Tom Wolfe set a new standard in both the world of fiction and nonfiction, and with his passing, all we’re left with are pipsqueak visionaries.
Tom Wolfe, the journalist and novelist who died yesterday at 88, was our enthusiastic guide to the raucous and colorful spectacle that is America.
Given that this is the reasoning a seventh grader uses to resist summer reading, the advice casts the maturity of the GQ editors in a dim light.
People do not give it credence that a 42-year-old man would head off into such conditions, but I will say it did not seem so strange then, although I will say it did not happen every day.
We would be remiss if we scratched out the peaks and valleys of human experience inside fairy tales. Not only would it be highly inaccurate, it would not inspire us to anything.
Looking back, it turns out that no book I ever read was about me. None of that matters when reading fiction. But celebrated author Junot Díaz just doesn’t get it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s 1863 ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day’ has been turned into a carol popular at Christmastide. He wrote it on Christmas Day.
While the pronoun wars may be new to America, the writings of C.S. Lewis show that the fight over language as a way of controlling the mind is nothing new.
A recent critique of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ by novelist Alice Randall has converted me into a full-throttled defender of Harper Lee’s coming of age tale.
You can tell a lot about a person’s politics and outlook on life—and mental stability—by looking at the poems he writes.
The BBC flatly rejected a previous attempt to erect a statue in 2011, on the grounds that Orwell was too left-wing. Irony is now officially dead.
Agatha Christie’s books have been sold more than a billion times in English. A new version of her ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ opens November 10.
A Mississippi school district is going after Harper Lee’s classic work, contending that its difficult themes will make students too uncomfortable.
Free verse is a symptom of a disease that afflicts the whole body of modern art — it’s the slow-creeping tingling in the fingers and toes that indicates the tumor growing in the brain.
Jack Kerouac would have hated me, because I took his work seriously rather than as cautionary tales. So did the entire Beat generation.
Amid their male privilege, these Hollywood directors apparently forgot that a sizeable segment of the population has gone barking mad.
As vacation begins, decades of K-12 education research tells us that summertime is when the academic paths of higher- and lower-performing students most radically diverge.
Today, April 27, it’s Carry a Poem in Your Pocket Day—#PocketPoem. This is one of the many festivities of the National Poetry Month.
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