I HAVE A VISCERAL memory of sobbing on the couch in my mother's arms at 5 or 6 years old, saying over and over again, "I don't want to die." Nothing had happened. I had simply reached the understanding that one day, I would no longer exist. I also have a memory-I'm less certain about the year-of reading Natalie Babbitt's Tuck Everlasting and realizing, somewhere quiet at the back of my mind, how nightmarish the idea of living forever actually is. How incommensurate with our small, breakable animal bodies-this awful, awesome notion, the infinite.
From the name onward, nothing in Annie Baker's fearless new production, Infinite Life, is laboriously explained; everything is prismlike and expansive. The play unfolds gently, gradually, through implication and deceptively casual conversation. Baker and her director, the superb and unshowy James Macdonald, share a grasp of tempo and dynamic so assured and patient that your heartbeat at the end of Infinite Life's intermissionless hour and three-quarters may well belie the fact that no one onstage has once raised their voice. The play shines light through the facets of its title in at least two directions, neither of them easy to face. Look at it one way and see how comically absurd we are: "Listen, listen," insists one of Baker's characters, "no energy can be destroyed. Energy just continues ... The energy from the Big Bang has been radiating throughout the universe for millions of years. And then it, uh ... it turned into microwaves or some kind of wave and that thing, that static on the old televisions, that fuzz-that's the remnants of the Big Bang making itself known through your screen."
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة September 25 - October 08, 2023 من New York magazine.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة September 25 - October 08, 2023 من New York magazine.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
Drowning in Slop - A thriving underground economy is clogging the internet with AI garbage-and it's only going to get worse.
SLOP started seeping into Neil Clarke's life in late 2022. Something strange was happening at Clarkesworld, the magazine. Clarke had founded in 2006 and built into a pillar of the world of speculative fiction. Submissions were increasing rapidly, but “there was something off about them,” he told me recently. He summarized a typical example: “Usually, it begins with the phrase ‘In the year 2250-something’ and then it goes on to say the Earth’s environment is in collapse and there are only three scientists who can save us. Then it describes them in great detail, each one with its own paragraph. And then—they’ve solved it! You know, it skips a major plot element, and the final scene is a celebration out of the ending of Star Wars.” Clarke said he had received “dozens of this story in various incarnations.”
The City Politic- The Other Eric Adams Scandal The NYPD shot a fare evader, a cop, and two bystanders. He defends it.
On Sunday, September 15, Derell Mickles hopped a turnstile, got asked to leave by cops, then entered the subway again ten minutes later through an emergency exit. This was at the Sutter Avenue L station, out by his mother's house, five stops from the end of the line. Police said they noticed he was holding a folded knife. They followed him up the stairs to the elevated train, asking him 38 times to drop the weapon.
Can the Media Survive?
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A Matter of Perspective
A Matter of Perspective Steve McQueen's worst film is still a solid WWII drama.
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The Water-Tower Penthouse
Gigi Loizzo and Angel Molina's apartment on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx looks out on Yankee Stadium.
