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The Guardian’s review of Jay McInerney's See You on the Other Side argues that the book serves as a clumsy, overly verbose finale to a series that began with the iconic Bright Lights, Big City, failing to capture the emotional nuance of its earlier installments. Key Developments The novel opens in early 2020, placing the original protagonists, Corrine and Russell, now in their 60s, amid the COVID‑19 pandemic, racial‑justice protests, and a contentious U.S. election. Plot threads follow Russell (a fiction editor), Corrine, their daughter Storey (an aspiring chef), and Storey’s biracial boyfriend Mingus. Recurring themes include ageing, erectile dysfunction, marital strain, and the anxieties of their adult children’s careers. McInerney intersperses extensive descriptions of food, wine, and New York real‑estate, often sounding like magazine copy. Dialogue and prose are criticized for redundancy and cliché, with repeated phrases that assume reader inattention. Data & Market Impact Published by Bloomsbury at £20; no sales figures were disclosed at the time of review. The book concludes a tetralogy that began over four decades ago, potentially influencing back‑list sales of the earlier titles. Why This Matters Long‑time fans of McInerney’s New York chronicles receive a conclusion that may reshape their perception of the series’ legacy. The novel’s focus on pandemic‑era concerns reflects how contemporary fiction is grappling with recent history, offering a cultural snapshot for readers. Publishers can gauge market appetite for sequels that revisit aging characters, informing future decisions about long‑running literary franchises. Expert Insight The reviewer highlights a fundamental shift from the lyrical precision that earned McInerney early comparisons to F. Scott Fitzgerald toward a more commercial, surface‑level narration. While his insider knowledge of New York’s culinary and real‑estate scenes remains sharp, the novel’s emotional core feels under‑developed, suggesting the author prioritized setting over character psychology. The repetitive prose and reliance on magazine‑style descriptions may indicate a strategic pivot to appeal to a broader, less literary audience, but it risks alienating readers who valued the original’s incisive social critique. What Happens Next With the tetralogy closed, McInerney may either retreat from fiction or explore new settings beyond New York, potentially resetting his brand. Readers and critics will likely compare sales and reception of this finale to the earlier novels, influencing whether publishers green‑light similar long‑term series. The novel’s pandemic backdrop could inspire other authors to revisit 2020 as a narrative device, shaping the next wave of contemporary American fiction.

Heart Wall opens to the sound of a bustling karaoke session, with audience members belting out Friday‑night pub anthems before the drama even begins. The musical backdrop becomes the thread that ties together a family still haunted by a tragedy from more than twenty years ago.The story follows Franky (Rowan Robinson), who returns to her north‑west hometown after building a life in London with a boyfriend and a new job. Her parents, Dez (Deka Walmsley) and Linda (Sophie Stanton), remain trapped in their own grief – Dez appears overwhelmed by guilt, while Linda searches for happiness elsewhere. The play centres on this unprocessed grief, but also hints at a mystery surrounding Franky’s sister and the strained marriage of her parents, threads that never fully resolve.Under director Katie Greenall, the production delivers moments of genuine emotional revelation, yet the pacing feels uneven. Scenes of intensity erupt abruptly, then dissolve just as quickly, leaving the narrative feeling rushed despite its dense storytelling. Supporting characters such as Charlene (Olivia Forrest) and the pub manager Valentine (Aaron Anthony) remain under‑developed, serving more as generic placeholders than fully realised figures.Visually, the play benefits from Hazel Low’s meticulous set design, which recreates a cosy, authentic pub that grounds the audience. The karaoke framing injects warmth and musical energy, offering a lively contrast to the heavy themes.Ultimately, Heart Wall attempts to tackle a big, aching emotional core within a tight, interval‑free two‑hour run, but it bites off more than it can chew. With additional runtime – perhaps more karaoke interludes – the drama could better honour the depth of its subject matter.For those interested, the play runs at the Bush Theatre, London until 16 May.

