Last April, I was at the Bosnian Embassy in Copenhagen, where a friend of mine was giving a reading from his debut novel. One of the ambassador's helpers stood up to eulogize the...
Philip Roth strikes me as a supremely sane man tinged with madness. The madness is crucial -- without it, an artist might as well be a gardener or a breeder of spaniels. Come to...
Yugoslavia burns again. No, not again those images familiar to the West: the mute shriek of witnessing mothers, the implausibly thick, Murillo-tears of their children, not again...
