Roswell That Ends Well!
when war crimes are less believable than intelligent alien life
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Blessé this Messé
I was going to have some fun with the newsletter this week until the French authorities – who, for official purposes, I love and adore – sprung the steel trap of bureaucracy on my bliss and visited upon it a great injury. So the fun has been cancelled. Instead, today, we are
A Room of One's Own
I have signed a contract to lease an apartment from a couple in Paris. She is a Lacanian psychoanalyst and he is a professor of modern literature with a side expertise in the philosophy of Hegel, a man whose work is so dense, so sprawling, that the only way to
The Lion Speaks Tonight
A few days ago I was in a boulangerie a few blocks from the Champs Élysées ordering a sandwich, drink and dessert in one of those French lunch combinations, or formule, which requires a level of language just one step above rudimentary. 'Ah, you speak French,' the server
Her Name Was Toula
At the book launch in the Oberkampf district of Paris last Tuesday night I met an incredibly beautiful dog named Toula who was adopted as a rescue from the Greek Island of Santorini by a couple who live in Switzerland, all three of whom had just that afternoon arrived by