Angelina Jolie leads the new fashion‑driven drama Couture, bringing a rare level of personal honesty by confronting a storyline that mirrors her own double mastectomy performed to prevent breast cancer. While her performance is undeniably courageous, the film’s overall execution falls short of its ambitions.The plot follows Maxine, an American indie filmmaker (Jolie) who arrives in Paris to direct the opening short for a prestigious runway show. She discovers, through a compassionate doctor played by Vincent Lindon, that a recent biopsy confirms she has breast cancer, forcing her to consider postponing or abandoning her next project. Jolie conveys the shock and denial with subtlety, yet the script, penned by director Alice Winocour, often lapses into glib dialogue that undermines the emotional weight of the situation.Supporting characters include Ada, a fledgling South Sudanese model (Anyier Anei), makeup‑artist‑turned‑writer Angèle (Ella Rumpf), and the brooding first‑assistant director Anton (Louis Garrel). Their subplots—most notably Ada’s ankle injury that threatens the runway performance—remain underdeveloped, serving more as decorative set‑pieces than integral narrative threads.Visually, the film captures the glamour of Parisian haute couture with polished cinematography, yet this sheen accentuates the story’s lack of depth. The fashion world is presented with a “precious” aesthetic that feels specious, offering little insight beyond surface‑level allure.Despite these shortcomings, Jolie’s star power shines through. Her willingness to align a fictional role with a deeply personal health battle adds a layer of authenticity that the surrounding screenplay fails to sustain. ‘Couture’ will be available on digital platforms from 20 April, offering audiences a chance to appreciate Jolie’s performance even if the film’s broader ambitions remain unfulfilled.

At 19,000 miles above the lunar surface, the Artemis II astronauts heard the voice of Apollo‑13 commander Jim Lovell greeting them from beyond the grave, a message recorded shortly before his death at 97. Mission control transmitted the tribute on the morning of 6 April, when astronaut Reid Wiseman held a silk square bearing the original Apollo 8 patch—handed to him by Lovell’s son—before the crew’s launch. Launch director Charlie Blackwell‑Thompson secured a unanimous "go" from every console, a moment the author describes as a snapshot of humanity’s capacity to honor the past while reaching for the future. The ceremony stood in stark contrast to the Pentagon’s agenda. Two decades after a 2006 Iraqi kill‑board note reading “Let the bodies hit the floor,” the current defense chief pledged “death and destruction from the sky all day long” against Iran, a stance legal scholars warn could constitute a war crime. That rhetoric accompanies a proposed $1.5 trillion defense budget, including an additional $200 billion earmarked for operations against Iran—figures that dwarf NASA’s entire annual budget of $24.4 billion. Amid this fiscal disparity, crew members reflected on their place in history. Victor Glover, the first Black astronaut to travel deep space, described the view of Earth as an "oasis" in the void, while Christina Koch, the first woman to orbit the Moon, pressed her face to the window and formed a heart with her hands, calling the mission’s spirit "humility." Reid Wiseman watched the planet rotate beneath him, noting the sight of Africa, Europe, and the aurora‑lit north, saying it "paused all four of us in our tracks." Canadian astronaut Jeremy Hansen broke Jim Lovell’s 56‑year distance record and asked mission control to name a lunar feature after his late wife, Carroll. The crew agreed, designating a bright spot on the Moon as "Carroll," a tribute that will endure beyond any single lifetime. When Koch announced the spacecraft’s descent, she radioed, "We are now falling to the moon rather than rising away from Earth," a poetic reversal that underscored the mission’s symbolic return. The article recalls the author’s 2022 reflection on the James Webb Space Telescope, noting how humanity’s finest inventions now aim outward, seeking answers to our origins rather than turning inward toward conflict. Artemis II’s vessel, named Integrity, carried four breathing humans who, in a moment of collective grief, pressed their faces to the glass and imagined the faces of every loved one ever lived, captured in a single frame. Beyond the spacecraft, cultural threads wove through the mission: Hansen’s patch displayed the Seven Sacred Teachings of the Anishinaabe people, and the Chinese myth of Chang’e reminded viewers of the Moon’s timeless allure. As Carl Sagan famously wrote, "We are made of star‑stuff," the Artemis crew embodied that sentiment—not as passive observers, but as active participants in a fragile, hopeful narrative that rises above the relentless tally of bodies on Earth’s battlefields.

