n+1

“I have a Mexican jersey too” Abdoulaye said. “I put it on if my client has a Latino name. Or Colombia. This one,” he said, gesturing to his USMNT jersey, “I wear this one for Americans. It helps with tips.”

Her great themes were timeless, the stuff of the ancients’ ancients: perception, eternity, travel, the problem of evil. She repudiated Aristotle, denied the primordial split between myth and natural philosophy: Anything could, and would, be likened to everything, in the service of the sentence.

In a city that treats its architectural highlights—and even some of its mediocrities!—with an ardor that verges on the obsessive, plenty of buildings nonetheless manage to escape collective reverence. A disproportionate number of these buildings happen to belong to the public: community spaces, senior centers, park bathrooms. On Friday, October 16, join n+1 and the […]

It’s been nearly a year since n+1 film critic A. S. Hamrah’s book Last Week in End Times Cinema—a study of bad news in the movie industry over the course of 365 days—was published. What’s happened in end times cinema since then? On Thursday, October 1, join us as we investigate. Hamrah will appear in […]

When I first met David Morales it was December 2019, and I was standing in David’s ill-lit bachelor apartment as he announced to a small holiday party full of socialists that he intended to run for state representative. I was skeptical. David was young—only 21 at the time—just recently graduated, and not a native Rhode […]

On Saturday, October 10, join us at the n+1 office in Brooklyn for a celebration of two new works of poetry: Laura Kolbe’s The Decadent Movement (out in September from University of Pittsburgh Press) and Patricia Lockwood’s Agate Head/Stone Soup (out in October from Penguin Books). Lockwood and Kolbe will read from and discuss their work, […]

Please join n+1 at our office in Greenpoint for reading and drinks in celebration of Issue 54: POWER PLAY! Featuring readings by Walker Caplan, Mark Krotov, Leigh Claire La Berge, Maria Marchinkoski, and Colin Vanderburg. Readings will start at 7, followed by a party, and cheap drinks will be for sale. Entry is free for subscribers […]

YOUR AI AGENT NEEDS A WORKFLOW ENGINE. The billboard stands by a nondescript stretch of highway somewhere between Redwood City and Mountain View. A boom, likely a bubble, made manifest. A cry of triumphant return. And probably one day, a monument to a bubble bursting. All hype seems destined to furnish tomorrow’s ruin. But for […]

We have public housing, but it has never been as well designed, built, or maintained. We have limited-equity co-ops built by limited-dividend companies, but we built far fewer of them, and we allowed some to go private. We have inclusionary zoning, but whereas their model requires two-thirds of the development to be social housing, ours only demands that one-third be targeted to tenants under a certain household income.

Hi! Where have I been? Last time we heard from me, Miss Translation, I was on a rocket blasting out of Iowa. I hosted two events, one in New York and one in Chicago. Was I forced into hiding because of how well they went? No, although I could have been. Did I write a […]

This is a different mode of watching film; the eye and ear must remain in a constant state of hypervigilance to confirm whether one can spy a coffee cup in the back of a frame, or if someone says “gonna be” instead of “going to be.”

Jace came back from vacation weird: He was now peaceful. When he learned of Vote Drunk, he clapped me and Mark Uptick on the backs and rubbed Ava-Claire’s shoulders and said he’d left the agency in good hands. And he only added one build: After voters share their Vote Drunk stories online to receive a bedazzled flask, their stories can be folded into a commemorative, punk-looking zine.

As I listened to Ahern in his small office, I was struck by how much he knew about, and how much time he spent thinking about, immigration detention. He was a competent and civic-minded public servant, and he was structurally in the position of having to hope for more people to get locked up in ICE detention, or at least for more people to get locked up at Glades, so that the county and its shell corporation could make payments to their investors.

There were speakers everywhere, pointed out upper-story windows, throbbing on porches, wedged in the crooks of trees, and the sum of so much blasted music composed a surprisingly gentle mélange above which burbled the happy shouts and shrieks of classmates greeting each other after a summer apart. So this, Irma thought, was the Parties.

The Illinois Jacquet’s 1956 sextet rendition of “Harlem Nocturne” wasn’t simply playing but occurring, happening. Jimmy Jones’s piano glowed like the sun’s last gleam, taking the day with it. I fumbled for my phone to record, in however impoverished form, the high breeze of Roy Eldridge’s trumpet, its fleet rise and easing fall. If Little Jazz’s horn was the wind, Jacquet’s tenor was the tides: waxing and withdrawing, meeting the melody in a long, estuarine flow. The sound was total, final, at o

As familiar as they are, these orange maps can only depict a rehearsal, a prelude. In the pre-vaccine moment the Covid maps were terrifying, but examining them, you could imagine a future after orange. One feels very different looking at the climate maps. There is no de-escalating from orange.

When Buchdahl professes that she can understand “how even white men in America are feeling,” she unwittingly reveals a structuring affinity between the politics of white reaction and her own anti-anti-Zionism. What they share, most fundamentally, is an elevation of interior experience above any number of other accepted methods for assessing the merits of competing claims about observable reality.

It can feel like listening to Spotify, reading this way. A patchy sampling, in which huge expanses of history are available but unintuitively organized, likely to result in having heard rarities and minor B-sides before getting the full feel of a band or a genre. But that’s no bad thing. In plenty of discographies, the rarities are the best parts.

She treated war injuries as a medical student during Lebanon’s civil war, and her patients became their injuries: names and numbers. But then she had children and things changed. Now, she says, she can’t handle the blood, the gore, any of it.

I had hidden everything. Monitors were not allowed to talk about themselves with residents. We could lose pay, placement, and good standing. You can find me in the DSM, I said.