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.
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.
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.
...movie buffs will find her scholarship wanting, if not mystifying. Not only are there few new insights (Spielberg declined to be interviewed, which left Haskell “stung, a little red-faced, like a girl angling for a date and being rejected”), but the points she makes range from dubious to flat-out false.
Her message is that with hard work, and an attentiveness to our true needs, we can achieve such things. Me, I’m not feeling it.
Testimony will please hardcore Robertson fans; it is another layer, an additional perspective, in the historiography of rock music, and it adds to Helm’s and Dylan’s accounts, creating a deeper understanding...
Scrappy Little Nobody makes light of things both flighty and serious; it’s committed to fun above all else, and demonstrates why Kendrick, in her own voice, is a somebody worth reading.
More than a mere guidebook, this is Bianculli's bible of TV — a wise, engaging celebration of a type of entertainment that's as much of an art form as it is a pastime.
“When Churchill Slaughtered Sheep and Stalin Robbed a Bank” is filled with fascinating tales from the annals of history. If you have even a passing interest in the past, Milton’s work here will prove a worthwhile read.
Abramovic writes touchingly about romantic heartbreak, about the pain of separation from Ulay and her sense of betrayal when her husband, the Italian artist Paolo Canevari, left her...Perhaps what’s most unexpected are the flashes of humor.
Overall, Collins’s memoir is breezy and self-deprecating. When he lists his failures as a husband and father — especially in the final chapters, about a recent and near-fatal slide into alcoholism — he gets uncharacteristically serious.
Ackroyd, far more convincingly, gives us Hitchcock the industrious craftsman. His work was a solace from his horrors and hang-ups rather than a straightforward depiction of them.
...it's not clear why Towers would make himself sound unnecessarily snooty with the price tag, but it's one of the several details that makes Table Manners not particularly inclusive.
Some characters are frustrating with their inability to see the big picture, but in the end, this is significant to real-life growth and change.
One could view this project as a metaphor for the baggage that we all carry and the notion that no matter how grand a life might appear, there’s always…stuff. Some of it may be good, some of it may be bad, but it’s always there. That seems to be Jacobson’s big takeaway – and it’s a valuable one.
...there's enough research here to entertain a Victorian newcomer; for readers looking for a primer on their more baffling habits, this could be a good place to start...
This is Metcalf’s first fiction collection in 30 years, and overall it’s a welcome return. If it’s a little wearying to spend 300 pages reading about Forde railing against the foibles of literary Canada, it’s never dull to read Metcalf.