
Rebecca Mead
Staff Writer at The New Yorker
Staff writer @NewYorker; author of HOME/LAND and MY LIFE IN MIDDLEMARCH
Articles
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1 month ago |
newyorker.com | Rebecca Mead
In today’s newsletter, Rebecca Mead with a deeply reported portrait of Jonathan Anderson, the creative director who just announced his departure from the luxury brand Loewe. And then, E. Tammy Kim looks at the DOGE cuts that could harm military servicemembers, in her latest installment of the Deep State Diaries.
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1 month ago |
businessandamerica.com | Rebecca Mead
Meeting him at the Prado made good sense, though. Anderson is a serious collector of ceramics and paintings, and he is also a patron of the arts: he inaugurated the now annual Loewe Craft Prize and is on the board of the Victoria & Albert Museum, in London.
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1 month ago |
newyorker.com | Rebecca Mead
In one of the grandest galleries of the Museo del Prado, in Madrid, two large canvases are displayed alongside each other—an “Adam and Eve” painted by Titian, around 1550, and another rendering of the subject by Peter Paul Rubens, made eight decades later. In both, a shaggy-haired Adam, seated on the left, extends an arm in a futile attempt to prevent an intoxicated-looking Eve from plucking a shiny apple from the Tree of Knowledge, in which a serpentlike creature lurks.
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1 month ago |
newyorker.com | Rebecca Mead
“Come on, we can own that it’s been vibey,” Garfield said. “It’s been vibey to the point where you’ve been avoiding me for two years, because the vibes were too much for you to handle,” Dimoldenberg shot back, in undermining-girl-boss mode. The ensuing ten-minute battle of wits had a screwball energy that Preston Sturges would have appreciated. “I’m not going to be who you want me to be in this moment,” Dimoldenberg offered.
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Dec 8, 2024 |
newyorker.com | Rebecca Mead
On Christmas Day in 1872, the atmosphere was restive among the forty female residents of a medical institution on the outskirts of St. Louis. The women were patients, not prisoners, so they wondered why they were obliged to spend the holiday as they would any other day: confined to their wards, knitting or chatting, without music or revelry of any kind.
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"A lyrical, often elegiac inquiry into the nature of place and identity"—thank you @jamesbpcook for this wonderful review of HOME/LAND

My review of @Rebeccamead_NYC 's excellent 'Home/Land' in this week's TLS @TheTLS https://t.co/OM45BSmNMe

Such a pleasure to take part in this conversation about home and wandering @AAKnopf @GrovePressUK

THE WANDERING BOOK COLLECTOR podcast welcomes @NewYorker writer @Rebeccamead_NYC on HOME/LAND: A Memoir of Departure and Return — shifting between #NewYork and #London https://t.co/Di7JnLnprD @AKTravel_UK @tumitravel @ultimatelibrary https://t.co/Gr0yQbspY9

Delighted it reached you, thank you so much for the kind words (here and on the dust jacket)