In the latest issue:

Real Men Go to Tehran

Adam Shatz

What Trump doesn’t know about Iran

Patrick Cockburn

Kaiser Karl V

Thomas Penn

The Hostile Environment

Catherine Hall

Social Mobilities

Adam Swift

Short Cuts: So much for England

Tariq Ali

What the jihadis left behind

Nelly Lahoud

C.J. Sansom

Malcolm Gaskill

At the British Museum: ‘Troy: Myth and Reality’

James Davidson

Poem: ‘The Lion Tree’

Jamie McKendrick


Jenny Turner

Boys in Motion

Nicholas Penny

‘Trick Mirror’

Lauren Oyler

Diary: What really happened in Yancheng?

Long Ling

Much of a ScrambleFrancesca Wade

Terms and Conditions

These terms and conditions of use refer to the London Review of Books and the London Review Bookshop website ( — hereafter ‘LRB Website’). These terms and conditions apply to all users of the LRB Website ("you"), including individual subscribers to the print edition of the LRB who wish to take advantage of our free 'subscriber only' access to archived material ("individual users") and users who are authorised to access the LRB Website by subscribing institutions ("institutional users").

Each time you use the LRB Website you signify your acceptance of these terms and conditions. If you do not agree, or are not comfortable with any part of this document, your only remedy is not to use the LRB Website.

