Black Panther

I watched Black Panther as the only woman in a cinema full of men, which is a pity, because, on leaving the screening, full of joy, I realised that I’d forgotten to count the female actors, or to consider how the women were being portrayed. (A dreary game women have been playing for years.) There … Continue reading Black Panther →

This Little Art

Kate Briggs’ meditation on the art of translation meanders around her experience of translating some lectures given by Roland Barthes in (I think) the 1970s, her deep interest in the translations by Helen Lowe-Porter of Thomas Mann, and the relationship between Andre Gide and his besotted translator Dorothy Bussy. I’m not interested in Barthes, but … Continue reading This Little Art →

Philip Pullman, La Belle Sauvage

I was surprised by quite how much I wanted to read Philip Pullman’s next Lyra novels. Reading Northern Lights, The Amber Spyglass and The Subtle Knife when they came out twenty years ago was rather an ordeal for me, as I don’t much enjoy stories about children in danger, struggling to survive. But I devoured them, … Continue reading Philip Pullman, La Belle Sauvage →