memoir
In “Will and Attention,” the essayist explores addiction, faith, and the divided self—and asks whether lasting change begins not with willpower but with attention.
In “A Dead White,” Wendy S. Walters blends memoir and cultural history to question the ubiquity—and presumed innocence—of white paint.
“Long Take” is a somewhat dry read; there are some great passages, but too many rambling, unfocused sections for it to be a satisfactory sequel to the Japanese director’s 1983 memoir.
Janet Malcolm never brings up the possibility that her powers of memory have dramatically diminished in old age. If that were the case, such an admission would’ve strengthened the book, giving it context. It would have humanized it, too.
Actress and MS advocate Selma Blair’s memoir is not just another celebrity tell-all, filled with smarmy self-congratulation.
This is the voice of a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, patient, and author who wrote a memoir on her own terms. I can’t wait for Sarah Ruhl’s next play.
“I really thought that I could sustain a life in music, but perhaps I’d end up in Las Vegas backing Tom Jones or something.”
RIP Morris Dickstein, among the last of the generation of the New York School of Jewish intellectuals, scholar/critics of massive knowledge and intellect who came from humble backgrounds.
“Arts journalism should meet the same high standard as other forms of writing but rarely does, even in the good old days.”
Nashville songwriter Aimee Mayo’s memoir offers an eye-opening perspective on the problematic treatment of women in the country music industry.
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