  1. By registering for access to the LRB Website and/or entering the LRB Website by whatever route of access, you agree to be bound by the terms and conditions currently prevailing.
  2. The London Review of Books ("LRB") reserves the right to change these terms and conditions at any time and you should check for any alterations regularly. Continued usage of the LRB Website subsequent to a change in the terms and conditions constitutes acceptance of the current terms and conditions.
  3. The terms and conditions of any subscription agreements which educational and other institutions have entered into with the LRB apply in addition to these terms and conditions.
  4. You undertake to indemnify the LRB fully for all losses damages and costs incurred as a result of your breaching these terms and conditions.
  5. The information you supply on registration to the LRB Website shall be accurate and complete. You will notify the LRB promptly of any changes of relevant details by emailing the registrar. You will not assist a non-registered person to gain access to the LRB Website by supplying them with your password. In the event that the LRB considers that you have breached the requirements governing registration, that you are in breach of these terms and conditions or that your or your institution's subscription to the LRB lapses, your registration to the LRB Website will be terminated.
  6. Each individual subscriber to the LRB (whether a person or organisation) is entitled to the registration of one person to use the 'subscriber only' content on the web site. This user is an 'individual user'.
  7. The London Review of Books operates a ‘no questions asked’ cancellation policy in accordance with UK legislation. Please contact us to cancel your subscription and receive a full refund for the cost of all unposted issues.
  8. Use of the 'subscriber only' content on the LRB Website is strictly for the personal use of each individual user who may read the content on the screen, download, store or print single copies for their own personal private non-commercial use only, and is not to be made available to or used by any other person for any purpose.
  9. Each institution which subscribes to the LRB is entitled to grant access to persons to register on and use the 'subscriber only' content on the web site under the terms and conditions of its subscription agreement with the LRB. These users are 'institutional users'.
  10. Each institutional user of the LRB may access and search the LRB database and view its entire contents, and may also reproduce insubstantial extracts from individual articles or other works in the database to which their institution's subscription provides access, including in academic assignments and theses, online and/or in print. All quotations must be credited to the author and the LRB. Institutional users are not permitted to reproduce any entire article or other work, or to make any commercial use of any LRB material (including sale, licensing or publication) without the LRB's prior written permission. Institutions may notify institutional users of any additional or different conditions of use which they have agreed with the LRB.
  11. Users may use any one computer to access the LRB web site 'subscriber only' content at any time, so long as that connection does not allow any other computer, networked or otherwise connected, to access 'subscriber only' content.
  12. The LRB Website and its contents are protected by copyright and other intellectual property rights. You acknowledge that all intellectual property rights including copyright in the LRB Website and its contents belong to or have been licensed to the LRB or are otherwise used by the LRB as permitted by applicable law.
  13. All intellectual property rights in articles, reviews and essays originally published in the print edition of the LRB and subsequently included on the LRB Website belong to or have been licensed to the LRB. This material is made available to you for use as set out in paragraph 8 (if you are an individual user) or paragraph 10 (if you are an institutional user) only. Save for such permitted use, you may not download, store, disseminate, republish, post, reproduce, translate or adapt such material in whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the LRB. To obtain such permission and the terms and conditions applying, contact the Rights and Permissions department.
  14. All intellectual property rights in images on the LRB Website are owned by the LRB except where another copyright holder is specifically attributed or credited. Save for such material taken for permitted use set out above, you may not download, store, disseminate, republish, post, reproduce, translate or adapt LRB’s images in whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the LRB. To obtain such permission and the terms and conditions applying, contact the Rights and Permissions department. Where another copyright holder is specifically attributed or credited you may not download, store, disseminate, republish, reproduce or translate such images in whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the copyright holder. The LRB will not undertake to supply contact details of any attributed or credited copyright holder.
  15. The LRB Website is provided on an 'as is' basis and the LRB gives no warranty that the LRB Website will be accessible by any particular browser, operating system or device.
  16. The LRB makes no express or implied representation and gives no warranty of any kind in relation to any content available on the LRB Website including as to the accuracy or reliability of any information either in its articles, essays and reviews or in the letters printed in its letter page or material supplied by third parties. The LRB excludes to the fullest extent permitted by law all liability of any kind (including liability for any losses, damages or costs) arising from the publication of any materials on the LRB Website or incurred as a consequence of using or relying on such materials.
  17. The LRB excludes to the fullest extent permitted by law all liability of any kind (including liability for any losses, damages or costs) for any legal or other consequences (including infringement of third party rights) of any links made to the LRB Website.
  18. The LRB is not responsible for the content of any material you encounter after leaving the LRB Website site via a link in it or otherwise. The LRB gives no warranty as to the accuracy or reliability of any such material and to the fullest extent permitted by law excludes all liability that may arise in respect of or as a consequence of using or relying on such material.
  19. This site may be used only for lawful purposes and in a manner which does not infringe the rights of, or restrict the use and enjoyment of the site by, any third party. In the event of a chat room, message board, forum and/or news group being set up on the LRB Website, the LRB will not undertake to monitor any material supplied and will give no warranty as to its accuracy, reliability, originality or decency. By posting any material you agree that you are solely responsible for ensuring that it is accurate and not obscene, defamatory, plagiarised or in breach of copyright, confidentiality or any other right of any person, and you undertake to indemnify the LRB against all claims, losses, damages and costs incurred in consequence of your posting of such material. The LRB will reserve the right to remove any such material posted at any time and without notice or explanation. The LRB will reserve the right to disclose the provenance of such material, republish it in any form it deems fit or edit or censor it. The LRB will reserve the right to terminate the registration of any person it considers to abuse access to any chat room, message board, forum or news group provided by the LRB.
  20. Any e-mail services supplied via the LRB Website are subject to these terms and conditions.
  21. You will not knowingly transmit any virus, malware, trojan or other harmful matter to the LRB Website. The LRB gives no warranty that the LRB Website is free from contaminating matter, viruses or other malicious software and to the fullest extent permitted by law disclaims all liability of any kind including liability for any damages, losses or costs resulting from damage to your computer or other property arising from access to the LRB Website, use of it or downloading material from it.
  22. The LRB does not warrant that the use of the LRB Website will be uninterrupted, and disclaims all liability to the fullest extent permitted by law for any damages, losses or costs incurred as a result of access to the LRB Website being interrupted, modified or discontinued.
  23. The LRB Website contains advertisements and promotional links to websites and other resources operated by third parties. While we would never knowingly link to a site which we believed to be trading in bad faith, the LRB makes no express or implied representations or warranties of any kind in respect of any third party websites or resources or their contents, and we take no responsibility for the content, privacy practices, goods or services offered by these websites and resources. The LRB excludes to the fullest extent permitted by law all liability for any damages or losses arising from access to such websites and resources. Any transaction effected with such a third party contacted via the LRB Website are subject to the terms and conditions imposed by the third party involved and the LRB accepts no responsibility or liability resulting from such transactions.
  24. The LRB disclaims liability to the fullest extent permitted by law for any damages, losses or costs incurred for unauthorised access or alterations of transmissions or data by third parties as consequence of visit to the LRB Website.
  25. While 'subscriber only' content on the LRB Website is currently provided free to subscribers to the print edition of the LRB, the LRB reserves the right to impose a charge for access to some or all areas of the LRB Website without notice.
  26. These terms and conditions are governed by and will be interpreted in accordance with English law and any disputes relating to these terms and conditions will be subject to the non-exclusive jurisdiction of the courts of England and Wales.
  27. The various provisions of these terms and conditions are severable and if any provision is held to be invalid or unenforceable by any court of competent jurisdiction then such invalidity or unenforceability shall not affect the remaining provisions.
  28. If these terms and conditions are not accepted in full, use of the LRB Website must be terminated immediately.
A Working Woman: The Remarkable Life of Ray Strachey 
by Jennifer Holmes.
Troubador, 392 pp., £20, February 2019, 978 1 78901 654 3
Show More
Show More

