newyorker.com / .newyorker-com-culture / Page 8

The 1997 album marked a crossroads for hip-hop, as the genre was being torn between elaborate mythmaking and a kind of true crime.

Reviews of notable new fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.

Ryan Murphy's adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis's metafictional thriller-slash-gay-awakening story is a "Glee"-ified version of its source material.

The works Lauren Collins drew on while writing her new book "They Stole a City."

This year's buzzy "A Violent Masterpiece" inverts the genre's traditional contrast between optimism and despair. Is a hopeful crime novel still a noir?

The kerfuffle over Christopher Nolan's fidelity to Homer's Odyssey reflects major questions in the history of cinema.

From the pop singer Gracie Abrams to the Gen Z rock band Geese, the internet levies the titles "nepo baby" and "industry plant" on artists they believe to be the carefully arranged product of corporate influence--regardless of the music's merit.

Anthony Fauci became a symbol of truth and integrity during the pandemic. In his diaries, he's mostly talking about how he "butt called" Barbra Streisand.

Inaction in action.

Jacqueline Harpman wrote her best-known works in the nineteen-nineties, but her fiction's elegiac loneliness seems to anticipate our own solitary, screen-bound era.