Books
Two good reads: Boston harmonica player Jerry Portnoy’s memoir is an unflinching look at life as a sideman musician; the other is a history that shows how, without the Black stars he heard in Memphis, there would have been no Elvis or rock ‘n roll as we know it.
Two uniquely American books that will give you unexpected pleasures just when you need them most.
If John Lahr could learn, even in his eighties, to cut back on his own self-adoration and stop being so damned star struck, the razzle in his profiles would dazzle all the more.
When it comes to the aberrant conditions in today’s jails and prisons, concerns such as how corrections officers are regarded by their superiors in the system, the media, and the public are beside the point.
Literary critic Malcolm Cowley’s in-the-trenches vision of modernism deserves to extend beyond the halcyon epoch he witnessed — a case made splendidly by Gerald Howard’s biography.
This tragic, absorbing, and moving quasi-novel is best characterized as a “tour de force”.
“Baby Driver” is a book in the tradition of American road literature, but it moves at a distinctly different pace.
The authors assembled in “Crimean Fig” demonstrate they are unafraid to speak up for Tatar language and culture, while simultaneously speaking out against Putin, unwilling to submit.
Reading “February 1933”, just ten months into Trump’s second mandate is nothing less than unnerving.
There’s no question that the author of “Criss-Cross” approaches “Strangers on a Train” from a gay-centric viewpoint.
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