Ray Strachey​ is remembered, if at all, for The Cause, her history of the women’s movement, published in 1928. But reading that book – which is dedicated to Strachey’s friend and mentor Millicent Garrett Fawcett – you wouldn’t know that its writer played a major role in the events described at the end, when an ‘almost religious fervour … sent young ladies to street corners to demand the vote’, and to pledge ‘their whole lives to the Cause’. In February 1918, when the vote was finally granted to property-owning women over the age of thirty, she was in the Ladies’ Gallery of the House of Commons as the votes were cast. As the House broke into applause at the bill’s passing, she hurried off to break the news to Fawcett, who was waiting at home by the fire in her dressing gown, and in her elation, drove her car straight into a police officer.

Ray Strachey (in the driver’s seat) with Millicent Garrett Fawcett, her daughter Philippa and sister Agnes on 2 July 1928.

Ray Strachey (in the driver’s seat) with Millicent Garrett Fawcett, her daughter Philippa and sister Agnes on 2 July 1928.

The Cause, though not a personal history, is as interesting for the people, events and decisions it leaves out as for those it includes. It emphasises the opening of schools and colleges, the campaign for fair working conditions and pay, the nuts and bolts of legal reform: things Strachey worked for. Throughout, her highest praise is reserved for those driven by a sense of duty, who often made personal sacrifices for the wider struggle; she writes approvingly of egalitarian marriages, such as that of John Stuart Mill and Harriet Taylor, but is less interested in – perhaps even a little suspicious of – women who were sexually free or who publicly challenged gender roles. She skates over the divisions in the movement, and rather than predict possible futures for feminism, brings her narrative to an end in the enlightened present, where women wear trousers and ride bicycles, play sport and cast votes.

The Cause reveals a great deal about Strachey’s preoccupations, and their roots in her life, which are carefully unpicked in Jennifer Holmes’s meticulous biography. In many ways, The Cause is Strachey’s tribute to preceding generations, a compendium of women whose lives guided her in steering a course away from her own mother’s demands. Strachey’s mother, Mary Whitall Smith, lived for emotional drama and the struggle, as she would later put it, for ‘self-development, real education, knowledge, enjoyment’. From a wealthy family of Philadelphia Quakers, Mary shocked her parents by marrying Frank Costelloe, an Irish Catholic barrister with political ambitions. Their daughter Rachel (almost immediately known as Ray) was born on 4 June 1887, and her sister, Karin, two years later. They moved to London, and lived in Westminster – closer to Millbank Prison than to Parliament – where Frank worked all hours for the fledgling London County Council while Mary stayed at home with the girls. Being a wife, mother and political helpmeet made Mary claustrophobic. She began an affair with the American art historian Bernard Berenson. Frank, eager to see the good in everyone, convinced himself that the relationship was Platonic, even when Mary insisted she needed to spend a year as Berenson’s pupil at I Tatti, his villa in Florence. She never returned. ‘Now that I have found studying of my own I really like to do,’ she wrote in a letter to the five-year-old Ray, ‘I do not want to give it up in order to stay with thee all the time.’

