Like The New Yorker, I was born in 1925. Somewhat to my surprise, I decided to keep a journal of my hundredth year.
Like The New Yorker, I was born in 1925. Somewhat to my surprise, I decided to keep a journal of my hundredth year.
A civilian in Tehran chronicles a country trapped between bombardment and repression—too terrorized to move, let alone start an uprising.
What drew many people to the city was not luxury but, rather, stability and the feeling of remove from war. As Iran attacks the U.A.E., that sense of distance is…