“The Guts” is a decent performance, but doesn’t give us the “access all areas” badge I had expected.
Though fans of the author’s fiction will find illumination, a memoir this compelling and entertaining...should expand his readership beyond those who have loved his novels.
Grandma Mazur is the only person who seems like herself here. Everyone else is just a distracted footnote. My main beef is that, and add to it the ending to both scenarios. It seems a little contrived.
A stocking stuffer for die-hard Burgundians or a gag gift to bring to Wes Mantooth’s holiday party, but nothing more than that.
Though her life did not hold the challenges familiar to the 99 percent, it took strength to stay sensible amid temptations...This book — not profound but quite delicious — shows how those qualities grew in both hospitable and inhospitable soil.
The author forms a comfortable bond with readers and offers just the right blend of history and fiction. Flagg flies high, and her fans will enjoy the ride.
“Tune In” pays close attention to the many American influences on the young pre-Beatles...They hit adolescence just as rock ’n’ roll records became buyable, and “Tune In” keenly chronicles the favorites that they would draw on or recycle, even for their name: Beatles was a play on Buddy Holly’s Crickets, simple as that.
You come to a memoir like this for the stories, not the storytelling, which is good, because “great writer” is not a blade on the Bushkin Swiss Army knife. Anecdotes are repeated, characters are introduced and reintroduced, and the book’s prose is overburdened with sunbleached Damon Runyonesque clunkers.
The difficulties of a well-heeled widow just don’t tap the wells of indulgence that the younger Bridget mined.
Lennon's book remains fascinating, but the second half is less challenging. Mailer's blockbusters sold well but added little to his reputation. The ex-wives became part of his tribal family.
Fans of Parks and Recreation and Offerman’s brand of deadpan humor are sure to gorge themselves on the healthy portion he provides.
As a book about a cinematic comedy of errors, “The Disaster Artist” is much better than the mess of a movie it describes.
Seuss explores the same philosophical message in his own inimitably wise and witty style.
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.
"Simple Dreams" deserves attention for more than just its glaring gaps, though, at least if you're a major fan of the brand of inclusive Americana she breathed life into as the counterculture was breathing its last
Crystal the comedian will do almost anything to get a laugh. Crystal the writer allows himself to flop at the box office, and suffers the many indignities of old age, with his teenage sweetheart and wife of 43 years still alongside him. In the end, the reader concludes that Crystal isn't just funny: He's a mensch too.
Abstract comedy, it turns out, just isn't that funny, and Rush's plot never really congeals. That's not a fatal shortcoming in itself, but unfortunately all the reader is left with is these sad, petulant clowns talking past one another in a series of awkward encounters.
By no means her finest work, but Atwood remains an expert thinker about human foibles and how they might play out on a grand scale.
In a honeyed dialect, the omnipresent narrator directly engages readers, ricocheting between the hilarious human and critter dramas to a riotous finale.
Matthew Berry, ESPN's senior fantasy sports analyst, would seem well-positioned to deliver on the promise of his subtitle...Yet "Fantasy Life" contains no insight into what might, say, cause someone to spend every Labor Day holiday—to his wife's consternation—in a dive bar in Keene, N.H., drafting a fantasy football team.