In Lydia Millet’s book, we enter into a stultifying scene, in which multiple families have taken their children away for the summer to vacation in an unnamed coastal town.
Tish Harrison Warren’s new book takes us into the underside of the Christian life and into the vulnerability of the darkness.
Over the course of four novels, Marilynne Robinson has given the world the palimpsest of Gilead, Iowa, upon which we have seen the slow drama of the Ames and the Boughtons play out.
Zena Hitz’s book comes at a moment when two different trajectories are set to overwhelm any retrieval of the joys of an intellectual life.
Having been at the intersection of so many important moments of 20th century theological and social history, Day’s legacy has been appropriated as a pacifist, as an eco-feminist, as a traditionalist Catholic, and as a family woman.
There are possibly no worse times to read a theologian such as Ephraim Radner than during a pandemic. Radner’s prose is simultaneously penetrating and demanding, bordering on the opaque at times, and for a parent working from home with two children, Radner offers no respite.