The modern traffic system is ecologically unsustainable, emotionally stressful, and poses a physical threat to individuals and communities alike. Traffic is not only an ecological and social problem but also a political one. Modern traffic reproduces the rule of the state and capital and is closely linked to class society. It is a problem of power. At its core lies the notion of "automobility," a contradictory ideal of free movement closely linked to a tight web of regulations and control mechanisms. This is the main thesis of the manifesto The Traffic Power Structure, penned by the Sweden-based activist network Planka.nu. Planka.nu was founded in 2001 to fight for free public transport. Thanks to creative direct action, witty public interventions, and thought-provoking statements, the network has become a leading voice in Scandinavian debates on traffic. In its manifesto, Planka.nu presents a critique of the automobile society, analyzes the connections between traffic, the environment, and class, and outlines its political vision. The topics explored along the way include Bruce Springsteen, high-speed trains, nuclear power, the security-industrial complex, happiness research, and volcano eruptions. Planka.nu rejects demands to travel ever-longer distances in order to satisfy our most basic needs while we lose all sense for proximity and community. The Traffic Power Structure argues for a different kind of traffic in a different kind of world. The book has received several awards in Sweden and has been hailed by Swedish media as a "manifesto of striking analytical depth, based on profound knowledge and a will to agitation that demands our respect" (Ny Tid).

There was an eighth son of an eighth son. He was, quite naturally, a wizard. And there it should have ended. However (for reasons we'd better not go into), he had seven sons. And then he had an eighth son... a wizard squared... a source of magic... a Sourcerer.

When a mudslide strands a train, Baxter, a queer Black sleeping car porter, must contend with the perils of white passengers, ghosts, and his secret love affair The Sleeping Car Porter brings to life an important part of Black history in North America, from the perspective of a queer man living in a culture that renders him invisible in two ways. Affecting, imaginative, and visceral enough that you’ll feel the rocking of the train, The Sleeping Car Porter is a stunning accomplishment. Baxter’s name isn’t George. But it’s 1929, and Baxter is lucky enough, as a Black man, to have a job as a sleeping car porter on a train that crisscrosses the country. So when the passengers call him George, he has to just smile and nod and act invisible. What he really wants is to go to dentistry school, but he’ll have to save up a lot of nickel and dime tips to get there, so he puts up with “George.” On this particular trip out west, the passengers are more unruly than usual, especially when the train is stalled for two extra days; their secrets start to leak out and blur with the sleep-deprivation hallucinations Baxter is having. When he finds a naughty postcard of two queer men, Baxter’s memories and longings are reawakened; keeping it puts his job in peril, but he can’t part with the postcard or his thoughts of Edwin Drew, Porter Instructor.

A rallying cry to save the Earth with an “anthropause”—a term that can apply to any broad rollback of economic activity that gives nature room to recover and flourish. “An iconoclast of the best kind, Stan Cox has an all-too-rare commitment to following arguments wherever they lead, however politically dangerous that turns out to be.” —Naomi Klein In the spring of 2020, people worldwide found themselves confined at home in response to pandemic lockdown orders. Global carbon emissions suddenly plunged 8.8 percent. Air and noise pollution levels plummeted, and streams, rivers, and lakes noticeably became cleaner. Animal life quickly filled spaces that humans had deserted. Scientists documenting how quickly nature flourished in response to less human activity called the phenomena an “anthropause.” For a moment, humanity witnessed the beauty of degrowth. In a world obsessed with getting and having more—more influence, more money, more fame, more stuff—the idea of degrowth seems counterintuitive. Yet, as environmental catastrophe becomes more widespread and severe, degrowth emerges as a necessary collective intervention to protect the living Earth—and civilization as we know it—from collapse. In Anthropause, Stan Cox writes that by embracing degrowth, we are not turning our backs on progress. Instead, we are redefining it. We can produce enough goods to satisfy everyone’s needs, Cox argues, while liberating ourselves from ecocidal economies and the injustices they impose. This book lays out a clear vision of what we will gain and how as we embrace this revolutionary transition. We are seeing climate change happening all around us—2024 was the hottest year on record. Storms are stronger, droughts are longer, and wildfires are everywhere. As we approach the tipping point toward irreversible climate catastrophe, it’s clear that we must accept that endless expansion is destructive and reverse it through degrowth. Anthropause shows us how we and the living world will flourish if we succeed.

