Illustrating the change of seasons, Gal’s charcoal and digital collage images effervesce with cheery colors, moving from the radiant gold, yellows, and reds of autumn to the greens and blues of spring—with a stop in snowy winter for Chanukah, of course.
This little bit of bedtime foolery feels a little incomplete, but it should strike a chord—and it’s far wittier than the similarly themed Go the Fuck to Sleep.
The most successfully drawn people are Alec and Meg; Lamprell has perfect pitch when it comes to marital discord...But by the end, this guidebook reads like it has gone through a Cuisinart, leaving a choppy, chaotic mess. Arrivederci, Roma. The wise reader will stick with Fodor’s next time.
Semple avoids patronising readers by providing a simple answer to Eleanor’s problems. The climax is surprisingly unthinkable, but as optimistic and tentatively hopeful as its title suggests.
As in the previous volumes, construction vocabulary and geological terms are emphasized in the rhyming text...Bold, computer-generated illustrations are filled with trucks, machinery, dogs in motion...Big trucks, jovial dogs and snappy rhyming text serve again as the building blocks of another successful entry in this solidly built series.
Honeywell’s debut is ambitious and well written and provides endless possibilities for debate. It ends on a cliffhanger, suggesting the possibility of a sequel.
Such a setup might sound short on comic potential but Eberlen’s touch is, for the most part, wonderfully light and there are not a few occasions when the musicals-mad Hope nearly steals the show.
The artwork of pencil and charcoal, illuminated with pastels, shifts a little in tone and vision due to the several years Auladell spent drawing it, but this version remains thoroughly satisfying...
“The Wanderers” isn’t a book that one could easily pigeonhole. It is smart and heartfelt and funny and sad, marked with a sophisticated simplicity. The truth is that no matter the genre in which you might place it, there’s only one label that fits it just right. And it’s the only label that matters. Exceptional.
At the heart of the novel’s themes of family, love, loss, and identity – not to mention the power, destruction and redemption within the parent-child relationship – is a meditation on gender...
The jump — a few precious moments of dizzying freedom and possibility — is the core metaphor in a novel of remarkable power, precision and compassion.
“Setting Free the Kites” is sharp and clever, charged with the love inherent to young friendship. Sweet and serious and goofy and sad, it will likely inspire memories of those friends who long ago changed you for the better.
The Schooldays of Jesus, philosophically dense as it is, is parched, relentlessly adult fare – rather like eating endless bread and bean paste.
It takes an author of Mr Grossman’s stature to channel not a failed stand-up but a shockingly effective one, and to give him salty, scabrous gags that—in Jessica Cohen’s savoury translation—raise a guilty laugh.
It all comes back to the genius of Saunders. He has created something here that feels utterly new while somehow keeping one foot in the techniques of the past. Call it postmodern, call it experimental … call it anything you like. Just know this - you have never read a book like this one. And if you do, you will be so very glad that you did.
“Shadowbahn” is a challenging work, charged with engaging ideas and driven by the unexpected. It’s precisely the sort of book that we’ve come to expect from Erickson, one of the most freewheeling and unfettered storytellers of the past 30 years. And while it might not answer all of the questions it poses, it’s the asking that really matters.
...as Norse tales have not received quite the same attention as, say, the Greek myths, it is nice to see someone passing these stories along to inspire another generation.
Autumn is a beautiful, poignant symphony of memories, dreams and transient realities; the “endless sad fragility” of mortal lives.
This novel feels foreign and the writhing sentences suit this cynical, deeply disillusioned state-of-the-Belgian-nation rant. We may think we excel at national self-flagellation but Verhulst's sustained (and blackly funny) assault on the citizens of Brussels trumps all.