In the quiet town of Iseyin, about 200 km north‑west of Lagos, shaded courtyards and narrow lanes have become the beating heart of Nigeria’s iconic aso‑oke textile industry. Under makeshift sheds, weavers operate wooden looms that have remained largely unchanged for generations. Recent years have seen a surge in demand for the thick, multicoloured fabric, driven by the Nigerian diaspora and an expanding international appetite for African fashion. Yet the craftsmen and women of Iseyin staunchly oppose the introduction of machines, arguing that the hand‑woven process is essential to the cloth’s distinctive texture and cultural value. The craft now serves as an economic lifeline. Young Nigerians—including university graduates—are flocking to Iseyin to learn the trade, attracted by the promise of a steady income. One such convert, Waliu Fransisco, abandoned a career as a Lagos nightclub singer a decade ago to master the loom. At 34, he says, “I now earn a decent living from weaving aso‑oke and I’m satisfied.” Aso‑oke, literally meaning “cloth from the up‑country,” has become a staple in Nigeria’s fashion scene, appearing in ceremonial attire, contemporary streetwear, and even high‑profile outfits such as the wrapper and shawl worn by Meghan Markle during her 2024 visit to Nigeria with Prince Harry. Traditionally, the fabric was produced from locally sourced cotton or silk, with threads hand‑spun, dyed, and woven in limited colour palettes. Today, most weavers use loom‑ready yarns imported primarily from China, allowing for a broader spectrum of hues while preserving the labor‑intensive hand‑weaving technique. Each loom requires meticulous arrangement of narrow, tightly patterned strips that are later sewn together to form the wider cloth used for garments and accessories. “This is what Iseyin is known for,” says 35‑year‑old weaver Kareem Adeola, echoing the sentiment of a community that views the craft as a direct inheritance from its forebears. As global fashion houses and consumers continue to seek authentic African textiles, the artisans of Iseyin stand at the crossroads of tradition and market opportunity, proving that cultural heritage can thrive alongside modern demand.

Four months after Australia introduced its under‑16 social‑media ban, Sydney teenager Noah Jones says his online experience has been largely unchanged – he has not been removed from any platform.Jones recounts a brief hiccup on Instagram that he quickly resolved, and notes a friend who temporarily lost access to Snapchat but managed to circumvent it. "That’s pretty much my whole experience of the ban," he says.Despite his personal continuity, Jones is now a plaintiff in a High Court challenge mounted by the Digital Freedom Project, which argues the ban infringes the implied constitutional right to political communication.The eSafety Commissioner, Julie Inman‑Grant, recently disclosed that more than 5 million accounts have been deactivated since the policy’s rollout, yet over two‑thirds of teenagers remain active on the ten targeted platforms – Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok, YouTube, X, Twitch, Kick, Threads and Reddit. Young users are reportedly bypassing facial‑age estimation tools, especially when they are within two years of turning 16.Further eSafety findings reveal that 66 % of parents say platforms did not request age verification, and when ages of 14 or 15 were detected, platforms often prompted users to undergo facial‑recognition checks and simply adjust the displayed age rather than enforce deactivation.Communications Minister Anika Wells has urged the commissioner to "throw the book at" non‑compliant services, noting that fines could reach up to $49.5 million per breach in federal court. However, any penalties are likely to be considered only after the High Court decides the law’s validity.Wells also pledged new legislation imposing a digital duty of care on platforms, obliging them to take reasonable steps to prevent harm. The bill is slated for parliamentary debate later this year.The Digital Freedom Project, led by NSW Libertarian MP John Ruddick, contends that banning under‑16s from holding accounts effectively silences their participation in political discourse, as logged‑out viewing does not permit meaningful engagement.Legal scholars are divided. Prof. Sarah Joseph of Griffith University warns that an ineffective law could breach the implied freedom of political communication, while Monash University’s Prof. Luke Beck argues that the law’s purpose is to compel platforms to enforce age restrictions, not to achieve 100 % compliance.Beck points out that most legislation is not perfectly effective – citing murder laws and age‑restricted media – and that courts typically assess whether a law is a proportionate means to a legitimate aim.The government acknowledges that the age limit imposes a burden on political communication but maintains the measure is justified to mitigate risks from algorithmic recommendation systems, endless feeds, and other features that can amplify harm.Jones will turn 16 in August, at which point the ban would no longer apply to him. His mother, Renee Jones, says she faced online backlash for opposing the ban, with some critics even suggesting her children be taken away."It’s my right to choose how I raise my children in a digital world," she asserts, emphasizing strict household rules: no devices in bedrooms, phones locked at night, and shared passwords for parental oversight.Jones acknowledges the downsides of social media – bullying and explicit content – but stresses that his generation relies on these platforms for news and forming opinions, more so than traditional media.Both Jones and his mother argue the legislation was rushed and is failing to address the core concerns about harmful content, leaving many teens, like Noah, to navigate the digital landscape largely unchanged despite the ban.

