Noah Berlatsky

Fifth Harmony is nobody's idea of a roots band.

Action movies don't usually bother much with romance. The trailer for The Transporter: Refueled certainly doesn't. The hero is cool — sexy women, plural, throw themselves at him, or at least stand near him and things blow up; there are fights and revenge and high production values. Romance is, at best, a secondary concern.

While Atwood's feminist dystopia remains our favorite nightmarish future, Marge Piercy's Woman On The Edge Of Time is far superior.

I am on my knees in 15-degree weather scrubbing poop from the sidewalk, and I have an epiphany of sorts—I do not want this dog.

David Ress' Aphexswift is genius precisely because it's so unlikely.

For once, central character Andrew's flaws are tied up in the fact that he is—wait for it—fundamentally decent.

Is the gender of the philosopher a marginal curiosity—or is it more central?

The acclaimed solo album of former Danity Kane member Dawn Richard raises questions about the very nature of "cred." Is pop antitethical to artistry?

"The look on Miley's face during Nicki Minaj's savage, expletive-laden rant says it all," Salon tweeted the day after the VMAs. Less than 140 characters, but still enough to link a black woman to a longstanding racial slur.

Their sexuality traps and destroys male innocence, as they grad hold, by the penis- the better to lead him to castration. Make no mistake that castration is greeted with fear, terror, and disgust—but also with glee. Women as super villains allow their characters to be super powerful; a force for evil is at least a force. In a media landscape where women are often rendered secondary, invisible, and passive, the femme fatale, in her icy violence, seizes female agency along with the phallus that she so efficiently cuts off.