Those who have attacked women out of envy are often wretched men who have met women of greater intelligence and nobler ethic than they possess themselves, which pains them and makes them resentful. —Christine de Pizan, Le Livre de la Cité des Dames (The Book of the City of Ladies)
There is a charm to precision-based sports, to their immediate, definite, and relatively predictable outcomes, that one sometimes longs for at the writing desk. We could do with some adrenaline.
‘Her physical presence will not let us forget the time spent gathering the material to build, shape, and reconstruct her, nor the time that has passed since she was made, which yawns back into history even as she stands before us now, like the angel of history.’ —Namwali Serpell
Greater scope for criticism, I suppose? If the people are not kept in a state of anxiety and confusion, they may begin to criticise, perhaps even oppose, this onslaught of ‘artificial intelligence.’ It’s a lousy technique.
‘That afternoon, most of my friends were at the café. Seeing them again after forty days I felt not quite joy, not quite grief, but something suspended between the two.’
Raha Nik-Andish in Tehran, after the ceasefire, from the blog.
www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2026/ap...
Two pomegranates in a linen drawstring pouch against a black surface.
Muskmelon rind coiled up against a black surface.
Pomegranate and Muskmelon, February 2026.
Five poems from Outlook’s Anniversary Issue, published earlier this year as part of a section curated perceptively by Naveen Kishore.