I should have seen this coming

David Brooks:

If there is an underlying philosophy driving Trump, it is this: Morality is for suckers. To borrow from Thucydides, the strong do what they want, and the weak suffer what they must. This is the logic of bullies everywhere. And if there is a consistent strategy, it is this: Day after day, the administration works to create a world where ruthless people can thrive.

Time and time again, we hear from people who are somehow surprised by the nihilism of this administration—even though Trump’s moral failure has been on proud display since the very beginning. Brooks has always opposed Trump, but our current slow and steady decline into dysfunction should not shock: it is a desired and concerted outcome.

When Trump creates an unnecessary crisis, it’s unlikely to be a small one. The proverbial “adults in the room” who contained crises in Trump’s first term are gone. Whatever the second-term crisis—runaway inflation? a global trade war? a cratered economy and plummeting stock market? an out-of-control conflict in China? botched pandemic management? a true hijacking of the Constitution precipitated by defiance of the courts?—it is likely to crater his support and shift historical momentum.

I’m not sure I share Brooks’s certainty that “Trumpism” (an empty term if there ever was one) is doomed to fail. The ingredients for authoritarianism are available and ripening: a power-obsessed executive branch, an activist and enabling Supreme Court, an ineffectual and dithering Congress. Now is not the time to hide and await the promised renaissance. It must be earned by continually advocating for a return to governing on shared morals and decency.

Mudlarks by Mary Helen Specht

A history of menus is a menu of history

A menu describes what a restaurant serves—but a menu also describes who is being served.

Studio of Ðuro Pulitika

King Ropes

Lassos, hung on posts, line both sides of an aisle

The Brinton Museum

The Brinton Museum is built into a hillside outside Sheridan, Wyoming, and overlooks the Bighorn Mountains. The entrance feels like a portal to some interior place—or maybe an extension of that interior place as it tries to emerge from the earth.

Inside is a striking collection of indigenous and Western art, including: recollections and paintings of The Battle of the Greasy Grass / Little Bighorn; Winold Reiss’s Montana Blackfeet portraits, each with their own story to tell; and Jim Jackson’s paintings on carved leather.

A sculpture of cattle and cowboys, painted with bright colors.
Detail from “Cosmos,” Harry Jackson, 1996
Twelve framed portraits of Blackfeet tribe members
Blackfeet portraits, Winold Reiss, 1920
A koi fish swims beneath a lily pad.
Detail from “Koi Theater,” Jim Jackson, 2023
A woman with short, wavy hair faces the viewer.
Detail from “Categorical Imperative,” Jim Jackson, 1985

From Eternity to Here by Sean Carroll

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

Nahwa

Nahwa is a territory that forms part of the Emirate of Sharjah in the United Arab Emirates. It is a counter-enclave (or second-order enclave) within the Omani territory of Madha, which is itself an exclave of Oman and an enclave within the United Arab Emirates.

Big Jim Collie’s Braemar crossing

YouTube video poster

He starts the day as he means to continue, with a wee dram.

Emerald Lake reflection

Arriving in complete stillness at Emerald Lake.

The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt

James by Percival Everett

For the first time in my life, I had paper and ink. I was beside myself. I found a straight stick and shaved it to a point and scratched a groove on one side. I put the paper on my lap, dipped my stick into the ink and wrote the alphabet. I printed letters as I had seen them in books, slowly, clumsily. Then I wrote my first words. I wanted to be certain that they were mine and not some I had read from a book in the judge’s library. I wrote:

I am called Jim. I have yet to choose a name.

In the religious preachings of my white captors I am a victim of the Curse of Ham. The white so-called masters cannot embrace their cruelty and greed, but must look to that lying Dominican friar for religious justification. But I will not let this condition define me. I will not let myself, my mind, drown in fear and outrage. I will be outraged as a matter of course. But my interest is in how these marks that I am scratching on this page can mean anything at all. If they can have meaning, then life can have meaning, then I can have meaning.

Woman Walking in an Exotic Forest by Henri Rousseau

Detail from “Woman Walking in an Exotic Forest”

Interior Chinatown by Charles Yu

“For my friend Fong,” he says, and begins singing John Denver. If you didn’t know it already, now you do: old dudes from rural Taiwan are comfortable with their karaoke and when they do karaoke for some reason they love no one like they love John Denver.

Maybe it’s the dream of the open highway. The romantic myth of the West. A reminder that these funny little Orientals have actually been Americans longer than you have. Know something about this country that you haven’t yet figured out. If you don’t believe it, go down to your local karaoke bar on a busy night. Wait until the third hour, when the drunk frat boys and gastropub waitresses with headshots are all done with Backstreet Boys and Alicia Keys and locate the slightly older Asian businessman standing patiently in line for his turn, his face warmly rouged on Crown or Japanese lager, and when he steps up and starts slaying “Country Roads,” try not to laugh, or wink knowingly or clap a little too hard, because by the time he gets to “West Virginia, mountain mama,” you’re going to be singing along, and by the time he’s done, you might understand why a seventy-seven-year-old guy from a tiny island in the Taiwan Strait who’s been in a foreign country for two-thirds of his life can nail a song, note perfect, about wanting to go home.

Intermezzo by Sally Rooney

Tutto by Walter Ford

A cheetah’s tail is juxtaposed against a backdrop of a canal in Venice
Detail from “Tutto fu ambito e tutto fu tentato”

Tutto is [Ford’s] first body of work to focus on a single individual: the eccentric Milanese heiress Luisa Casati (1881–1957). Depicting the exotic animals that she kept, Ford portrays her years in Venice shortly before World War I.

Known as La Marchesa, Casati was one of Europe’s wealthiest women and is legendary for her extravagant pursuit of aesthetic extremes and social recognition. Startled onlookers describe how she wore snakes as necklaces, walked with a pair of cheetahs in Venice’s piazzas, and attended an opera clad in a headdress of peacock feathers that were stained with the blood of a freshly killed chicken.

Maybe Happy Ending

The show was plenty enjoyable with memorable tunes, but for me it fell a bit short of the lavish praise it’s been receiving. While watching I found myself repeatedly thinking about Kazuo Ishiguro’s Klara and the Sun and missing that novel’s more interesting explorations of similar topics. The show also slows down through its second half and overexplains its ending.

James (Marcus Choi) reads a book on stage before the show begins

The set design is Ring-esque both in terms of its playfulness and creativity and how it ultimately distracts and inserts itself as an unwanted character. It also results in the most punitive sightlines of any show I’ve seen. If you aren’t center orchestra or mezzanine, you will feel excluded from the show at times. The unnecessarily large proscenium frame and hard right angles of the rooms are the main culprits; I don’t understand why they didn’t cheat the angles outwards towards the wings.