One of the many pleasures of researching a history of New York’s Irish and Italians was encountering the revolutionary heroes from both homelands who occasionally crossed the city’s stage. Among the most memorable of the Irish visitors is the socialist James Connolly, who is being remembered this weekend as the centennial of the 1916 Easter Rising is marked.
—Catherine Ceniza Choy
While Women’s History Month encourages us to recognize the individual achievements of pioneering women in various fields, that recognition should not be an end in itself. It would, and should, take far more than a month to find, reclaim, and remember women’s histories that have not yet been canonized.
Should Donald Trump or Ted Cruz win the presidency, they are guaranteed to make life hell for millions of undocumented human beings living in and working extremely hard in this country, and their plans would fail dismally — but that failure would undoubtedly prove to be a horror all its own.
So much of the way I think about tragedy as a genre and political category comes from the work of Raymond Williams’s Modern Tragedy, in which the critic labors to show how flawed the elitist linguistic divide separating tragedy as a high art (the tragedy of Comparative Literature, English, and Classics curriculums) versus tragedy’s everyday use as signifying a grave event, a calamitous lost.