Dana Gioia

I. For years I’ve pondered a cultural and social paradox that diminishes the vitality and diversity of the American arts. This cultural conundrum also reveals the intellectual retreat and creative inertia of American religious life. Stated simply, the paradox is that, although Roman Catholicism . . . . Continue Reading »

“Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” I was already an old man when I was born. Small with a curved back, he dragged his leg when walking the streets of Copenhagen. “Little Kierkegaard,” they called him. Some meant it kindly. The more one suffers the more one . . . . Continue Reading »

Forget about the other six, says Pride. They’re only using you. Admittedly, Lust is a looker, but you can do better. And why do they keep bringing us to this cheesy dive? The food’s so bad that even Gluttony can’t finish his meal. Notice how Avarice keeps refilling his glass whenever . . . . Continue Reading »

Now you’d be three, I said to myself, seeing a child born the same summer as you. Now you’d be six, or seven, or ten. I watched you grow in foreign bodies. Leaping into a pool, all laughter, or frowning over a keyboard, but mostly just standing, taller each time. How splendid your most . . . . Continue Reading »