Kara Ward started her life as a caregiver earlier than most people do. She was only 29 when her mother was diagnosed with brain cancer in 2006. Ward had two young children of her own at the time—a toddler and an infant—and still she found herself caring for her mom, whose cognitive abilities declined almost as soon as she was diagnosed.
Ward is the older of two children, and lived about an hour from her parents, in Fredericksburg, Virginia.Read More
At first, it might have sounded like manna from heaven. Chinese authorities announced they would be distributing more than $1 million to a select number of citizens, as part of a test of its new currency: a digital yuan that could be easily spent almost anywhere. Reports out of China showed happy recipients using “digital wallets” to buy groceries with their free money and Read originalRead More
The titular narrator of Klara and the Sun, Kazuo Ishiguro’s new novel, is a robot. This isn’t spoiler—this revelation comes early in the book. Klara is an Artificial Friend, a lifelike but nevertheless mechanical companion for children: amalgam of sibling, plaything, and nursemaid. When we meet her, she’s inventory in a showroom.
“They must be the most contented people in the world.” This is how the 1980 comedy The Gods Must Be Crazy introduces the San peoples of the Kalahari Desert, better known as the Bushmen. They eke out a simple living, the narrator explains, digging for roots and tubers, hunting with bows and arrows, and collecting dewdrops from leaves.
In July 2017, Donald Trump gave a speech in Warsaw that seemed, at the time, to herald a new age. In remarks dredged from the imagination of adviser Steve Bannon, the president drew a rhetorical line in the sand and enlisted his host—the Eurosceptic, right-wing populist Polish President Andrzej Duda—in an epochal fight. “I declare today for the world to hear,” Trump said, as if he were standing behind ramparts and not a podium, “that the West will never, ever be broken.
A nerdy slacker is hanging around the mall, having been dumped by his girlfriend earlier that day. He is staring in the window of a lingerie store, when a sharply dressed older guy with gray hair and tinted glasses approaches and strikes up a conversation. As he casually mentions “an issue of Spider-Man I did,” the younger man’s eyes slowly widen.
Liberals, still flush from defeating Trump and taking control of both houses of Congress, are adjusting to the grim reality that the fate of their bold legislative agenda lies with one of Washington’s most conservative Democrats: a pro-coal, anti-choice, Trump-friendly fiscal hawk who voted to confirm Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court.Read More
Covid-19 is a trickster. Those who have lived with it the longest often describe the disease as if it knows what mischief it’s making. Miel Singletary Schultz, a 48-year-old “long hauler” and former sailing crew worker in San Diego, thought she had experienced every possible symptom when in October her skin began exuding tiny yellow crystals all over her body; a fellow long hauler suggested it might be uremic frost, the manifestation of a kidney disease.
Chicago, in 1871, was alive to the giddy possibilities of modernity. The city had shot up from a flat expanse of grasses and wild garlic plants nearly overnight. In 1830, it had possessed a population of less than 100. Four decades later, its 330,000 inhabitants thronged the crowded streets, filling the vast lumber piles, grain silos, and stockyards to the brim. This seemed, to many, less urban growth than a force of nature.
A woman sprawls on a bed, the suggestion of a wall behind her. With her left hand, she cups her left breast, while the right falls free. Her eyes are turned toward the pillow. Her strong thighs don’t quite meet, and her knee points toward a table in the foreground, where a boiled egg, sliced in half, waits in a white cocotte (a morning-after repast, maybe): a visual echo of her bountiful nipple. Lucian Freud called this painting Read originalRead More