= Subscribers only. Sign in here. Subscribe here.

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

1889 / October | View All Issues |

October 1889

Literary notes

1-3 PDF

Literary notes·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.


Literary notes

1-4 PDF

Literary notes·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Literary notes

3-4 PDF

Literary notes·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Poetry

650, 661-669 PDF

The noble patron·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Poetry

651 PDF

Discovery·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

652-660 PDF

Forests of the California Coast Range·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Poetry

660 PDF

All’s well at the earth·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

670-686 PDF

The fair of Nijnii-Novgorod·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Poetry

686-687 PDF

Hail, Twilight·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

687-693 PDF

Hierapolis and its white terrace·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Fiction

693-703 PDF

Butterneggs. A story of heredity·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

703-713 PDF

Recent progress in surgery·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Fiction

713-736 PDF

A little journey in the world (XIV-XVII)·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Fiction

736-745 PDF

With the eyes shut·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Fiction

745-760 PDF

Aunt Dorothy’s funeral·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Fiction

760-766 PDF

Captain Brooke’s prejudice·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

766-776 PDF

The building of the church of St.-Denis·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

776-785 PDF

A peculiar people·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Article

785-793 PDF

A corner of Scotland worth knowing·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

illustration

794 PDF

Untitled·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

795-796 PDF

Editor’s easy chair·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

795-800 PDF

Editor’s easy chair·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

796-797 PDF

Editor’s easy chair·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

797-799 PDF

Editor’s easy chair·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

799-800 PDF

Editor’s easy chair·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Collection, Editor’s easy chair

800 PDF

[untitled]·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

800 PDF

Sumac·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

800 PDF

Smoke·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s easy chair

800 PDF

Solidago gigantea·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s study

800-802 PDF

— (I)·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s study

800-805 PDF

Editor’s study·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s study

802 PDF

— (II)·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s study

803-804 PDF

— (III)·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s study

804-805 PDF

— (IV)·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Monthly record of current events

805-806 PDF

Monthly record of current events·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

806-807 PDF

Editor’s drawer·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

806-810 PDF

Editor’s drawer·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

807 PDF

From the diary of a physician·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Collection, Editor’s drawer

807 PDF

What Russians laugh at·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

807 PDF

Editor’s drawer·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

807 PDF

Editor’s drawer·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

807 PDF

Editor’s drawer·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

807 PDF

Editor’s drawer·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

808 PDF

Drowning fish·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

808 PDF

A Florentine garden·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

809 PDF

Extraordinary bulls·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

809 PDF

A suitable epitaph·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

809 PDF

An interesting impromptu·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Editor’s drawer

810 PDF

The old, old story·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Literary notes

3 PDF

Literary notes·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Literary notes

4 PDF

Literary notes·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Literary notes

4 PDF

Literary notes·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Get access to 169 years of
Harper’s for only $23.99

United States Canada

THE CURRENT ISSUE

December 2019

Gimme Shelter

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Body Language

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Trash, Rock, Destroy

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Make Way for Tomorrow

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

The Red Dot

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

view Table Content

FEATURED ON HARPERS.ORG

Article
Gimme Shelter·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

I.

That year, the year of the Ghost Ship fire, I lived in a shack. I’d found the place just as September’s Indian summer was giving way to a wet October. There was no plumbing or running water to wash my hands or brush my teeth before sleep. Electricity came from an extension cord that snaked through a yard of coyote mint and monkey flower and up into a hole I’d drilled in my floorboards. The structure was smaller than a cell at San Quentin—a tiny house or a huge coffin, depending on how you looked at it—four by eight and ten feet tall, so cramped it fit little but a mattress, my suit jackets and ties, a space heater, some novels, and the mason jar I peed in.

The exterior of my hermitage was washed the color of runny egg yolk. Two redwood French doors with plexiglass windows hung cockeyed from creaky hinges at the entrance, and a combination lock provided meager security against intruders. White beadboard capped the roof, its brim shading a front porch set on cinder blocks.

After living on the East Coast for eight years, I’d recently left New York City to take a job at an investigative reporting magazine in San Francisco. If it seems odd that I was a fully employed editor who lived in a thirty-two-square-foot shack, that’s precisely the point: my situation was evidence of how distorted the Bay Area housing market had become, the brutality inflicted upon the poor now trickling up to everyone but the super-rich. The problem was nationwide, although, as Californians tend to do, they’d taken this trend to an extreme. Across the state, a quarter of all apartment dwellers spent half of their incomes on rent. Nearly half of the country’s unsheltered homeless population lived in California, even while the state had the highest concentration of billionaires in the nation. In the Bay Area, including West Oakland, where my shack was located, the crisis was most acute. Tent cities had sprung up along the sidewalks, swarming with capitalism’s refugees. Telegraph, Mission, Market, Grant: every bridge and overpass had become someone’s roof.