The horror market has finally recognised women as a core audience, a shift reflected in the latest teen‑focused feature The Cure. Directed by Nancy Leopardi and penned by Jonathan Bernstein and James Greer (known for Unsane), the film blends gothic dread with a biting commentary on wealth and longevity. The story follows Ally Braun (Samantha Cochran), a lupus‑stricken teenager confined to a Malibu mansion owned by her billionaire parents, Jeff (David Dastmalchian) and Georgia (Ashley Greene). When the couple hosts a gathering for investors interested in a private island designed as an apocalypse refuge, Ally slips away to the beach and befriends a mysterious newcomer, Brooke (Sydney Taylor). Their uneasy friendship triggers a series of dark revelations that expose helicopter parenting, clandestine life‑extension research, and society’s obsession with youth and beauty. While the premise brims with clever ideas, the execution falters in its final act. Narrative threads are hurried, and the climax resolves with a brief burst of violence that feels more like a budget‑driven shortcut than a satisfying payoff. The film’s limited locations and dim lighting betray a modest production budget, even as it depicts extravagant wealth. Nevertheless, the youthful ensemble injects the story with genuine charisma. Their performances provide the film’s most compelling moments, keeping the audience engaged despite the structural shortcomings. The Cure becomes available on digital platforms from 13 April.

The article delves into the factors driving Donald Trump’s attention to Iran’s Kharg Island, a key oil‑export hub in the Persian Gulf. It outlines how the island’s strategic location could serve broader geopolitical calculations, potentially influencing regional power balances and U.S. leverage in Middle‑East negotiations. Economic considerations are also highlighted, with the island’s role in global oil shipments offering possible avenues for energy‑related leverage. Additionally, the analysis touches on domestic political narratives that Trump may be leveraging to reshape his foreign‑policy legacy. By connecting these threads, the report seeks to clarify why Kharg Island has re‑emerged as a focal point in Trump‑related discourse.

The Australian government has accused major tech firms, including Meta, TikTok, and Google, of failing to comply with a landmark ban on under-16s using social media. The ban, which came into effect last December, aims to protect children from the potential harms of social media.A survey of 900 Australian parents found that around a third (31%) said their children still had one or more social media accounts after the ban, compared to 49% before the laws. Specifically, the survey revealed that 70% of under-16s who had accounts on Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok before the ban maintained access.The eSafety Commission claimed that the technology being used by these companies, such as facial age estimation, was not effective enough. The commission alleged that the firms had lax guardrails which allowed teens to repeatedly attempt age verification until they were successful. 'None of this is impossible. None of this is even difficult for big tech who are innovative billion-dollar companies. What this update shows is unacceptable,' said Australia's communications minister, Anika Wells.The social media minimum age laws specify that Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Threads, TikTok, Twitch, X, YouTube, Kick, and Reddit are 'age-restricted platforms', banning under-16s from holding accounts and requiring those companies to take reasonable steps to prevent children from opening or holding accounts. The laws carry a maximum A$49.5m (US$33.9m, £25.7m) penalty.In response, Meta said it was committed to complying with the social media ban and working with eSafety and the government. The company highlighted the challenge of accurately determining age online, particularly at the age-16 boundary. 'The most effective, privacy-protective and consistent approach is to require robust age verification and parental approval at the app store and operating system level before a teen can download an app or create an account,' Meta stated.TikTok and Google were contacted for comment but did not respond by publication time. The government said in January that more than 4.7m social media accounts were deactivated, removed, or restricted in the first days after the ban came into effect.