Frankly, I don’t understand why people don’t read about books all the time. Some of the most important texts in my literary education have been written about books.
In Y, Leslie Adrienne Miller is forced to confront the male brain directly. Named after the chromosome to which we owe our entire sex, Y is an attempt to understand the cruelty, the darkness, and the silence of boys and men.
Unlike the majority of photographers, Cindy Sherman seldom captures; she creates. Rarely does she not appear in her work, and as such she invents for herself a new use and purpose in each piece, a new role.
“The Voyage” ends with Jon and José seated in the lobby of the border post, José in his orange, oversized sunglasses – “stunner shades” – awaiting their sentence for carrying a firearm across the Canadian Border.
In Peter Geye’s latest novel, an orphan shapes his own destiny on the menacing North Shore of the early twentieth century. He must choose the lesser of two threats: man or nature.
Perhaps it’s the knowledge of what comes afterward that has long stirred my sympathies for Nicholas and Alexandra, the last tsar and tsarina of Russia.
One never wants to begin with a cliché. Surely, when we say that ignorance is bliss, our first authorial instinct is to cross it out and think of another way to say it….