The gripping courtroom drama of a Brooklyn-born Englishman who became the voice of Nazi Germany, by “one of the most brilliant and erudite journalists of the century” (The New York Times). In 1945, The New Yorker commissioned star reporter Rebecca West to cover the London trial of William Joyce, who stood accused by the British government of aiding the Third Reich. Captured by British forces in Germany, Joyce was alleged to have hosted a radio program, Germany Calling, devoted to Nazi propaganda and calls for a British surrender. The legal case against Joyce (known as “Lord Haw-Haw” for his supposedly posh accent) proved to be tenuous and full of uncertainties. Yet each new piece of evidence added to West’s timeless portrait of a social reject who turned to the far right, who rose through the ranks without ever being liked, and who sought validation through a set of shared hatreds—of elites, of communists, and especially of Jews. As a work of psychological suspense, Rebecca West’s Radio Treason anticipates Truman Capote, Janet Malcolm, and Joan Didion at their best. As a study in political extremism, as Katie Roiphe writes in her foreword, “It is as if Lord Haw-Haw has been transported from her time into ours.”

A rallying cry to save the Earth with an “anthropause”—a term that can apply to any broad rollback of economic activity that gives nature room to recover and flourish. “An iconoclast of the best kind, Stan Cox has an all-too-rare commitment to following arguments wherever they lead, however politically dangerous that turns out to be.” —Naomi Klein In the spring of 2020, people worldwide found themselves confined at home in response to pandemic lockdown orders. Global carbon emissions suddenly plunged 8.8 percent. Air and noise pollution levels plummeted, and streams, rivers, and lakes noticeably became cleaner. Animal life quickly filled spaces that humans had deserted. Scientists documenting how quickly nature flourished in response to less human activity called the phenomena an “anthropause.” For a moment, humanity witnessed the beauty of degrowth. In a world obsessed with getting and having more—more influence, more money, more fame, more stuff—the idea of degrowth seems counterintuitive. Yet, as environmental catastrophe becomes more widespread and severe, degrowth emerges as a necessary collective intervention to protect the living Earth—and civilization as we know it—from collapse. In Anthropause, Stan Cox writes that by embracing degrowth, we are not turning our backs on progress. Instead, we are redefining it. We can produce enough goods to satisfy everyone’s needs, Cox argues, while liberating ourselves from ecocidal economies and the injustices they impose. This book lays out a clear vision of what we will gain and how as we embrace this revolutionary transition. We are seeing climate change happening all around us—2024 was the hottest year on record. Storms are stronger, droughts are longer, and wildfires are everywhere. As we approach the tipping point toward irreversible climate catastrophe, it’s clear that we must accept that endless expansion is destructive and reverse it through degrowth. Anthropause shows us how we and the living world will flourish if we succeed.

Karl Marx (1818–1883) was living in exile in England when he embarked on an ambitious, multivolume critique of the capitalist system of production. Though only the first volume saw publication in Marx’s lifetime, it would become one of the most consequential books in history. This magnificent new edition of Capital is a translation of Marx for the twenty-first century. It is the first translation into English to be based on the last German edition revised by Marx himself, the only version that can be called authoritative, and it features extensive commentary and annotations by Paul North and Paul Reitter that draw on the latest scholarship and provide invaluable perspective on the book and its complicated legacy. At once precise and boldly readable, this translation captures the momentous scale and sweep of Marx’s thought while recovering the elegance and humor of the original source. For Marx, our global economic system is relentlessly driven by “value”—to produce it, capture it, trade it, and most of all, to increase it. Lifespans are shortened under the demand for ever-greater value. Days are lengthened, work is intensified, and the division of labor deepens until it leaves two classes, owners and workers, in constant struggle for life and livelihood. In Capital, Marx reveals how value came to tyrannize our world, and how the history of capital is a chronicle of bloodshed, colonization, and enslavement. With a foreword by Wendy Brown and an afterword by William Clare Roberts, this is a critical edition of Capital for our time, one that faithfully preserves the vitality and directness of Marx’s German prose and renders his ideas newly relevant to modern readers.

A pantheon of forgotten gods. An old grudge between a talk show host, an heiress, and the man they shattered along the way. A rapidly deteriorating AI system. An inconvenient tiara upon the head of a friend. It is bedlam on the eighth floor. As management reels from the unexpected conclusion of the seventh level, the surviving crawlers stumble onto the eighth and find themselves scattered. It’s a map based on Earth’s final days before the collapse, where ethereal, intangible ghosts of humanity go about their lives, oblivious of the impending doom. Living amongst these ghosts are monsters based in Earth lore. “Legendary” creatures tied to the geographical location they inhabit. Each team of crawlers is given a task: find and capture six of these beasts. The captured monsters will be turned into cards. Cards that can be summoned into battle again and again. The stronger, the deadlier, the better. At the end of the floor, the bad guys will also have decks, and they will have some of the most powerful cards available. So it’s crucial to assemble the toughest squad possible. But, like always, there is a catch. There’s always a catch. As Carl and Donut know all too well, just because someone is captured, it doesn’t mean they have been tamed. Her name is Shi Maria. She’s easily the most powerful monster in their area. If they want to survive, they must capture her. But she is no ordinary beast. She’s intelligent. She was once married to a god, a god who is now missing. Her special attack is known to drive one insane. They call her the Bedlam Bride. “Beware, beware. Beware the Eye of the Bedlam Bride”