Rethinking privacy

Andrew McStay (Bangor): Privacy and Philosophy: New Media And Affective Protocol. Neil M. Richards and Joanna F. Cornwell (WUSTL): Privacy and Intellectual Freedom. Robert Lee Bolton (Pierpont): The Right to Be Forgotten: Forced Amnesia in a Technological Age. Joel R. Reidenberg (Fordham): Privacy in Public. Neil M. Richards and Jonathan H. King (WUSTL): Big Data and the Future for Privacy. Gordon Hull (UNC): Successful Failure: What Foucault Can Teach Us About Privacy Self-Management in a World

Paper Trail

In this week’s New York magazine, Jonathan Chait sounds the old alarm of “political correctness.” For Chait, trigger warnings and the idea of “mansplaining”  amount to a grave hazard to free-speech and liberalism. The Internet has given the p.c. cops more reach. “Political correctness is not a rigorous commitment to social equality so much as a system


Andre Dubus's best characters

Bibi DeitzAndre Dubus's literary superpower is to hit upon that one thing about a character that makes him him, or her her. And in so doing, with subtle, clever details—breadcrumbs on the trail to the nucleus

Daily Review

Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Inherent Vice”

“Paranoids are not paranoid because they’re paranoid,” Thomas Pynchon wrote in Gravity’s Rainbow, “but because they keep putting themselves, fucking idiots, deliberately into paranoid situations.” This line could easily slot into a eulogy for Larry “Doc” Sportello, the “gumsandal” hippie private eye at the heart of Inherent Vice, Pynchon’s seventh novel, recently adapted for the


Miranda July

In Miranda July's films and short stories, the protagonist is usually shut off from the world: insular, habit-prone, and to the outside world, a little weird, The beauty of Cheryl Glickman, the narrator of July's debut novel, The First Bad Man, is that she's come to see her idiosyncrasies as totally logical, After reading several pages of Cheryl's chatty internal monologue, the reader will, too.


On Cortázar

Becca Rothfeld

Reading Hopscotch—reading Julio Cortázar—is a bit like navigating a labyrinth. Behind each corner, each chapter doubling back on itself, lurks the prospect of an unforeseen encounter, at once disturbing and tantalizing. Distances are distorted. Ostensible shortcuts will lead you on a scenic route that provides alternate, unexpected perspectives. All the while, Cortázar’s work invokes a sort of Zeno’s Paradox.