It would be wildly disingenuous to claim that I was disappointed in The New Yorker editor David Remnick’s decision to feature sentient barrow of racist cat jizz Steve Bannon at The New Yorker’s fall festival. Because that would mean I still possess the capacity to be disappointed by white people, and I do not. I am,…
I began this week in tears. Early Monday morning, hot, torrential tears were flowing as if I were in the midst of my last heartbreak—or the one before that, or the one before that. I was reading Junot DĂaz’s searingly confessional essay in the New Yorker about confronting and coping with his childhood rape. Like many…
Yesterday afternoon, I read a thorough and illuminating piece from Morgan Jerkins at The New Republic, where she articulated how Trump's presidency is hurting the book publishing industry. Her premise — and this is one several agents, authors, and editors agree with — was that the news coming out of Washington has…