Ray rarely spoke of her feelings about her mother’s departure, or her father’s death in 1899, which left her and Karin in the care of their grandmother Hannah Whitall Smith, a well-known suffragist and temperance reformer (Mary’s parents had moved to England after she was married). Hannah believed in a feminism based on public service, not on personal emancipation. Mary made occasional visits, feeding the girls too much ice cream and letting them fall off their ponies. At school, Ray liked hockey and maths; tutored by Bertrand Russell (who was married to Mary’s sister, Alys), she won a place at Newnham College, Cambridge, in 1905. In a last-ditch attempt to convince her daughter of the pleasures of fashion and flirtation, Mary summoned Ray to Florence for the summer, at the same time as a carefully chosen eligible bachelor. But when Ray wrote a novel – The World at Eighteen – satirising the young man’s chauvinism, Mary admitted defeat. She taught Ray to smoke and drive, and secretly paid for the novel’s publication.

Ray arrived at Cambridge at a time when the suffrage movement was gaining strength. With her best friend, Ellie Rendel, Ray made posters instead of revising for her exams, and joined the ‘howling mob of hooligans’ on the Mud March of February 1907: three thousand women walked from Hyde Park Corner to Exeter Hall in the wind and rain, their skirts trailing in the muddy gutter. In the holidays, staying with Ellie’s grandmother in Surrey, they bicycled round villages, delivering impromptu lectures to passers-by, encountering ‘on the whole great friendliness, with just that spice of opposition which makes such deeds exciting’. They disarmed hecklers with jokes, learned to speak calmly and clearly, and dodged the occasional rotten egg or orange lobbed at their heads by schoolboys. In the summer of 1908, Ray and some friends travelled around the country in a horse-drawn caravan. They camped in fields, cooked outdoors and sold badges to publicise their speeches, delivered from the caravan. Once, they held a meeting on a lake, with the audience bobbing in boats. At the end of that summer, Ray wrote that the vote was ‘the only important thing in an otherwise trivial universe’.

Mary, anxious that her favourite daughter was spending too much time on the English roadside, persuaded Ray to spend a semester at Bryn Mawr in 1909. Ray agreed to go if she could study electrical engineering and if Ellie could accompany her. Once there, instead of staying put in Pennsylvania, Ray and Ellie joined Anna Howard Shaw, president of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, on a tour across the US, preaching the cause to university students. Idaho and Utah had voted for suffrage in 1896, and Ray was excited to see women voting in those states, but disappointed at the way the movement seemed to have stalled elsewhere. They returned to Britain before the general election of January 1910, and Ray worked 18-hour days collecting signatures at polling stations. In March, she was elected to the executive committee of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies. But her interest in politics was starting to wane. ‘Suffrage work is awful,’ she complained. ‘It takes so much effort and organisation for so little result.’ She soon resigned from the committee, and instead took engineering classes and wrote another novel, Marching On, based on Shaw’s life.

Ray​ met Oliver Strachey in 1909 through Ellie, whose mother was the eldest of his eight siblings. She fell in love with ‘the Strachey way of living’: she loved debating over dinner with Lytton, Pippa, Marjorie and Pernel, and appreciated the family’s unspoken commitment – which her own did not share – to leaving one another alone when deep in reading or writing. Oliver had just returned from several years in India, where he had been working for the railway; recently divorced, he had sole custody of his daughter, Julia. It seems to have been a source of relief rather than concern to Ray – despite her own childhood – that Julia was spending her early years shuttling between aunts, family friends and boarding schools. (Julia herself recalled feeling ‘deserted and betrayed’ by her parents and her stepmother.) Soon after she met Oliver, Ray told Virginia Woolf that she could ‘quite imagine falling in love with him’. After a month, she proposed to him on a walk ‘between the sewage station and the lunatic asylum at Littlemore’ in Oxford.

Alys Russell, whose husband had recently left her, warned Ray that marriage was ‘a terribly risky affair to embark upon’. But she and Oliver were determined to ‘make a success’ of it, and planned to live on Ray’s allowance from the Berensons and to collaborate on a history of British India. Ray told her mother that ‘the chance of working together, and of living the kind of life we both think congenial seems too tempting to be lost.’ With their income depending on the Berensons’ tempestuous relationship, Ray and Oliver veered between lavish spending and near bankruptcy. Julia told a friend they seemed ‘more like irresponsible, grown-up cousins’ than parents. After the birth of their daughter Barbara in 1912, Ray returned to suffrage work, tired of ‘rent, chimney sweepings, washing curtains, wages, repairs etc’.

