Rebecca Mead writes for The New Yorker about “The Pleasure of Reading to Impress Yourself” and the false divide between books “we read because we want to and those we read because we have to.”
“Our great poet forever has one foot on Mount Parnassus and the other in the rue Quincampoix,” the Wall Street of eighteenth-century Paris. On how Voltaire outsmarted one of the earliest lotteries and made a fortune. Also check out how Goethe became an amateur auction theorist.
"I feel very transparent to myself. I'm more like an observer. I'm interested in what's going on. I'm not sure that I really have a personality," Joyce Carol Oates said in The New Yorker's micro documentary about her writing life and routine. Pair with: our essay on Oates' The Accursed.