In a remarkably deft work of scholarship, Samuel Morris Brown offers a rich and compelling view of early Mormonism’s sacramental and theological emergence up to the death of Joseph Smith Jr. This book makes many…
I am a relative newcomer to the academic side of Mormon history. I never traded photocopies of photocopies of historical documents. I only know of the most scandalous shenanigans in the field through my reading of secondary treatments such as Turley’s Victims and my own limited sleuthing of such primary sources as issues of the Seventh East Press and federal court records. I did start researching in the old LDS Church Archives on the first floor of the Church Office Building in 2006 and I have sometimes been denied access to materials requested, but I personally only know a field of increasing access, openness, and—as evidenced by the Joseph Smith Papers Project—institutional support.
as extracted from a series of emails James Goldberg discovered in his junk folder I am—without question—an American. If I’ve ever doubted that, it was clear the moment I walked into the humidity and human…
Andrew Solomon has written about mental health, politics, and culture for the New York Times and the New Yorker and is the author of four books. The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression won the 2001 National Book Award for Nonfiction and was a finalist for the 2002 Pulitzer Prize. In his most recent book, Far from the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity, Solomon explores what it means to be a parent in the context of adversity. Dialogue board member Gregory A. Prince interviewed Solomon on March 28, 2011, in New York City.
To the young ravens which cry
Songs in the night,
Stormy wind fulfilling,
Saying, I have dreamed, I have dreamed
There are many myths mistaking the domestication of Hydrangeas,
not least: the degree to which color can be manipulated or controlled.
White Hydrangeas never can be pink, red can’t bloom in southern soils.
Leda, when Helen leapt
in your womb was it
like this? Ankles swollen
under the weight
Otis Redding and Ulysses knew something about sitting
at the edge of the world, trying to remember
the changing shades of the sea at home,
Dwarfed by other forms of life, the leaves fall
into this world without cadence that changes colors
each time it kisses something goodbye.
You said to wait but how I wanted to be free again
Find a way to get a taste of the fruit from off that tree again
The Day of Judgment hangs above my neck just like a flaming sword
Each night the angels say it’s time to enter my plea again