What happens? Not much. But Mr. Kinney has a chance to describe several different strata of Dylan admirers, from those who’ll eat cherry pie because he did to those who know the first name of his maternal great-grandmother...The stories are innocent and not particularly interesting.
Her book is a bracing expression of intelligent outrage – with the manifesto vibe of No Logo and the prescience of Silent Spring. By delivering a streetwise economic analysis of our technological reality, she leaves her reader feeling at once charged and newly aware of being duped.
“Savage Harvest” turns into a taut thriller, but it gets off to a shaky start. Cast adrift in the Arafura Sea, Rockefeller leaves a colleague clinging to their boat and swims toward shore...Quickly, however, his book settles down and his reporting takes hold, drawing a vivid portrait of the world of the Asmat people...
Witty, nimble and completely in his element, Schama...in a book tie-in to a PBS and BBC series, fashions a long-planned “labor of love” that nicely dovetails the biblical account with the archaeological record.
Ms Gessen has rushed into print because Ms Tolokonnikova and Ms Alyokhina have just been released, in a window-dressing exercise before next month’s winter Olympics in the Russian resort of Sochi. Her book is ideal for those curious about the country behind the games.
Conspicuously lacking chapter breaks, prefaced by a photo of a naked toddler in sunglasses...formatted willy-nilly...by turns intoxicating, indulgent, hilarious...and straight-up dull, Morrissey’s memoir earns its pithy title. For better, for worse, for nothing at all, Autobiography is a catalogue of everything “Morrissey,”...
As in her earlier books on Russian attitudes to death and war, she combines impeccable scholarship with a deep feeling for the humanity of the people she writes about. Her style is accurate, spare, direct and warm-hearted, about as far from the academy as you can get.
In Sam Wasson's fascinating and exhaustive biography, we meet the man behind the style—a micromanaging perfectionist and a reckless womanizer, a cultivator of friendships and a despotic showrunner.
It’s hard to imagine a Beatle biography ever equaling what Lewisohn has done in writing of the first two decades of their lives.
At the center of Hilburn’s portrait stands an iconic singer who struggled with addiction at the same time that he was driven by a deep Christian faith, a man who struggled to balance the dark forces of violence and disloyalty with the light of his love for family, their love for him, and his love for music.
...if you want a balanced biography, this is not for you. The opening chapters are chaotic...But if you want a detailed analysis of the cantatas, the two Passions and Mass in B minor, and a feeling for their wondrous piety, Gardiner provides exhaustive satisfaction.
Greig’s understanding of Freud’s place in art history...is...banal, as are his analyses of the connections between life and art...
all who pick up this book will be taken by Brandon Stanton’s captivating photographs of NYC’s urban humanity.
Jones’ prose is reportorial but evocative, verging only on purple in passages like the opening description of the Mississippi lowlands of Henson’s youth, which glides over the landscape like the opening shots of The Muppet Movie.
His often over-the-top style annoyed me at first, but, as I read, on, I began to see that this in-your-face, personal approach is the best way to tell the story he wants to tell.
But this book is not without its blemishes. Mr Treglown’s revisionist aims are undermined by his tendency to digress needlessly...the author largely ignores architecture, poetry and drama. That prevents what might have been a valuable discussion about why some art forms flourished under the dictatorship, while others wilted.
“Mathew Brady: Portraits of a Nation” is a new biography from Robert Wilson, the editor of The American Scholar. It’s a compact, straightforward, unblinking volume that has some of the attributes of its subject...The book is sober history, a flinty chunk of Americana.
Pruning away the florid subplots that often clutter his heaven-storming blood baths, Burke produces his most sharply focused, and perhaps his most harrowing, study of human evil, refracted through the conventions of the crime novel.
Hollis gives a few details about this "no-man's land of the city," but he never does get down in it, preferring to observe from above. This becomes increasingly problematic as "Cities Are Good for You" progresses...
...an oddly passive construction...to overload this one hit with too much revolutionary significance...blurs cause and effect.