Post
Perhaps the World Ends Here·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

Climate disaster at Wounded Knee

Article
Body Language·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

I am eight years old, sitting in my childhood kitchen, ready to watch one of the home videos my father has made. The videotape still exists somewhere, so somewhere she still is, that girl on the screen: hair that tangles, freckles across her nose that in time will spread across one side of her forehead. A body that can throw a baseball the way her father has shown her. A body in which bones and hormones lie in wait, ready to bloom into the wide hips her mother has given her. A body that has scars: the scars over her lungs and heart from the scalpel that saved her when she was a baby, the invisible scars left by a man who touched her when she was young. A body is a record or a body is freedom or a body is a battleground. Already, at eight, she knows it to be all three.

But somebody has slipped. The school is putting on the musical South Pacific, and there are not enough roles for the girls, and she is as tall as or taller than the boys, and so they have done what is unthinkable in this striving 1980s town, in this place where the men do the driving and the women make their mouths into perfect Os to apply lipstick in the rearview. For the musical, they have made her a boy.

No, she thinks. They have allowed her to be a boy.

Article
Trash, Rock, Destroy·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

The writer and filmmaker Virginie Despentes lives in a nondescript modern building in the Belleville neighborhood of Paris. I know it well: it has a Bricorama—like a French Home Depot—on the ground floor, where we sometimes had cause to shop back when we lived in the neighborhood. The people who work there seemed to hate their jobs more than most; they were often absent from the sales floor. In the elevator to Despentes’s apartment, I marvel that while I was trying to get someone to help me find bathroom grout she was right upstairs, with her partner, Tania, a Spanish tattoo artist who goes by the name La Rata, like someone out of one of Despentes’s novels.

In an email before our meeting, Despentes asked that we not do a photo shoot. “There are so many images available already,” she explained. Much had been written about her, too. A Google search yielded page after page: profiles, interviews, reviews, bits and bobs—she read from Pasolini at a concert with Béatrice Dalle; someone accused her of plagiarizing a translation; a teacher in Switzerland was fired for teaching her work. The week I met her, she appeared in the culture magazine Les Inrockuptibles in conversation with the rapper-turned-actor JoeyStarr. The woman is simply always in the news.

Article
The Red Dot·

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

That night at the window, looking out at the street full of snow, big flakes falling through the streetlight, I listened to what Anna was saying. She was speaking of a man named Karl. We both knew him as a casual acquaintance—thin and lanky like Ichabod Crane, with long hair—operating a restaurant down in the village whimsically called the Gist Mill, with wood paneling, a large painting of an old gristmill on a river on one wall, tin ceilings, and a row of teller cages from its previous life as a bank. Karl used to run along the river, starting at his apartment in town and turning back about two miles down the path. He had been going through the divorce—this was a couple of years ago, of course, Anna said—and was trying to run through his pain.

Cost of renting a giant panda from the Chinese government, per day:

$1,500

A recent earthquake in Chile was found to have shifted the city of Concepción ten feet to the west, shortened Earth’s days by 1.26 microseconds, and shifted the planet’s axis by nearly three inches.

An eight-foot minke whale washed ashore on the Thames, the third beaching of a dead whale on the river in two months.

Subscribe to the Weekly Review newsletter. Don’t worry, we won’t sell your email address!

HARPER’S FINEST

Jesus Plus Nothing

= Subscribers only.
Sign in here.
Subscribe here.

By

At Ivanwald, men learn to be leaders by loving their leaders. “They’re so busy loving us,” a brother once explained to me, “but who’s loving them?” We were. The brothers each paid $400 per month for room and board, but we were also the caretakers of The Cedars, cleaning its gutters, mowing its lawns, whacking weeds and blowing leaves and sanding. And we were called to serve on Tuesday mornings, when The Cedars hosted a regular prayer breakfast typically presided over by Ed Meese, the former attorney general. Each week the breakfast brought together a rotating group of ambassadors, businessmen, and American politicians. Three of Ivanwald’s brothers also attended, wearing crisp shirts starched just for the occasion; one would sit at the table while the other two poured coffee. 

Subscribe Today