More than 30 years after the writer's death and 75 since the publication of The Good Earth, the saga of a farming family in pre-Communist China, Buck remains stranded between two worlds. In China she is admired but not read; in America, she is read but not admired. Mike Meyer writes about the author and her books

Colin Murphy enjoys Rough Magic's Irish take on The Taming of the Shrew

He wrote seven plays in nine months in 1994, and has spent the years since receiving awards and plaudits – but not writing. Now his first foray into film has won him an Oscar. Ailbhe Jordan profiles Martin McDonagh.

British novelist Sarah Waters made her name as the writer of bodice-ripping, lesbian blockbusters. But now she's done with decadence, and has turned her energies to writing a melancholy portrait of post-war London. She tells Fionola Meredith why

Last week, as every so often, I glimpsed in passing a couple of newspaper headlines about some survey or other telling us that we are becoming increasingly apathetic and ignorant about politics. Two-thirds of us, or something (I couldn't be bothered reading it), don't know the difference between the Oireachtas and the Government; a shocking number think politicians do a good job but haven't a clue what they actually do; nine out of ten voters under 30 don't know the name of the Ceann Comhairle – that sort of thing.

One of the key figures in conceptual art, Clodagh Emoe's new exhibition at the Temple Bar Gallery gives a heavy nod to the work of other artists while still remaining personal and original. By Billy Leahy

Word from his publishers is that Douglas Coupland's new book is called iPod A Novel. We know nothing more, but salute Coupland's dedication to the zeitgeist.

These are the moments I like the most. It has snowed in New York. Two feet of it over the course of the night. A path has been cleared on 82nd Street between Lexington and Third. The path is just wide enough for two able-bodied people to squeeze through. It's a canyon really, a small canyon along the footpath, snow piled high on either side. On the street – a quiet street at the best of times, if anything can be quiet in New York – the cars are buried under snow. The telegraph wires sag. The underside of the tree branches appear like brushstrokes on the air. Nothing moves.

Darina Allen has just returned from South West India, where she discovered Bibi Baskin running a beachside guesthouse in Kerala, and lots of superb food

Last year's Council of Europe decision to give Irish full language status is being downgraded. By Eoin Ó Murchú