n+1

The Knicks were in the midst of blowing a fourteen-point lead halfway through the fourth quarter, and my excitement at this situation, the sheer merriment and life force of it all, mingled with my grief at what was unfolding, and my awareness of how absurd it was to feel grief about such a thing in a hospital, which, I know firsthand, is a scene of real grief.

The following weekend, I returned to the storage lockers with my partner, Blair. Upon arriving, we removed the picnic table and wooden chairs and machinery and placed it all on the gravel road that ran through the facility. Blair climbed in first, swinging their legs through a hole in the rafters and rifling through box after box. Forty minutes passed, and I despaired at the sight of them, how intrepid they looked, the hope with which they pursued the mission. Soon this despair transformed into

The human hand has twenty-nine bones and twenty-nine major joints. It contains over one hundred ligaments, connected to thirty-four muscles in the palm alone, each one responsible for the minute negotiations that allow us to tie our shoes, thread a needle, lift a glass, or juggle. Thirty arteries pump blood alongside them. Forty-eight nerves—running from […]

Klosterman may often be subversive, kind of lazily seditious, but he is, clearly, self-aware about his counterrevolutionary inclinations, accepting and even celebrating football as a stabilizing—some might say paralyzing—force on the American imagination.

Cárdenas engages the arid landscape, the dead tree, the dried-out wood, and sculpts into existence a beginning—a way into the future eked out of a barren present.

The booming Bushwick club scene has lately drawn the attention of “serious” writers and thinkers. Staff writers at prestigious magazines and tenured faculty at elite schools are openly talking about going to illegal warehouse raves and taking illegal drugs—but doing so deeply, politically, radically.

By the 1990s, there were even times when a channel surfer, perhaps startled by the abrasive industrial techno opening sequence of Kluge’s show 10 vor 11, might have clicked away, only to land on another even more puzzling Kluge production. Kluge didn’t mind that his shows occasionally aired at the same time; on the contrary, he saw it as an opportunity for channel flippers to participate in the production process by creating montages of their own.

This might just be the most cynical—and thus true-to-life—entry in the Woman With a Magazine Job canon.

You wanted it to stay a haven when all was lost: Kamal Adwan hospital, where even rocked by bombs and raids, you fostered all the small possibilities of care. The soldiers vacated. You found those patients whose safety ceased being yours to bear and let them sleep beneath the courtyard square. Death craves you all […]

[Anonymous] sent me several questions about translation. She worried that they were somehow “too remedial,” but they were actually something worse: ancient, unanswerable debates. Take this one: “How much ‘editing’ of an author when translating is considered permissible? What is the outer limit of acceptable on that score?”

Join n+1 translation columnist Bela Shayevich at the n+1 office in Brooklyn on the evening of Tuesday, May 19 for a translation mixer and mini-workshop for translators and the translation-curious. Bilingual participants are invited to bring “nasty, brutish, and short” selections sections of text along with an interlingual translation. “Together,” Bela says, “we will work […]

Please join n+1 at our office in Greenpoint for reading and drinks in celebration of Issue 53: EXCURSIONS! Featuring readings by Morley Musick, Angelo Hernandez Sias, Will Tavlin, Mina Tavakoli, Dennis M. Hogan, Gillian Linden, Nicholas Dames, and Mariana Mogilevich. Readings will start at 7, followed by a party, and cheap drinks will be for sale. […]

How can we train ourselves not to translate but to imbibe words that we don’t understand? How do we push past obscurity and opacity, without the requisite training in, or knowledge of, other languages?

Please join us for a night of cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, and music to celebrate “the best goddamn literary magazine in America” (Mary Karr). Thursday, June 11 7 o’clock in the evening Weylin | 175 Broadway Brooklyn, New York Raise a glass, or three, to n+1—and to Dawn Lundy Martin and Paul Soto, the recipients of […]

Oscar Martinez’s remarks were emblematic of a more general response to Midway Blitz: an aggrieved, futile attempt to correct someone who has violently misinterpreted reality. Over and over, I heard Chicagoans point to the normality of life as a kind of defense against the menacing accusations and absurd theories that ICE, Border Patrol, and national politicians had promulgated about the city and then, through the government’s own violence, manifested into being.

This is her break. Her good thing. She refers to it as her Success. The money is enough to quit Bill’s, leave that stupid town, accept an internship in London. For a year or so, at the parties she now attends, she regularly brings it up. Crazy, isn’t it, what some people will pay for a piece of cardboard?

 — Wait, what did he call you? Sadiya said. Julio applied everything he’d learned of hermeneutics, philology, and translation theory to give Sadiya a serviceable definition of pinche güey — It’s like [Napoleon Dynamite voice] freakin’ idiot — Is it, Sadiya said, I always fancied Chuy more a Pedro type — Wooow, Julio said, you are literally the Danger of a Single Story — Says the guy whose only exposure to South African culture was District 9 — Hey, you forgot the 2010 FIFA World Cup — I didn’t f

We could not have imagined the reality that was coming. Forget escalating: In a few months, even the little our crew had done before falling apart — the cold emails and messages to weapons workers; the community outreach with our masks lowered, for trust building; the signed petitions — would retroactively become dangerous, a cause for firings or disappearings.

We need a book like Grandin’s now — more so, surely, than he could have known while writing it. If Grandin’s framing emphasis on US influence over Latin America and on the contrasts between Anglo-American and Latin American intellectual traditions sometimes seems too rigid, it is undeniable that we are now witnessing a watershed moment in attempts by the US to reshape Latin America to serve its own ends.

As much as we may want their subjects to be actors in the historical sense, there are no individuals; there is only society, plainly laid out for us to see. There are always “characters,” but their significance lies in the way they intersect with and illuminate social structure. They never motivate action — what they do instead is perform (and sometimes declaim) the logics under which they operate.