newyorker.com / Page 6

For nearly a year, a motley crew scoured New Orleans for a shaggy white mutt named Scrim.

In Tod Papageorge's photographs of L.A. beachgoers in the nineteen-seventies and eighties, he transforms formally challenging scrums into theatrical vignettes or semi-abstractions.

From the daily newsletter: Just how bad have these first few months of Trump's second term been?

The singer on his memoir, "Surrender," which deals with the early loss of his mother, finding religion in music, and navigating the Troubles while in a rock band from Dublin.

Ten years after his suicide, lessons from what Browder shared with The New Yorker about his time in solitary confinement.

A drawing that riffs on the latest news and happenings.

Nintendo princess rescued by Link: five letters.

Favorite spots in Paris, Los Angeles, London, Berkeley, and western Maine.

From the daily newsletter: "A victory, basically, for Combs."

Rarely have so many members of Congress voted for a measure they so actively disliked.