Barnum's Law, by Andy Turnbul

If it were not tragic it would be amusing to compare the drug problem in United States, where tens of thousands of the policemen and civil servants owe their jobs to the drug trade, with The Netherlands, where marijuana is tolerated.
A pamphlet published in 2002 by the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs compares figures from the United States National Household Survey of 1997 with a study of drug use in Holland.

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“Opening a Window and Cracking an Egg”, Contemporary Women Literature: Questions of self, sexuality and cultural identity

Contemporary women literature is so vast and eclectic that it would be difficult to put it all down in one article. There has been, and the tribe is ever-increasing, a plethora of women from the Indian subcontinent writing today. Strangely, many of them are settled outside India, and yet, they can speak of the Indian experience as if they had never gone. It may be a case of outsiders looking in, or it may be a case of insiders looking deeper in, but the contemporary Indian woman writer speaks her heart out.

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Herstory and Algeria’s Zina: A Dual-Reading of Assia Djebar’s: Women of Algiers in their Apartment, by Alexandra Nargiz Jérôme

In her novel Women of Algiers in their Apartment, Assia Djebar takes the first steps towards reconciling the effects of the postcolonial world with the history of women’s participation in the struggle for Algerian independence. As Clarisse Zimra notes in the afterword of the most recent translation of the novel, “(Djebar’s) entire corpus grapples with issues attending the passage from colonial to postcolonial culture: the definition of a national literature, the debate over cultural authenticity, the problematic question of language, and the textual inscription of a female subject within the patriarchal background.

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Eulogy for a Myth, by Mary Pomfret

There a place in the artist’s heart where all things are bearable, no matter how terrible, where experience is sifted through, consecrated, hallowed and transformed into something we call art.
The soft purring of the telephone woke Rose from a deep, middle-of-the-night sleep. It was her sister Sophia with the news. ‘Five minutes ago. The nurse has turned everything off. He’s gone…at last.’

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