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...sort of paganish Pilgrim's Progress, taken through marshes of despondency, moments of ecstasy, and often-recurring seas, pools, and rivers in which the singer pauses to gaze at her own reflection. Landscapes and climates are, appropriately, elemental to her experiences. A dervishy, barrelling cut called "The Sky Lit Up" describes a night with a lover in which times seems to freeze despite great activity: "Thinking of nothing, and the shooting stars/And this world tonight is mine/A world to be remembered...
...This pope cares about ideas," says TIME religion correspondent David Van Biema. "He is an intellecutal along with being a mystic, and since postmodernism challenges the harmony between faith and reason, he feels compelled to engage with it." Don't expect him to bump any French metatheorists off Comp Lit reading lists, but rare is the pontiff who displays an awareness of the prevailing wisdom in college-coffee-bar philosophy...
After a break, in which she consumes her standard post-op refreshment--grape juice mixed with Fresca--Tuttle walks down a flight of stairs and into the dimly lit and nearly deserted waiting room. "I know you're exhausted," she tells a pale Kim Hunter. "He's doing fine. The new liver is in, and the old one is out. He's been stable the whole time. We have two more hookups to go." She hugs Kim, who tells the doctor, "I ain't leaving. Thank...
...People need to be smart about it," Perez said. "They can't just walk around by themselves at night in areas that aren't well-lit. Stuff like [this incident] happens anywhere. People just need to be really aware of their surroundings at night...
...illustrator in this century made a larger splash than Newell Convers Wyeth. His charged, brilliantly lit images for Treasure Island, Kidnapped and many others still ring with celebration of childhood's fantasies. In this meticulous, satisfying biography, Michaelis captures Wyeth and his times vividly: the artist's gale-force energy and the immense gravity of the family circle from which he and his children (among them America's patron saint of Yankee nostalgia, Andrew) never pulled free. Though a few notes of adulation are too sonorous, they bespeak the kind of bigheartedness that N.C. would have admired. Bully...