Books
Maybe finally we’re reaching the Natsume Sōseki moment in the English-speaking world.
A splendid, absorbing read in which you feel as if you’ve been dropped onto the set of a Mozart opera.
The Unknown Kerouac is good for the advancement of Kerouac scholarship, but the book hardly justifies, for the average reader, its price and size.
Carrie J. Preston refuses to characterize these cultural exchanges in moralistic or narrowly political terms.
The publication of de Baecque and Herpe’s wonderful biography needs to be followed in the USA by a complete Éric Rohmer retrospective.
A perspicacious, multifarious, and compelling fictional field report on how we get hitched or unhitched, coupled or uncoupled.
Giraldi was enticed by the fraternity of the gym as a way of filling out and firming up both his body and his sense of self.
Frances Wilson’s biography of Thomas De Quincey is superb, written with enormous empathy and insight.
The power of Allen Ginsberg’s legacy could be felt in the controversy over the decision to award Bob Dylan the Nobel Prize in Literature.
There is no doubt that Marc Myers is doing noble work — if only Anatomy of a Song was more exciting to read.
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