There are periods in history when culture seems to move with the force of weather—fronts of ideas rolling in, colliding, breaking apart, leaving behind new landscapes. The twentieth century was one of those meteorological eras. Modernism fractured the old world; jazz rewired rhythm; cinema taught us to dream in images; rock and hip‑hop remixed rebellion; digital art dissolved the boundaries of medium altogether. Each decade felt like a new continent had risen from the sea. Today, the horizon looks different. We live in an age of astonishing creative abundance—more books, more films, more songs, more images than any human could hope to absorb in a lifetime. And yet, strangely, much of it feels familiar, as if we are walking through a museum where the paintings keep rearranging themselves but never quite change. Novels echo the emotional scaffolding of earlier classics. Films recycle the same arcs, the same reversals, the same lines of dialogue that once felt clever and now feel like déj...