The Watergate affair and the cover-up that brought down Richard Nixon Nixon made enemies easily and then hated them for doing to him what he was doing to others. He couldn’t take criticism. His first instinct was to fight back, and he was always looking to get even. Though he had a sentimental side, he was a cold, humourless introvert who found it hard to get close to anyone and who nursed his grudges quietly but passionately. And he lacked confidence, especially in his sense of self. ‘Nixon must always be thinking about who he is,’ John Kennedy said in 1960. ‘That is a strain. I can be myself.’
A meditation on time and the pressure to use it productively
The letters of an American woman living in wartime Northern Ireland
An exploration of the complexities of identity and relationships
Darkly optimistic poems salvaged from the suburban humdrum
Poems of love and loss articulated in a spirit of quiet affirmation
Margaret Atwood’s astute, sparkling takes on social and literary matters Margaret Atwood’s priorities are clear and unassailable. If she doesn’t have an unwavering feminist agenda, she is nevertheless on the side of insubordinate women, from witches and termagants to go-getters in every field. She is more an appreciator than a critic – except where criticism is called for. She is scathing on the ‘back-to-the home’ time of the 1950s, for example, with women prescribed an unsatisfactory lifestyle founded on a husband, four children, a bungalow, a washing machine and ‘Total Fulfillment through having discarded your brain’.
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John Fleming writes: A sturdy melodic voice emanates from a man whose face and twisted body communicate some existential torture. Precise narrative lyrics work with enticing pop and charm, and then the voice explodes like a nail bomb. The singer projects bemused unease. A history of sneer and insight. Rich layers of observation piled on top of sociopolitics. Words and descriptions are crafted into cultural violence. His articulations between songs, his words and music, his sometimes brawling and sometimes subtle band-leader theatrics make their way towards twin targets of love and hate. Microdisney’s “Everybody is Dead”, a last song from a... Cathal Coughlan was a high benchmark for how to be Irish abroad. In an insecure Irish world where many raced to hide their thin facade behind the depth of cliché, he was nobly detached from the simplistic badge of national identity. While he still exuded its traits, he stayed aloof, an apparent globalist despising much about the quagmire that was the second-last decade of the twentieth century – despising Ireland, along with Britain and the US.