Ann Wroe

Jan 22, 2025 | economist.com | Ann Wroe

Obituary | What lies behind curtainsAmerica’s strangest and most surreal film-maker died on January 16th, aged 78The first long, proper kiss David Lynch had with a girl took place in a ponderosa pine forest in America’s north-west. Pine needles, incredibly soft, covered the floor to a depth of about two feet. High treetops pierced the blue sky. The feel of the woods he knew as a boy stayed with him all his life: the smell of them, their dim lost interiors, the crispness of the air.

Nov 19, 2024 | economist.com | Ann Wroe

First observed by Galileo, this occurs twice every 29 yearsBy Ann Wroe, Obituaries editor, The Economist Even in the 21st century, odd astronomical events can be troubling. The eerie dimming of a lunar eclipse, or the strange, silent twilight of a solar one, can still send a shiver down the spine. Even when you know that the phenomenon is temporary and recurring, the vanishing of something familiar is still disconcerting. So it is with Saturn’s rings.

Nov 13, 2024 | unherd.com | Ann Wroe

Three or four years ago, I wrote a piece contemplating the end of cash. I wrote it as a mourner, lamenting how I would miss its heft, its solidity, its sheer physicality, in contrast to pinging and flicking invisible funds through the atmosphere. The other day, though, I realised my attitude had changed fundamentally. I am no longer a doughty champion of cash, but a digger of its grave. When the end of coins and notes was first spoken of, I defiantly bought two purses for coins.

Oct 16, 2024 | washingtonpost.com | Ann Wroe

From two decades of obituary-writing, I learned how to capture life — and how to live it. October 17, 2024 at 6:00 a.m. EDTAnn Wroe is the obituaries editor of the Economist, where she has written the weekly obituary for almost two decades. This op-ed is excerpted from her memoir, “Lifescapes.”Week by week, my job at the Economist requires me to capture a life in around 1,000 words. No more will fit on a page. I love this task.

Mar 7, 2024 | economist.com | Ann Wroe

Obituary | Age and magnificenceNo geriatric nonsense was going to hold her backHer hair was grey, turning steadily to white. So what? Whether in a bob, a bouffant or a pompadour, she liked it that way. Carl, her lovely husband, also liked it that way. Dyeing it was out of the question. Her skin was wrinkled, way beyond what any serum or powder could obscure. But what the heck? Wrinkles were a badge of courage. If God had kindly given her all those years, why hide it?