Religious conversions do not, for the most part, make for good anecdotes. An exception can be found in Patricia Lockwood’s memoir Priestdaddy, which describes the author’s father Greg’s road to Damascus experience in a nuclear submarine off the coast of Norway, where he watched The Exorcist 72 times

One of the difficulties of talking about modernism is grasping that will-o’-the-wisp, the modern. How can cultural innovations be the latest thing when they’re always, by definition, becoming obsolete? In what sense is a set of century-old artistic experiments still modern?

According to the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), people prefer reading books about great thinkers rather than by the thinkers themselves because ‘like is attracted to like and the shallow, tasteless gossip of a contemporary pinhead is more agreeable and convenient to them than the thoughts of great minds’.

Rime Allaf takes the long view of Syria’s descent into hell. Her story begins with President Hafez al Assad, the architect of the socialist Baathist dictatorship that, from 1970 to 2000, immiserated and impoverished an entire nation before his son and successor Bashar utterly destroyed it.

A historian who spent more than a month in Gaza at the turn of the year says he saw “utterly convincing” evidence that Israel supported looters who attacked aid convoys during the conflict.

Suppose you are an aid worker, or a journalist, or a lawyer of some kind, whose work has left you with outstanding expertise in some far-flung demimonde. One day you get a message saying that David Cornwell – you might know him by the name John le Carré – is writing a book set in your part of the world. He needs an expert to help him get the fine detail right. Can he take you out for lunch? 

When Richard Ovenden of the Bodleian Library wrote to John le Carré asking if the writer would leave it his papers, he got more than he could ever have bargained for. Le Carré not only responded with enthusiasm, explaining that ‘Oxford was Smiley’s spiritual home, as it is mine’, but also sent along 85 boxes of neatly arranged papers and memorabilia.

I didn’t​ plan my first tattoo. A few weeks after my mother died, I was in Mexico City in a bar owned by a female mezcal maker with whom I was having an ill-advised fling. There were only a few people there, including the tattoo artist from the studio upstairs. He had his kit with him, and as the evening wore on, and the mezcal continued to flow, people began inking ‘Oaxaca’ on one another.

There are few, if any, forms of dwelling so thick with ideological, political and aesthetic baggage as the high-rise block. For the political right, the usual story, firmly set with the publication of Alice Coleman’s eviscerating book Utopia on Trial in 1985, is one of abject failure.

In October 2002, Biljana Plavšić, biologist and former president of Republika Srpska, made history. The “Iron Lady of the Balkans”, as Madeleine Albright called her, was judged by the international criminal tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) to be guilty of persecution – a crime against humanity. Plavšić became the first woman ever to be convicted by an international criminal tribunal.