In his latest novel, the gaze of an inhuman narrator gives us a new perspective on human life, a vision that is at once deeply ordinary and profoundly strange.
The Hungarian artist, undercover as an oligarch, infiltrated Manhattan’s ultra-luxury high-rises with her fake husband, Zoltan, for a book of intentionally unartful photos.
The documentarian Nicolas Heller, better known as New York Nico, has championed bodega owners online. Now he’s recording new subway announcements with Jerry Seinfeld, Remy Ma, and Fran Lebowitz to boost morale and shame door holders.
Mel Brooks’s son, the author and worst-case scenarist Max Brooks, thinks his new novel, based on the video game, can teach kids critical-thinking skills, like how to approach asymmetric warfare.
An art exhibition at a Brooklyn retirement home features twelve of the country’s three million L.G.B.T. elders, many of whom fear having to go back into the closet when they enter senior housing.
On March 5, the Brooklyn Museum opens a retrospective of the artist, who has been centering Black lives in her performances and photo-based works for four decades.
Anthony Ha and Sadie Mae Burns, who worked in high-profile kitchens until last March, opened a pop-up offering set meals and add-ons, for delivery or takeout, inspired by home cooking, their travels in Vietnam, and whatever strikes their fancy.
Letters should be sent with the writer’s name, address, and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail@newyorker.com. Letters may be edited for length and clarity, and may be published in any medium. We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we cannot reply to every letter.