A black box inside one of the nation’s most notorious federal penitentiaries, Terre Haute’s D-Unit is entering a second decade—and third presidential administration. It’s home to some of the nation’s most high-profile and controversially confined inmates of the War on Terror. A majority of them are Muslim. With the specter of Islamophobia hanging over the nation, human rights activists who have fought the Kafkaesque study in isolation now wonder: Are things about to get a whole lot worse? Story by @adamwren (Adam Wren) for @IndyMonthly (Indianapolis Monthly).
I really love this long meditation on the meaning of roses that we just published on Hazlitt, by Sarah Nicole Prickett.
Banned from the United Kingdom and banished from Twitter, white nationalist wunderkind Matthew Heimbach rode his rhetoric to the middle of nowhere: Paoli, Indiana. From the confines of a fabled compound there, he hopes to establish what he calls a white ethnostate.
Story by Tony Rehagen (@trehagen) for Indianapolis Monthly (@indymonthly)
We have a fascinating piece by Alison Motluk up today, about children who discovered they were fathered by their mothers’ fertility doctors.
New longread from The Boston Globe: Two sisters, one house, and a mystery.
Sheryl Waldman lived a reclusive life with her sister, Lynda, in their family’s old home on Clinton Road in Brookline. Over the years she faded from view until she vanished, and no one seemed to notice — until one cold evening last December.
Money taints everything, why not writing too? Once its value is determined by the marketplace rather than the writer or the reader, our relationship to literature becomes estranged. From bloated celebrity advances to rejected masterpieces, the market is more than just a poor arbiter of lasting quality: it tends to obscure that quality behind purely economic motivations. Good writing, we’re told time and time again, is born from love, not avarice. But this romantic picture of the writer, toiling without regard to money, is itself a fiction—one whose roots stretch back several millennia, and whose effects we’re still dealing with today.
Writing is a job, yo. On New Republic.