By Maria Bregman We are taught to admire the lifeboat. In the grand narrative of human suffering, particularly the systematised horror of the Blitz, the…
By Maria Bregman There is a moment of sublime, tragicomic misdirection at the heart of Eshkol Nevo’s novel Honeymoons. A wealthy American Jew, grieving his late…
By Maria Bregman Not long ago, I found myself at a dinner party in Islington, seated between a gallerist despairing over her Hinge profile and…
By Maria Bregman There is a certain type of novel that accrues praise as a forest floor accrues moss: quietly, organically, and with an air…
By Maria Bregman To read R.F. Kuang’s Yellowface as a story about plagiarism is like reading The Great Gatsby as a cautionary tale about bad driving. It is a…
By Maria Bregman There is a persistent and dangerously sentimental belief that Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine is a book that makes you happy. It is packaged and…
By Maria Bregman, Writer and Film critic There are faces made for posters, for the reassuring geometry of heroism. Square jaws, noble brows, eyes that…
By Maria Bregman, writer and film critic The cinematic biopic is a treacherous art form. It carries the immense burden of wrestling a complex, often…
By Maria Bregman, writer and art-critic Creativitys.UK will tell you about the phantom of a bygone Paris, an adolescent wreathed in roses, whose melancholic gaze…
By Maria Bregman, writer and literary critic In the grand, vaulted chambers of literary history, few pronouncements are as chillingly definitive or as profoundly influential…