newyorker.com / .newyorker-com-culture / Page 7

Andrew Tarlow is known for Brooklyn spots with low lighting, tattooed servers, and hunks of meat. Now, across the East River for the first time, he shifts the vibe toward stately elegance.

Damion Searls, who has translated a Nobel laureate, believes his craft isn't about transforming or reflecting a text. It's about conjuring one's experience of it.

This year, it was hard to feel good about humans. Moo Deng, Crumbs, and Pilaf kept us sane.

Maggie Shannon's black-and-white images of childbirth in the COVID era capture the awe-inspiring, quotidian experience of turning one person into two.

Jokes about spinach, laundry, politics, and "The Bear" proved popular among the scrollers and double-tappers this year.

Christopher Stoudt's film tells the story of a conductor leading the Inner City Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles and of the transformative power of music.

Also: A trio of new book bars, Mariah Carey rings in the season, an Avett Brothers musical on Broadway, and more.

RaMell Ross's first dramatic feature, an adaptation of Colson Whitehead's novel, gives the bearing of witness an arresting cinematic form.

The year's finest works suggest that the art of cinema is expanding.

Ned Blackhawk, who won the 2023 National Book Award for his groundbreaking reappraisal of U.S. history, discusses some of the best recent books about Native America.