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Meanwhile, back in Swenson's hometown of Rockford, Ill., another Charlotte, the plain teenage daughter of Swenson's childhood friend, drifts between an affair with a mysterious math teacher, an older man of shifting and suspect identity, and study sessions with her uncle, a history professor. The latter's vision of a post-industrial America infatuated with "a headlong forward motion that was inherently catastrophic" nudges him toward madness. The math teacher is eventually revealed to be a terrorist "sleeper" gone awol, an ominous visitor from an unnamed part of the world filled with "dust, rage, starved zealous faces, languages...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Myriad Faces Of Rage | 11/12/2001 | See Source »

...seems, however, that upon consideration, the latter won out: discrimination is their policy...

Author: By Richard T. Halvorson, CONTRIBUTING WRITER | Title: Free Association in School and Society | 11/8/2001 | See Source »

...impeccable journalistic form, we pursued this grounds-keeper further, demanding to know Larry Summers location and the number for a cab. The former, he revealed, was somewhere far, far away, and the latter, a mystery...

Author: By I. Ganguli, CONTRIBUTING WRITER | Title: The Ramblings of a Disappointed Trick or Treater | 11/8/2001 | See Source »

...three-star general (Robert Redford) is busted for exceeding his orders and getting some of his men killed. He's incarcerated in a tough Army jail commanded by a prissy hard-ass (James Gandolfini) who has never seen combat. The former organizes a revolt against the latter's sadism, wrapping his improbable efforts in the flag. Somehow, joining the prison riot is made to seem an act of high patriotism. Redford underacts, Gandolfini overacts, and this movie is directed with the same air of unreality, the same grim passion for cliches, both cinematic and emotional, that Lurie brought...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: The Last Castle | 10/29/2001 | See Source »

...popular media portrayal of Amos as a frivolous, hyper-feminine mystic with a proclivity for gleefully impenetrable sound bites had always made me suspicious: It smelled of media spin. As it turned out, the latter part of that stereotype wasn’t far from reality. Posed with the most straightforward of questions, Amos would deliver dreamy musings, rife with metaphor and personification of her songs...

Author: By Irin Carmon, CONTRIBUTING WRITER | Title: The True Confessions of a Toriphile | 10/26/2001 | See Source »

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