The filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun envisioned a sci-fi TV series about a sinister video store. “Public Access Afterworld” is the ambitious 600-page result.

In the filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun’s first novel, a strange broadcast invites curious outsiders to an alternate world behind the screen.

© RJ

Russian forces struck a warehouse belonging to Ukrainian publishing house KSD in Kharkiv on 27 October, disrupting the publisher’s planned November releases. No employees were injured, but the company is still assessing the damage and losses.

The attack came on the Day of Ukrainian Writing and Language, a national holiday celebrating Ukraine’s language and literary heritage. It adds to a series of Russian strikes on Ukrainian publishing houses, printing facilities, and book warehouses that have destroyed millions of books and disrupted the country’s publishing industry.

KSD announced the strike on social media, saying it had planned to greet readers on the holiday and reveal its November releases but instead had to deal with the attack. The publisher said strikes in the area were continuing, preventing it from determining the full extent of the damage.

The company had planned to begin releasing its new books on 5 November. It has now postponed the announcements while it assesses the situation and determines how to proceed.

“We really want to show you the new releases we had prepared for November,” KSD said. “But for now, as we clarify the details, we cannot yet assess the scale of the destruction and understand how we will work going forward.”

The publisher said it would share updates as more information became available.

Russian forces struck a warehouse building in Kharkiv’s Slobidskyi District with a drone, as Moscow continues targeting civilian and industrial infrastructure across Ukraine.

Ukraine’s State Emergency Service pic.twitter.com/F6Ee7VybbI

— Euromaidan Press (@EuromaidanPress) October 27, 2026

Russia’s attacks devastate Ukraine’s book industry

KSD’s warehouse is the latest publishing facility affected by Russia’s campaign against Ukraine’s book industry. In July and August alone, Russian attacks destroyed around 13 million books, nearly a third of the number Ukrainian publishers printed in all of 2025, according to the Ukrainian publishing industry.

On 1 August, a Russian strike on a warehouse used by the Ranok publishing group in Kharkiv destroyed around 8 million books, including hundreds of thousands of school textbooks. A separate attack on a printing facility in July destroyed print runs and book materials belonging to numerous Ukrainian publishers.

In October, Russian strikes also damaged a Kyiv warehouse belonging to publisher Knyholav, destroying tens of thousands of books, including titles and reprints that had replaced stock lost in an earlier attack.

These strikes threaten more than publishers’ finances. Destroyed print runs and damaged warehouses delay new releases, deprive readers of Ukrainian-language books, and force publishers to spend scarce resources replacing titles instead of developing new ones.

KSD has not yet disclosed its losses or announced a revised release schedule for its November books.

The disruption to KSD's planned releases is the latest blow to Ukraine's book industry, which has endured repeated Russian strikes on printing facilities and warehouses since the start of the full-scale war.

The new book by the reporter Matthew Cole connects $2 billion in slush funds from gulf state leaders to Trump’s son-in-law in an effort to influence U.S. policy.

© From left: Maxim Shipenkov/Pool via Reuters; Kylie Cooper/Reuters

Six takeaways from a new memoir by Mr. Woodward, the star Washington Post reporter, including his disappointment with the newspaper’s billionaire owner.

© Caroline Gutman for The New York Times

As it turns out, dictation exercises are not just for schoolchildren. On Oct. 27, hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians — from diaspora communities abroad to service members on the front lines — will take part in an annual tradition: listening, writing, and testing their mastery of the Ukrainian language.

Organized

By Patrick LAWRENCE

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In her revelatory work The Cultural Cold War, the late British author was the first to shine so unblinking a light on the sprawl of the C.I.A.’s cultural interventions.

Frances Stonor Saunders was fond of epigraphs (as am I). At the front of The Cultural Cold War: The C.I.A. and the World of Arts and Letters (The New Press, 1999), the British journalist, documentarian and author quotes some lines from Dante’s Inferno, the last of which is, “Before my age was full, I went astray.”

I had not lived half my life when I succumbed to complacency and moral blindness: This is my reading of the line from Canto XV. And how fitting it is at the start of Saunders’ exhaustively researched account of how the Central Intelligence Agency, its tentacles reaching into every corner of American culture, did so much to lead our republic into what the Italian poet would call its selva oscura, its dark wood —the state of lostness America has never since escaped.

Frances Stonor Saunders died on the last day of August, having suffered from a virulent strain of brain cancer. She was a mere 60. We had a few acquaintances in common, but I never met her. It was nonetheless something like losing a friend when, just this past week, I heard of her death. And so this brief appreciation.

The Cultural Cold War made Stonor Saunders’ reputation. It took a prominent place on my shelf of Cold War books as soon as it was published. At last the curtain parted on the insidious use the C.I.A. made, or attempted to make, of painters, poets, playwrights, novelists, editors, jazz musicians, singers, dancers, actors, scholars and other cultural figures in its long-running operation to promote the appeal of American life as against the Soviet Union and altogether the postwar socialist alternative.

This was an immense “soft power” operation avant la lettre — before we had the term. One could also call it an early variant of the “cognitive warfare” to which we are now incessantly subjected, the primary object of which was to keep postwar Europe from swinging leftward, as the French, the Italians and others were poised to do.

From Saunders’s Introduction:

“Drawing on an extensive, highly influential network of intelligence personnel, political strategists, the corporate establishment, and the old school Ivy League universities, the incipient CIA started, from 1947, to build a ‘consortium’ whose double task was to inoculate the world against the contagion of Communism and to ease the passage of American foreign policy abroad. The result was a remarkably tight network of people who worked alongside the Agency… Whether they liked it or not, whether they knew it or not, there were few writers, poets, artists, historians, scientists, or critics in postwar Europe whose names were not in some way linked to this covert enterprise.”

