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Oliver Farry is an Irish writer, journalist and translator living in Paris.
For such a small country, there is far too great a divergence within it to attempt to define a quintessential Ireland.
Do you speak urbanism? The way we read and write in the language of cities has transformed.
Objects that feel lived in give us a comforting feeling of having come a long way, of having been through the years and having done some hard work to get there.
Perhaps the most pervasive source of self-censorship for writers is their relationships with the people around them.
Our desire for historical accuracy in films, TV programmes and books often tells us more about ourselves than it does about art.
It is strange that the full terror of the volcano has rarely been harnessed for narrative purposes – most films about eruptions end up as camp disaster flicks.
The golden generation that made Italy such a cinematic force in the mid-twentieth century may be long gone, but recent output suggests that Italian cinema is more vibrant than it has been in a long time.
In Paris, the first retrospective of Winogrand's photography for 25 years mines the huge collection of unpublished material in his archives to produce an unprecedented narrative of his career that plays out like a Hollywood biopic.
If anything, we are living in an age of unprecedented literacy – in the Western world, at least. The internet just makes our pre-existing mistakes far more visible.
You are inclined to think that polenta and gnocchi, blinis and burritos have always been with us. But they are not part of our collective conscience as they would be for the people who grew up eating them.