Books
I like to believe that I’m not loony, that, unlike certain 78 collectors profiled by Amanda Petrusich, I have a perspective on all this.
Elsewhere is a tragicomic work, its plethora of absurd coincidences an attempt to portray the senseless plight of the post-postmodern man.
There’s room to wonder if Vladmir Jabotinsky would have accepted Menachem Begin, Ariel Sharon and Benjamin Netanyahu as his legitimate Zionist heirs.
The Noble Hustle gives talented novelist Colson Whitehead an opportunity to spelunk in some of the gnarlier corners of the American dream, in this case the Tropicana in Atlantic City.
Like me, Phyllis Rose frets about the zillion fine books out there that nobody bothers with. Why their neglect? She reasons that it’s because no one pedigreed has championed them.
A Replacement Life explores what America means to Russian immigrants whose cunning and sophistication often lead them into trouble.
The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair is a long but fast-paced book that walks the line between airport novel and true work of literary fiction.
Gary Shteyngart’s memoir proffers the rhetorical zest and caustic wit of his novels, but it lacks their satiric edge.
David Plante’s non-fiction and fiction are of a piece. There is the honesty of a writer who is willing and able to, first, face himself, then, write what he sees, and then, allow the world to see his seeing.
Translator David Williams has hit upon a judicious combination of snappy repartee and dark underbelly that communicates essayist Dubravka Ugrešić’s rapier wit and black despair in equal measure.
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