Who Was Who & Who Stood Where

Jackson Pollock and others among the Abstract Expressionists, Leonard Bernstein and others among the American composers then prominent, Robert Lowell, James Baldwin, Mary McCarthy and other writers of their generation, Duke Ellington and other jazz stars — if they weren’t sent abroad on the C.I.A.’s nickel, their work was.

There were the hundreds of books the Agency took a role in promoting, It paid for translations of Eliot’s Four Quartets, Luigi Barzini’s The Italians, Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. It covertly supported magazines — Encounter and The Paris Review famous among them — along with radio stations and, of course, newspapers — and those who wrote and edited for them. As of 1956 the Agency owned a considerable piece of the Rome Daily American.

Saunders, who did years of interviewing and archival research for this book, lays out her findings over 427 well-written pages and was the first to shine so unblinking a light on the sprawl of the C.I.A.’s cultural interventions.

One of the things I like about Saunders’s book, among many, is her exposure of those artists and writers who knew of the Agency’s interventions and wanted nothing to do with them, those who knew and cooperated and those who served its purposes unwittingly.

Pollock had no idea of the use to which the Agency put his work, Baldwin wanted nothing to do with the Congress for Cultural Freedom (C.C.F.), infamous as a C.I.A. front. Ever true to her tough-minded politics, neither did Lillian Hellman.

Mary McCarthy knew all about the Agency’s funding of the C.C.F. and its other projects and was fine with all of it. I’ve never liked McCarthy’s novels, and Saunders gave me a good reason to distrust her. She was prominent among that group of Americans known as Cold War liberals, for whom I have long nursed an abiding contempt.

I wish Saunders had given more attention to the profligate corruptions of generations of American journalists and newspaper editors, but her definition of culture is narrower than mine; I speculate that journalism’s service to the Agency was a room so large she chose not to enter it.

The surrender of many American journalists to the Cold War cause is well-enough documented in any case. See, for example, Carl Bernstein’s celebrated “The C.I.A. and the Media,” which Rolling Stone published in October 1977, and the House hearings that Bernstein’s piece prompted a couple of months later — the Church Committee, whose hearings ran from January 1975 to April 1976, having flinched from this responsibility.

Chronicler of Secrecy

The who-was-who and the who-stood-where and the who-did-what of The Cultural Cold War give Saunders’s book an historical specificity I do not think anyone has matched, with the exception of Joel Whitney’s Finks (OR Books, 2016), which draws heavily on Saunders’s work. She did not leave those of whom she wrote any place to hide.

As I reflect back on her accomplishment now, it seems to me to lie in something she never mentions. Saunders gave us a chronicle of the U.S. culture of secrecy in its earliest days, the first decades after the 1945 victories, when America set about making itself a global imperium.

What comes through in The Cultural Cold War is how little those alive at the time were able to know about their time. Too many events, too many decisions, too many reasons for things happening as they did were hidden, rendered inaccessible.

The C.I.A.’s Cold War interventions have had many enduring consequences. The Agency systematically discredited the principle of nonalignment, which was held high among then-emergent non–Western nations. America brings the same with-us-or-against-us fallacy to the 11 members and 10 partners comprising the BRICS  — a complete failure to grasp one of the 21st century’s significant realities.

It is the same with the out-of-hand dismissal of all suggestions of moral equivalence in global affairs with those it deems adversaries: The United States is always righteous and never acts but in defense of itself or its always-democratic allies and/or clients. It is never to be accused of aggression. This is what I mean by moral blindness.

The Agency’s most disturbing legacy, at least to me, is how little of our world we are able actually to see. Daniel Patrick Monihan warned us of this just before the U.S. century turned in Secrecy: The American Experience (Yale, 1998). So, in her way, did Saunders a year later. Foolish it would be, naïve in the extreme, to think the time she described so piercingly is not the time in which we live.

It is the historians now who tell us who we are — this by telling us who we were.  This is why I honor Frances Stonor Saunders as I do. She told Americans of their past, and, so, of their present.

Original article:  consortiumnews.com

Professor Roger Watson reviews The Trials of Maurice Brophy, the new novel by Marcus Bland about a Cambridge academic whose life spirals after he finds himself summarily cancelled over his research on Wagner.

The post An Ode to Cancel Culture appeared first on The Daily Sceptic.

The Swedish Academy has awarded the Canadian poet, recognising her inventive writing and her engagement with ancient Greek literature.

Recommending notable stories from Caitlin Dickerson, Marci Wilding, Tiffany Huang, Nick Paumgarten, and Chabeli Carrazana.

“Taste is a new core skill,” OpenAI President Greg Brockman declared earlier this year—one voice in a growing chorus of pronouncements about the centrality of judgment and preference in an economy built on artificial intelligence. And yet taste itself is largely undefined by many of its loudest proponents. Celine Nguyen considers the historic relationship between automation and taste; the “seemingly irrelevant, unimportant” inputs that shape our critical perceptions; and the perils of wielding taste like a cudgel. A striking, insightful blend of criticism and personal essay.

Today’s frontier models are trained on enormous quantities of data. One takeaway from Anthropic’s 2025 settlement with a group of authors, in which the company agreed to pay $1.5 billion (or an estimated $3,000 per book) for scraping copyrighted books from shadow libraries like LibGen, is that its models have “read” at least 482,460 books. But even Claude Opus 4.8 hasn’t written a short story that I enjoy more than those by Lydia Davis or Jessi Jezewska Stevens — both of whom, despite being prodigiously well-read, have almost certainly read fewer books.