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Articles by Kent Russell
Sorcerer’s Apprentice
The wizard’s blog opened thusly: “I, the sole legitimate heir to the ancient magical traditions of King Solomon the Wise, propose to demonstrate his powerful art in its true and proper form so that it will not pass from history unknown.” In the starched prose style of a naturalist, the wizard detailed nearly two decades of spirit conjurations and regular interactions with ancient evil entities such as Paimon and Belial. He alone could do this, he swore.
American Juggalo
I’d been driving for seventeen hours, much of it on two-lane highways through Indiana and then southern Illinois. Red-green corn sidled closer to the road until it stooped over both shoulders. That early in the morning, a mist was tiding in the east. I figured I had to be close. A couple of times I turned off the state road to drive past family plots where the houses were white, right-angled ideals. On many of these plots were incongruous strips of grass—homespun cemeteries.
Fighting With Their Fists to Put a Period in a Basket
The wee baby Oscar is to be baptized this week. Such is why I’ve returned to the Bay Area: My nephew is to be marked with the water, marked as Catholic, indelibly—the tracking chip implanted, the guilt ineluctable, welcome to the fold, little homie, hair shirt to follow. The celebration is later this week, but I’m at my parents’ apartment now. There is playoff hockey on the flatscreen, fine and large.
Landscape of Treason
The 2017 election promises to be the most disruptive presidential contest in France in decades. For the first time since 1962, when the direct election of the president was introduced, there is a good chance that neither the Socialist Party (PS) nor the right-wing Republicans (LR, successor to Charles de Gaulle’s Union pour la nouvelle République) will advance a candidate to the second round.
Kent Russell | Authors | n+1
My father had been a lieutenant in the Navy. He captained the swift boat that would later become John Kerry’s. His job was to stand apart and instead of a weapon wield his men like materiel. He’s a small man, about five four, thickly built. He likes to joke that they only let him into Vietnam because he’d stuck lollipops under his shoes to seem taller. He rarely wears a shirt, and the sun has cured his skin poreless.
Enforcers | Issue 20 | n+1
It having become apparent to him that his was not the brightest of futures, Bob Probert punched out another boy’s upper bridge of teeth. He didn’t know what else to do. His junior-league teammates and opponents had caught up in terms of ability. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t the most talented guy on the ice. He still scored OK, and professional scouts still came to his games—only now they were watching the wispy underagers who toyed with the puck as though biding their time.
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