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More than a century ago, the Chinese paleontologist and archaeologist Pei Wenzhong found an unusual trove in the same cave near Beijing where he found the skulls of the early hominin Peking Man. Along with the remains of a 700,000-year-old Homo erectus, Wenzhong unearthed a collection of 20 quartz crystals, one of which was a "perfectly faceted, smoky quartz crystal," the researcher Juan Manuel García-Ruiz wrote in a 2018 paper. In 1931, Wenzhong brought the quartz back to Beijing. "After washing and displaying them, I invited my colleagues to observe them," Wenzhong wrote in an article. "One colleague seemed very angry after examining them, picked up a piece straight away, hit it hard on the other stone fragments, and exclaimed, 'These kinds of broken stones can be seen everywhere on the road!'" But later that fall, the French archaeologist Henri Breuil examined the crystals and agreed with Wenzhong: The crystals were not just stones, but artifacts collected by the early humans who lived in the cave. Since Wenzhong's discovery, archaeologists elsewhere in Asia, Africa, and Europe have excavated quartz crystals from sites occupied by early humans. It's clear that Homo erectus and Homo sapiens collected crystals that were too small to be tools. Rather, these early hominins were attracted to the stones for some other reason. García-Ruiz, who studies crystallography at the Donostia International Physics Center in San Sebastián, Spain, has hypothesized that crystals were an early catalyst of abstract thinking, symbolism, and consciousness in hominins. Such a hypothesis would seem impossible to empirically test, given the extinction of Homo erectus and other early humans. So García-Ruiz turned to our closest living relatives, chimpanzees, to see if they, too, experience what he's dubbed the "crystal allure." In a paper published today in Frontiers in Psychology, García-Ruiz and colleagues prove without a doubt that chimpanzees are drawn to crystals. The researchers offered crystals to nine chimpanzees living in two groups at a rehabilitation center in Spain. (The chimps, many of whom came from circuses, are all familiar with humans.) In one experiment, the researchers placed a clear quartz crystal and a voluptuous slab of sandstone, each larger than a human hand, on two pedestals. Via a feed from a video camera, the researchers observed the chimps approaching the pedestals, noting when the chimps interacted with either the crystal or the rock. In another experiment, the researchers offered the chimpanzees a scattering of stones and crystals in the grass to see which ones they picked up and examined.

The end of the 1970s seemed to be a moment of uncertainty for Don DeLillo, creatively speaking. The previous decade had seen him become a rather important American author, enough so that he had left his job producing advertising copy for Ogilvy & Mather. Writing was his only game now. Beginning with Americana and continuing through End Zone, Great Jones Street, Ratner’s Star, Players, and Running Dog, he had proven himself a shrewd, somber, grimly oracular chronicler of an uneasy period bookended by Nixon and Reagan, with Vietnam, Watergate, and other sundry grime in between. A true historical shit sandwich. DeLillo used things like college football, rock stars, aliens, and rumored Hitler sex movies as points of entry. As befitting a former ad man, DeLillo sold it, or rather sold a picture of the world munching blithely on various shit sandwiches in nice packaging. "For many of us, Don DeLillo has been the most interesting and talented of American post-modernist novelists (which is to say finally, I suppose, of current white man novelists…)," the late Fredric Jameson wrote in a review of The Names, (technically) DeLillo’s first book of the 1980s. A haunting meditation on language dressed up as an international murder mystery, it’s a solemn, ruminative book even by DeLillo’s standards, and the start of a significant shift in tone and scope. By the end of the decade, he would be in the midst of a three-book run—Libra, Mao II, and Underworld—that I and many others would argue is as formidable and ferocious a creative tear as any American writer has ever had. Together they comprise an epitaph for the American Century, and look knowingly at the decline that was already heavy on the horizon. The André Kertész photograph of the World Trade Center on the cover of Underworld, published in 1997, has somehow never seemed fully coincidental. Of course it is, but books this good encourage a certain amount of reverse-engineering in readers; there is the sense that DeLillo was working backward from answers that were available to him alone. But let’s back up. There’s still that pivot moment, and that (technically) from earlier. So: The guy from the Bronx has gone to Greece, ostensibly to work on The Names. He has documented the hollow anomie of the 1970s. He’s about to square up with some true heavyweights: language and history themselves. Things are starting to feel severe. In such a situation, any writer might find himself feeling constrained. Weighed down. In need of an outlet to be unserious.