This was a significant moment for the suffrage movement. The schism was deepening between the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, run by Fawcett, and the Pankhursts’ Women’s Social and Political Union, whose militant tactics were growing increasingly controversial: two weeks after Emily Wilding Davison stepped in front of the king’s horse at the Derby, Ray was ‘pelted with mud and things’ at a meeting in Greenwich, and had to take refuge in a shop under police protection. But the declaration of war in 1914 caused an even greater divide: on one side were those eager to support the war effort and on the other those who believed feminism was radically opposed to militarism. When Fawcett banned NUWSS constituent societies from sending delegates to the International Women’s Congress in The Hague because she thought it was overly pacifist, several members of the executive committee resigned. Ray supported Fawcett: ‘If I were a man I should enlist, Quaker or no,’ she said.

Ray was now Fawcett’s closest ally, and her organisational zeal powered the NUWSS. She spent the war working to place women in employment and ‘trying to see that they don’t ruin the whole labour market by taking low wages’; she supplied munitions workers to factories, organised training for engineering, welding and mechanical jobs, and continued to agitate for the vote as well as for the legal amendments that would result in the Sex Disqualification (Removal) Act of 1919. She accompanied Fawcett as she lobbied every member of the government, ‘parting from one cabinet minister at dinner time only to breakfast with another the next day’; she rang round suffrage societies trying at short notice to find a Welsh speaker who would flatter Lloyd George; she organised a fancy-dress march to Downing Street with representatives of all the suffrage groups (‘like trying to harness a pack of wild elephants – and wild elephants with years of private conflict behind them’). ‘If we get the vote now,’ Alys Russell wrote, ‘it will be entirely due to her, because even Mrs Fawcett can’t do much without Ray’s driving energy.’ She even found time, despite the birth of her son, Christopher, and periods of near constant bleeding and pain from uterine fibroids, to campaign for the removal of the iron grille from the Ladies’ Gallery of the Commons, allowing women a clear view when, on 6 February 1918, the Representation of the People Act was finally passed.

The general election of December 1918 was the first at which women were allowed to stand, and Ray was an obvious candidate. She insisted that ‘the time had come for women’s politics and real politics to amalgamate,’ but found it difficult to choose a party, disliking all of them. She eventually campaigned as an Independent, but was resoundingly defeated, losing her deposit. Two further attempts were also unsuccessful, thanks in part to the smear campaigns by her opponent in Brentford and Chiswick, the Conservative Walter Grant Morden. In 1922, Ray was forced to print makeshift posters proclaiming that ‘Mrs Oliver Strachey is not a Bolshevist, an Atheist, or a Communist, is not a Prohibitionist, in spite of what anyone may say, her husband was not a conscientious objector, and her children are not neglected.’ She was disappointed that the first woman to take a seat in the Commons was the Conservative Nancy Astor, whom she did not consider ‘a good specimen for the first woman MP’, though she admitted that ‘Christabel [Pankhurst] would be far worse.’ She offered to assist Astor: she would operate behind the scenes, without a salary, and allow Astor to take credit for speeches she had written and ideas she had developed. Astor accepted, and the two women worked together productively for decades.

What did​ Ray Strachey believe? ‘To have the power of working for a cause,’ she wrote later in life, ‘was a new and thrilling and satisfying experience for the female mind.’ Yet her enthusiasms tended to wane before her campaigns reached fulfilment: she seems to have got more pleasure from the process than from the results. Her dedication to the NUWSS was inextricable from her regard for Fawcett, while her work, after the war, for the League of Nations and for a new centrist political party appears to have been driven by her infatuation with Lord Robert Cecil (Holmes doesn’t make entirely clear whether this was romantic). ‘I do not approve of extremes in politics,’ she wrote. ‘I distrust Revolution on the one hand and Reaction on the other, and I believe we ought to pursue a middle course.’ She was always more interested in backroom administration than in the high drama of the debating chamber, in persuasion rather than the ‘emotional, unscrupulous, unwise and dangerous’ attitudes of hunger strikers and arsonists, whose determination to coerce she denounced as ‘moral violence’.

