From his youth until late in life he was able to “pass,” his heritage all but invisible until he mentioned his name.
I had a sense, unvoiced, that living well and loving steadfastly were one and the same. I translated that sense into certainty: Marriage would make me Good.
Humanity appears to have succeeded at solving the climate crisis and eliminating capitalism. But how? And at what cost?
In insisting on an anatomically correct Charlotte, E. B. White was playing with fire: People hate real spiders.
In this strange territory of dorkiness, role-playing, and absurd props, there is something like real magic, and it makes me shiver.
Racial equity must be a top priority for everyone, incorporated into how a company hires, makes decisions, and approaches all of its objectives.
Who will remember me when I am gone? Will my stories exist beyond my life? And what about the things we already forgot?
What does the word “country” mean? Does it mean anything on its own or does it just color in Americans’ fuzzy sense of what constitutes Americana?
My life as an American in Paris is a far cry from what the glamorous direct-to-DVD movies make it out to be. Still, that’s the story I tell.
Succubus, siren, gold-digger, temptress: There are so many words for a woman with money in her hands.
Every day, as news reports about climate change become more threatening, I grow more nostalgic for the places and objects of my childhood that feel increasingly imperiled.