It is satisfying and terrifying seeing so much of Detroit outside Detroit these days. Detroiters on the small screen, the Comedy Central series about, well, Detroiters, coupled with Detroit, the much-debated Kathryn Bigelow flick meant to inspire conversation about police brutality through a 50-year-old lesson learned during our riots.
Tarot and Natural History in the Exurban Wilds By Matt Stansberry with Illustrations by David Wilson People have used Tarot [...]
No one book is going to explain what happened in the Midwest to help turn the last presidential election to Donald Trump. No stack of books is going to do it, fiction or nonfiction.
When I moved to Phoenix three years ago I expected to feel disconnected from my Midwestern roots. But it turned out a lot of Chicago had made its way here.
The cicadas have been winding down. Chitinous, black bodies crunch underfoot on my driveway every time I step out the front door.
Shortly after he graduated from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign in 1964, Roger Ebert left his native Urbana for a yearlong postgrad fellowship in Cape Town, South Africa.
At the end of the film The End of the Tour, journalist David Lipsky (played by Jesse Eisenberg) and novelist David Foster Wallace (played by Jason Segel) return to where they first met, in Wallace’s bland house in Bloomington, Illinois.
I became obsessed with wildflowers last spring. One April morning I had been slumped on my couch with my laptop, and suddenly panicked as if I was on a plane falling out of the sky.
Uh-oh, it finally happened. You’re caught in a debate -- most likely on Facebook -- about gentrification in Detroit. And everything was going just fine until someone called you -- you! -- a cause of gentrification.
Harvey & Me is written by Anne Elizabeth Moore and drawn by Melissa Mendes. This installment is titled "Goodbyes."
Clickbait is easy: just ask people to weigh in on stuff they have strong opinions about but will never agree on. Politics: clickbait gold. Red-carpet sartorial choices: those too.
It was the kind of morning I would never spend outside: 46-degrees Fahrenheit, rain running down the bare trees and pooling up on the muddy ground. Nothing looked alive.