Time for your weekly edition of the Defector Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. You can also read Drew over at SFGATE, and buy Drew’s books while you’re at it. Today, we're talking about romantic sandwiches, Todds, bad luck, choosing your own death, and more. Your letters: Doug:

Nikola Jokic had a rough time Monday night. The Nuggets rolled out a new starting lineup, one featuring Jonas Valanciunas as Jokic's front-court partner. Denver's opponent, the Utah Jazz, responded by sticking their own pasty big guy, Kyle Filipowski, onto Valanciunas, and leaving Jokic to be guarded by second-year man Elijah Harkless, who is on a two-way contract for a team trying very hard to lose basketball games. Harkless, generously listed at 6-foot-3, should be a light meal for Jokic; instead, Jokic spent most of his 36 minutes of floor time having what appeared to be a nervous breakdown. We cannot simply fly past the Valanciunas thing. Nuggets head coach David Adelman is drowning. Injuries have warped his rotation to hell—all four of his top forwards were unavailable Monday—and his bench is a disaster. They got nuked again Sunday by the reserves of the Minnesota Timberwolves, leaving Adelman determined to shuffle the putrid hand he's been dealt. "I have to find a unit that will actually do it, compete at a higher level," he said after Sunday's 117-108 loss, in which Denver's bench lineup turned a nine-point lead into a seven-point deficit in one calamitous second-quarter run. "To me, that was the game. We let struggles offensively, missed shots, turn into horrendous defense. I told them after the game that’s just inexcusable." Valanciunas was a large part of what went wrong Sunday, posting a 152 defensive rating and finishing minus-15 in less than 10 minutes of action. It's very funny to me that Adelman's solution, 30 hours later, was to remove Valanciunas from the bench unit not by packing him into a large box and shipping him to Kamchatka, but by ramming him into the starting lineup. It speaks to Utah's proficiency in the tanking arts that the Nuggets, who are one of four 38-win teams in the West and are only three games above the dreaded play-in, would try such a thing in a by-God regular-season contest.

There's always a song to sing, but first a silence must be created for the song to be born in. — Yoko Tawada, Paul Celan and the Trans-Tibetan Angel The best argument I can make for why I like reading fiction in translation is because it facilitates the psychedelic experience of encountering someone else's subjectivity twice over. The translator must act as a prismatic filter, faithfully attempting the impossible task of replicating someone else's experiences and ideas. To read in translation is to read two stories in harmony with each other: The one the author wants to tell and the one the translator has brought into your linguistic world.

Trae Young has spent his professional career working within the unenviable anonymity of Atlanta Hawks basketball, known mostly for a high usage rate that has not necessarily corresponded to team success. Young made the career mistake of helping his team make a conference final in Year Three and then doing nothing of note since, which along with the arrival of younger and more cost- and basketball-efficient teammates made a trade piece in Year Seven. Worse, he got traded to a team with a much worse past, present, and future than the Hawks—the Washington Wizards. Typically, this is just eight-figure exile, a way to earn your $48 million without the stress of competitive expectations before entering the free-agent market in hopes of a well-paying gig in the actual NBA. Young, though, has revealed himself to be an inspired strategic thinker during his Wizards stint despite that stint not having officially begun. He has not played a minute for the team since the trade because of a balky knee, but is expected to make his debut Thursday night at home against Utah, or as we know them, the Mountain Time Zone Washington Wizards. So how could Young make a splash in advance and churn a bit of local buzz for this most customer-resistible of the Tankin' Ten? Easy. Simply get thrown out of a game while still in his civilian clothes. Viral marketing has never been so whimsical.

