In a climate-controlled conference room in Secaucus, New Jersey, G. Clothaire Rapaille is smoothly welcoming a handful of grateful corporate clients to his latest project. Rapaille has only recently become notorious. As the Jungian-archetype analyst of American business, his method of consumer research includes asking people to lie down on the floor on pillows and recall early childhood memories concerning consumer products. He convenes focus groups to unlock the codes of consumers' "cultural unconscious"--codes he says dictate their tastes and buying patterns--and then he hands the key to corporations, for a price. Rapaille has done menstruation in this way for Johnson & Johnson and barbecue sauce for Kraft.
When President Clinton stood this January in the Arizona sunshine at Grand Canyon Hopi Point and announced the designation of three new national monuments and the expansion of a fourth, he was confident that "the good Lord" must be smiling on him. "I know we're doing the right thing, because look at the day we've got," he crowed.
Well, Arizona Republicans weren't smiling--and they're still hoping to rain on Clinton's parade. Though the holdings involved in the new monuments were already federal land--and though the president acted squarely within the Antiquities Act of 1906--any measure restricting mining, logging, or road-building rights was bound to be a Republican no-no.
It was only a few days into the tense balloting for Labour candidate for the new position of Mayor of London in February. At the Town Hall in Ealing -- a sandstone castle in the midst of this mall-heavy West London neighborhood -- a small meeting had been booked in a basement room. Ken Livingstone, the insurgent candidate, was coming to speak.
Pat Barker may be the most important progressive novelist to reach full
artistic maturity in the past 10 years. The more famous she becomes, however, the
less frequently do critics acknowledge her as an ardently political writer. Border Crossing, her ninth novel--this one a crime thriller set in
contemporary, urban England--is likely to cement the misunderstanding that Barker
has become apolitical, a classic writer on "the human condition," or, worse, a
"safe" woman artist in middle age who turned to writing only after bearing her
two children, eventually found fame, and lately writes about families and