Her inner life is mysterious: she kept a diary on and off, but withheld secrets there too. In her novel Shaken by the Wind (1927), set in rural 19th-century America, a new bride is attracted to a celibate cult: ‘To be done with all this human emotion, to have only God to think of, must be so restful, so pure!’ Oliver – who found his métier in wartime intelligence – was ‘not naturally monogamous’, as Holmes puts it. His long affair with Inez Ferguson, the NUWSS secretary, made Ray briefly the subject of Bloomsbury gossip; Woolf noted in her diary that Ray had become ‘floppy, fat, untidy, clumsy and making fewer concessions than ever to brilliancy, charm, politeness, wit, art, manners, literature and so forth’. Though her sister, Karin, had married Woolf’s brother Adrian, Ray thought the Bloomsbury set ‘a queer self-absorbed fantastic set of people’; she didn’t enjoy their parties as Oliver did, preferring to sit at home like ‘an old fat spider’. In the spring of 1920 she bought land at Fernhurst in West Sussex and began building a house, designing it as well as laying bricks herself. Mary paid for a swimming pool, which Ray let her neighbours use once a week, though she locked herself in the bathroom if they knocked on her door. Her success in this led to one of the most disastrous decisions of her life: to set up as a building contractor. In partnership with Ralph, Oliver’s brother, she took on several projects, working out plans without factoring in bad weather and hard soil. She financed the business by selling stocks, since Berenson prudently refused to invest in her scheme; when it failed, she was left in serious debt.

Ray and Oliver continued to live together in London, spending their evenings separately then convening at midnight for a game of chess. But the marriage doesn’t seem to have been particularly intimate, and Holmes’s focus on Oliver sidelines Ray’s other relationships. When she got engaged, Ellie had been distraught and went for a rest cure in the country; after this she vanishes almost entirely from Holmes’s narrative (she turns up later as a family doctor, treating Ray for ‘various leakages’). Once married, Ray’s closest confidante was her sister-in-law Pippa Strachey, with whom she worked for years in the London Society for Women’s Service. Pippa, she wrote, was ‘the one person in the world I feel free to talk openly with about my own feelings’; Holmes hints that Ray’s devotion to Pippa was ‘a source of emotional anguish’, but doesn’t elaborate. Accounts of women’s lives tend to give priority to marriage, but Ray – like many feminists of her generation – found her most intellectual and emotional fulfilment in her friendships and collaborations with women.

Ray said she had an ‘insatiable tendency to overwork’, and told her mother that her life resembled ‘that of a juggler who has to keep eight or nine balls in the air at once’. When the pressure became overwhelming, she would switch projects, or retreat into the past. In the 1930s she began work on a history of the slave trade. She met Liberian delegates in London, lent them money for travel to the League of Nations headquarters in Geneva, and later received a letter signed by several tribal chiefs asking her to be their queen. But the book stalled when she became involved in a scheme to set up day nurseries in Britain for the children of the unemployed. Instead, she wrote Careers and Openings for Women, an offshoot of her work for the Women’s Employment Federation, which she founded. The book discusses the value of qualifications, the efficacy of pension schemes and the conflict between work and home-making; in its call for women to value themselves highly and follow their ambitions, it is one of the most impassioned things she ever wrote. (The first Faber edition carried two advertisements for secretarial colleges.) She called on women to stand for election: otherwise ‘they will continue to be overworked and overdriven, and to attempt the impossible task of doing a double job for half a wage.’

She died in 1940, at 53, following an operation to remove a fibroid. Her mother had the last word. Nazi soldiers had requisitioned the lower floors of I Tatti, but allowed the bedridden Mary to remain in the attic. She spent her final months writing a biography of Ray, moulding her as she never could in life: ‘a near-saint’, as Holmes puts it, ‘who enjoyed a perfect marriage and an untroubled relationship of mutual devotion with her mother’. Woolf, more accurately, concluded that Ray’s life had been ‘much of a scramble and a fight’. She recalled Ray’s ‘competence’, her official air (‘documents, overalls, interviews’), her sitting hunched over endless games of Patience, her bitterness at Oliver. ‘She had a kind of representative quality, in her white coat & trousers; wall building, disappointed, courageous, without what? Imagination?’

Send Letters To:

The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN

Please include name, address, and a telephone number.

Read anywhere with the London Review of Books app, available now from the App Store for Apple devices, Google Play for Android devices and Amazon for your Kindle Fire.

Sign up to our newsletter

For highlights from the latest issue, our archive and the blog, as well as news, events and exclusive promotions.