It was a busy week for FBI Director and special little guy Kash Patel. On Sunday, he was slamming Michelob Ultras in Team USA's locker room. Midweek he was firing a dozen veteran agents in retaliation for their role investigating Donald Trump's mishandling of classified documents, agents who belong to a counter-espionage unit that focuses on Iran. Surely their expertise wouldn't be relevant any time soon. This weekend, Patel was back where he seems happiest: on the ice. Patel laced 'em up for the annual FBI vs. Secret Service hockey game, held at the Capitals' training facility in Arlington, Va., on Saturday. Patel played as a kid and still plays club hockey, but he was a little out of his league in this one, which featured real athletes and a handful of former college players. But like a Make-a-Wish kid, they found a way to include him: We're told they stuck him back on defense where his skating would be less of an issue. Sure, at 5-foot-4 or so, he's undersized as hell for a defenseman, but if there's a place in the sport for "Shrimp" Worters, there's room for everyone. A reader was at the game, and tells us that Patel ate it totally untouched while trying to change direction on a puck sent around the net. Cursing themselves for not capturing it on camera, the reader pulled out their phone and prayed Patel might eat it again. They didn't have to wait long:

From the man who brought you questionable journalistic focus on a player accused of rape, comes an outright #ad for Saudi Arabia. https://twitter.com/FabrizioRomano/status/2028818183923147039 That's soccer scoopster Fabrizio Romano, taking a break from many (many) betting app ads and a Super Mario commercial to read a two-minute ad for the King Salman Humanitarian Aid & Relief Centre, a Saudi Arabian government agency focused on, well, humanitarian relief worldwide. The ad is uncomfortable to watch, even without any context: Romano simply dives into the script with no preamble and just begins listing numbers and projects. It's uncanny to watch a soccer journalist kick off his exultation of a government agency by talking about land mines in Yemen and, later, about conjoined twins that the relief organization has helped separate. This whole thing is a disaster, though hearing Romano say "five hundred forty thousand mines" in the same tone that he might talk about a transfer fee has some form of perverse appeal. The only thing missing was his trademark "Here we go!" catchphrase.

In less than two weeks, a new season of the NWSL kicks off. If that causes you to do a double take—Didn’t Rose Lavelle just score the championship game-winner, like, last week?—you’re not alone. The championship match was followed immediately by a December full of the NWSL’s favorite pastime: controversy. In this case, it was a very public battle over the fate of Washington Spirit superstar Trinity Rodman. The free agent’s choice to remain with the Spirit, announced on Jan. 22, was no doubt the most followed storyline of the offseason and has enormous consequences for the league’s future roster-building and labor relations, but a player staying with her team doesn’t exactly shake up the league. Good thing general managers across the country were hard at work, wheeling and dealing to improve their clubs’ chances in the new season.  Below, I’ve chosen one newcomer to highlight for each team in the league. These are all players who I think can make a real difference for their new clubs. For expansion sides Boston Legacy and Denver Summit, I limited myself to choosing from players who will be playing in the NWSL for the first time. Allez! Angel City FC: Ary Borges

Daniil Medvedev experienced a series of unusual events this weekend. He had never won the same title twice, a distinguishing oddity of his career, but he finally did so Saturday when he recaptured the ATP 500 title in Dubai, which he last won in 2023, for his 23rd title overall. However, he won the final without playing a single point: His opponent Tallon Griekspoor withdrew before the match with a left hamstring injury suffered late in his semifinal. Even if the final had been played as planned, it probably wouldn't have enjoyed much of a live audience. There were projectiles overhead: Iran launched drone and missile strikes on the United Arab Emirates and other Gulf states, in retaliation for attacks on Tehran by the United States and Israel earlier that day. The conflict shut down Dubai International Airport, one of the world's busiest, meaning that players and staff in town for the tournament are still stuck there, and airspace was fully closed until Monday morning. The ATP said in a statement that it is "in direct communication with those affected" and "will continue to provide appropriate support to ensure players and their teams can depart safely when conditions allow." The official hotel of the tournament has accommodated stranded players, tour staff, and journalists. According to the Spanish outlet Marca, the ATP offered two travel options to players looking to leave Dubai and access air travel: a six-hour drive to Oman or a 10-hour drive to Saudi Arabia. (Neither option was selected by any players, and I can't blame them.) Marca also reported that the ATP's chief of security recommended staying in the tournament hotel, which has had beds installed on the basement level in case attacks were to escalate. Some other luxury hotels in Dubai have been struck by debris from intercepted projectiles.