Fiction Pick of the Week: "The Siege"
The violent history of a city.
The violent history of a city.
Mince pie was once more American than the apple variety. It was also blamed for “bad health, murderous dreams, the downfall of Prohibition, and the decline of the white race,” among other things. Then it disappeared.
A discovery in a Lithuanian forest brings a tale of survival back to life.
Today, Abraham Lincoln’s lifelong struggle with clinical depression would be a political liability. Back then, it was the key to his presidency.
For 60 years, the weekly Evening Whirl attacked the drug lords, whoring preachers, and hypocritical bourgeoisie of St. Louis’ black community, sometimes in rhyming Iambic couplets.
The Western Hemisphere before Columbus.
The stories of women who “are operating at unprecedented levels on every floor of CIA headquarters and throughout its far-flung global outposts.”
A hundred years ago, in the midst of an American food crisis, two spies who had once sworn to kill each other came together with a plan to feed America: hippo meat.
A Marxist archaeologist uncovers traces of fugitive slave settlements deep in the Great Dismal Swamp.
The lonesome death of Arnold Rothstein, notorious gambler, inspiration for the character Meyer Wolfsheim in The Great Gatsby, alleged fixer of the 1910 World Series, opiate importation pioneer, mobster.
“In some ways, joining the military is an act of faith in one’s country—an act of faith that the country will use your life well.”
Unspoken issues grip a couple's dinner along the Mississippi River.
A trip to the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles.
The lives of elevators.
Chris Earnshaw began taking photographs of Washington, D.C. more than 40 years ago. By the time he paid a visit to a museum to tout his work, he had in his possession—in plastic bags and filing drawers—3,000 Polaroids of a city long gone.
Nobody noticed Connie Converse when she was trying to get a record deal in New York in the 1950s. Nobody stopped her when she left her life in Michigan in 1974, never to be seen again. Today, her music is heard by tens of thousands.
In the middle of a new drought, looking back at a drowned California town.
The making of Blonde on Blonde in Nashville.
David Hosack attends to a mortally wounded Alexander Hamilton.
"Hosack felt a hitching panic build, his instincts wound too tightly, overtaxed, a clockwork spring about to snap. Only Hamilton could do this to him. The frame prone before him was frail, narrow, woman-small. His coat, waistcoat, shirt, underclothes sopping him up, holding him together. Delicate embroidery sodden, delicate fingers cold with the loss of blood. Hosack had seen this man’s blood before, and the blood and vomit and delirious fever-dreams of his wife, his children. But this was—Hosack sickened, the scene before him tilting. Three years before—Hamilton’s son, Phillip, bleeding out after his own duel on the same Weehawken site. Their faces so alike, their mangled bodies. Their right sides."
Revisiting California’s grape vines more than 70 years after the publication of The Grapes of Wrath.
December 1944, Auschwitz.
On a book of photographs shot by Leni Riefenstahl in the 1950s and 1960s depicting an African tribe.
The history of a color.
On Marie-Madeline Marguerite, a 1600s French serial killer.
This is the second installment in The Hairpin's "Lady Killers" series. Previously: "The Blood Countess."</em></p>
A utopian German settlement in Chile had already turned darkly cultish by the time it became a secret torture site for enemies of the Pinochet regime.