s chemistry, and they start to behave differently, firing more in sync with one another. Mental images float in and out. Thoughts begin to warp. “Our brains can really rapidly transform us from being aware of our environments to being unconscious, or even experiencing things that aren’t there,” said Laura Lewis(opens a new tab), a sleep researcher at MIT. “This raises deeply fascinating questions about our human experience.”
More here.
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Sports writing can be brilliant; it is one of the most exciting forms, full of suspense and rich with lore. Yet most sports reporting winds up formulaic and pedestrian. This is an arena of high drama and individual challenge, but for the performer, the interest is in the training and the doing, not the words the rest of us try to surround it with. Reporters lean hard on interviews with athletes, yet they only turn chatty when they retire from their sport. While competing, they are intense and focused, utterly uninterested in coming up with quotable sound bites. They are not running for public office. They are running for speed, or swimming, or doing floor routines.
In the nineteenth century, the invention of anesthesia was considered a gift from God. But post-operative pain relief has continued to rely on opioids, derivatives of opium, the addictive substance employed since 
Political judgment takes place within political time. And political time is less a matter of chronology than of genre. What kind of moment are we living through? Is our system of government undergoing a cyclical swing, an existential transformation, or something in between? Nine months into the second Trump administration, Americans confront three very different answers to these questions.
The British Library has honoured late Irish writer Oscar Wilde by reissuing a reader’s card in his name, 130 years after his original was revoked following his conviction for “gross indecency”.
The first time I read Yambo Ouologuem’s novel, Bound to Violence, I was shocked by the fury and seeming lack of restraint with which he wrote the story. Yet at the same time, his inventive style struck a chord with me, although I could not immediately explain why. I discovered the novel by chance at an antiquarian bookshop in Eindhoven, where I was living after my arrival in the Netherlands as a refugee fleeing the First Gulf War in Kuwait. The novel was tucked among books that had nothing to do with Africa, lined up alphabetically in a row as could be expected in bookstores or libraries. It was at that antiquarian bookshop that I encountered this book written by a man with a name that sounded Nigerian at first. The cover of the English translation was eye-catching: it was black with an image of a carved wooden mask impaled by a spear. The subtitle was noteworthy and revealing: A savage, panoramic novel of Black Africa.
The project of understanding how the brain creates thoughts and feelings has progressed in fits and starts, leading some to despair that the so-called “mind-body” problem is fundamentally unanswerable. How can nonphysical ideas reside in physical brains? Yet, George Lakoff and Srini Narayanan claim in their new book The Neural Mind: How Brains Think, we now have a working theory.
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On the shelves and tables of any bookstore, be it Barnes & Noble or your neighborhood shop, you’ll find the latest fiction and non-fiction beckoning to be browsed. Browse you will, and maybe you’ll find an interesting book, but what you will rarely find in the majority of bookstores is a book published by an independent press. Indie publishing is blossoming these days as commercial publishers eschew wonderful books—essay collections and novels, memoirs, novellas, poetry, anthologies, flash fiction, short fiction, you name it—because these books are a little, or perhaps a lot, off the beaten path of mainstream American taste. That commercial publishers are in it for the money is understandable, and they do publish many excellent books, but independent publishers are usually in it for the books. For indie publishers whether a book will make a big profit (they hardly ever do) isn’t a consideration; indie presses publish books they love. Support for this labor comes from donations, grants, and private funds, while editors and staff sometimes work for little or no money. There is a vast world of indie books to be discovered and enjoyed, and while the readers of this journal and other literary journals like it may be doing just that, almost everyone else is not.
Last year, the Republican Party relied heavily on Turning Point USA founder Charlie Kirk’s organizing prowess and influence among young voters to cement a second term for President Donald Trump, making significant gains in the 18–29-year-old vote, according to Pew Research analysis. Narrowing that gap and making other gains on President Joe Biden’s 2020 margins, Trump swept back into the White House. Kirk’s movement and role in narrowing the young voter gap from 30 points in 2016 to just 19 in 2024 has sparked debate over whether the GOP has cemented more broad appeal among young voters, a bloc that has typically been heavily Democratic.
Bringing all Heaney’s poems together in one volume, this collection lets us see for the first time all the archaeological layers that make up his oeuvre, from the talismanic Death of a Naturalist (1966) to the visionary long poem Station Island (1984), on to the parables of The Haw Lantern (1987) and the intimacies of The Human Chain (2010), the last volume published during the poet’s lifetime. A key poem in that collection, Chanson d’Aventure, describes his journey to hospital in an ambulance following a stroke: “Strapped on, wheeled out, forklifted, locked / In position for the drive”. The book also makes available at last Heaney’s prose poems, Stations (1975), released in a small press edition by Ulsterman Publications, which Heaney effectively kept under wraps as he felt the publication of Geoffrey Hill’s Mercian Hymns – “a work of complete authority” – had stolen his thunder in this form.
I remember being a child and after the lights turned out I would look around my bedroom and I would see shapes in the darkness and I would become afraid – afraid these shapes were creatures I did not understand that wanted to do me harm. And so I’d turn my light on. And when I turned the light on I would be relieved because the creatures turned out to be a pile of clothes on a chair, or a bookshelf, or a lampshade.