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The notion that the climate crisis can be resolved through voluntary action, rather than state intervention, is an illusion.
A selection of the best letters received from our readers this week. Email firstname.lastname@example.org to have your thoughts voiced in the New Statesman magazine.
Those former Labour supporters who backed the Conservatives aren’t in search of a new economic settlement – just a better-kept high street.
Heads are scratched, hands are wrung, technological fixes and buzzword-heavy solutions are offered.
To earn the trust of communities that once proudly returned Labour MPs means we need a leader who is proud to be from those communities.
What you leave out is as important as what you choose to include.
It is all about quality and original content.
Your weekly dose of gossip from around Westminster.
The UK may believe it can play the US and the EU off against each other. But it will soon collide with geopolitical reality.
The 83-year-old French writer has spent his career celebrating his sexual relations with minors. Now France is finally confronting its reverence of male genius.
The heightened fear reflects our evolving knowledge of life-threatening infectious diseases.
Can Boris Johnson’s Conservatives really hold on to former Labour voters in the party’s old heartlands?
To friends, I framed my upcoming solo trip to Japan as an elaborate success: a woman unexpectedly dumped, taking off on her own to climb up hills and meditate. Inside, I was terrified.
Once a backward country in the grip of a grim dictatorship, Portugal has become a hot spot for tech migrants, surfers, foodies and yoga gurus, with a popular socialist prime minister.
Andrew Murray, the committed communist and Corbyn adviser, on Labour’s defeat, reclaiming patriotism and the End of History.
For Cromwell, getting rid of Charles I was the easy bit. What came next was the problem.
From Elvis to Prince, the music stars who burnt out in the limelight.
A new poem by Zoë Hitzig.
Motherwell is a beautifully written – if frustrating – portrait of a quintessential Seventies working-class childhood.
Structured like a travelogue interspersed with epistolary fragments, Threshold is an autobiographical novel reminiscent of Ben Lerner.
Many jobs existing today will not vanish completely and new ones will be established, including those we have not yet imagined.
Coetzee’s trilogy of deadpan, present tense, fable-like fantasies, culminates in his extraordinary new novel The Death of Jesus.
Armando Iannucci’s adaptation finds joy, even if it loses some of the darkness of the novel.
The Netflix documentary knows cheerleading is brutal, even when it is tinged with magic.
And I’m old enough to remember the Krankies.
It might sound like a gimmick, but this is a powerfully valid approach to conversations about technology.
Sandwiches, apparently. As well as trends ranging from the vague (“sour”) to the very specific (pea milk), say “experts”.
People have spoken of only the royals, with interludes in which to snigger about Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina-scented candles.
My amusement at finding myself soundtracking such a happy day coincided with my becoming hooked on a podcast about unhappy couples.
Our commentators, too, act as if there is only one sodding United.
The musician talks Barack Obama, Twin Peaks and teleportation.
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