It’s as if critics of silent films were barred from discussing talkies, or devotees of black and white were banned from discussing color.
The New Yorker
Yes, The New Yorker cover pillories the superrich as they ignore the pixie proletariat at their feet. But so what?
Why do critics like the New Yorker‘s Peter Schjeldahl rush to absolve G.W. Bush?
Fighting for the intellectual integrity and independence of arts reviews means demanding more analysis and less sales talk.
There will be readers who appreciate Daniel Menaker’s brevity and lack of emotional engagement, but for me, much of “My Mistake” reads like notes for a memoir.
“For an imaginative boy, the first experience of writing is like a tiger’s first taste of blood.’ — H.G. Wells, “The New Machiavelli,” 1911.
Although the memoir has been called luminous, wise, humble, piercing, and all sorts of other laudatory adjectives, it is, nevertheless, not an easy book to read because you keep wondering how you would manage in this situation. Making Toast by Roger Rosenblatt, Ecco Press, 166 pages, $21.00 Reviewed by Roberta Silman At the end of […]