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The Millions’ Great Summer 2026 Book Preview
After a long and merciless winter, summer is upon us, and with it, the urgent need for beach reads, pool reads, park reads, fire escape reads, coffee shop patio reads—you get the point. We've got you covered. Below, you’ll find some 130 books out this summer that we’re excited about here at The Millions. Some we’ve already read in galley form; others we’re simply eager to dive into based on their authors or subjects. We leaned on our friends at Publishers Weekly to help blurb some of the many, many titles that we’re eager to put on your radar.
—Sophia Stewart, editor
Note: While we're still on an editorial hiatus, we're still working hard to produce our seasonal previews—we hope to return to our full operations soon.
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July
The Abyss by Jeyamohan, tr. Suchitra Ramachandran (Transit)
Originally published in 2003, this deeply human story from Jeyamohan tells of slavery, religious hypocrisy, official corruption, and arranged marriage in 1991 Tamil Nadu. Read more.
Up All Night: A World History of Nightlife by Imogen Willetts (Grove)
In this spectacular debut, historian Willetts surveys 350 years of influential international nightlife scenes. Read more.
Élisabethr by Éric Rohmer, tr. Aaron Kerner (McNally)
Originally published in 1946, the lone novel from celebrated French New Wave filmmaker Rohmer (1920–2010) is an alluring if rambling affair set mostly in northern France before the outbreak of WWII. Read more.
Scavenging Beauty by Angelica Glass (Riverhead)
In her striking debut, social worker Glass recalls walking down every road in Santa Cruz County, Calif. Read more.
A Real Animal by Emeline Atwood (Catapult)
A young woman navigates her desires in the wake of a sexual assault in the propulsive and stunning debut from Atwood. Read more.
American Alt by Chris Lockhart (Bloomsbury)
This extraordinary memoir by anthropologist Lockhart follows his efforts to help his friend, Michael Dodd, a former Marine diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, recover his memories of events leading to his 2021 arrest for planning to kidnap Washington governor Jay Inslee. Read more.
The Great Wherever by Shannon Sanders (Holt)
Sanders delivers a gripping multigenerational epic of land, home, and inheritance. Read more.
We Were Forbidden by Jacqueline Harpman, tr. Ros Schwartz (Transit)
The three female protagonists in this sharp-edged triptych from international bestseller Harpman push back against the political, educational, and sexual regimes, respectively, that govern their lives. Read more.
Good Morning Means I Love You by Kendra Allen (Ecco)
Allen continues the theme of self-manifestation explored in her memoir, Fruit Punch, in this lyrical and sensuous debut novel about a 30-something woman’s unconventional family. Read more.
Nightjar by Emily Ruskovich (Random House)
Ruskovich explores the implications of mysteries and lies in this potent collection of five stories. Read more.
You Won't Get Free of It by Rachel Aviv (Knopf)
New Yorker staff writer Aviv delivers a sharp collection of reported stories about mothers and daughters navigating medical and moral crises. Read more.
False Prophet by Afsheen Farhadi (Melville House)
An up-and-coming actor fabricates his late mother’s life story for a memoir, in Farhadi’s beguiling debut. Read more.
A Sudden Flicker of Light by David Thomson (S&S)
Film critic and historian Thomson delivers an insightful history of filmmaking that investigates the negative effects of the medium. Read more.
They Stole a City by Lauren Collins (Penguin Press)
Collins's history, spanning more than 125 years, traces the impact of the 1898 white supremacist massacre and coup in Wilmington, N.C., through the stories of four families.
Ada by Mark Haber (Coffee House)
A petty French tyrant recounts his failed conquests in this cerebral and entrancing narrative from Haber. Read more.
Astronaut! by Oana Aristide (Norton)
Aristide evokes in this splendid novel the heightened fear and tension of 1989 Romania near the end of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s totalitarian reign. Read more.
Every Inch a Lady by Audrey Smaltz (Amistad)
Pathbreaking model and businesswoman Audrey Smaltz—who also worked as a Wall Street broker and magazine editor—details her rise to the upper echelons of the fashion industry in this lively memoir.
Going to the Moon by Sally Ashton (Duke)
The poet's entry in Duke University Press's Practices series meditates on the Moon's influence on humanity—and the threat posed by our attempts to colonize it.
Living, Together ed. Samantha Paige Rosen (Beacon)
Contributors including Kristen Arnett, Kim Stanley Robinson, and Sarah Thankam Mathews reflect on the virtues of communal living, chosen family, and the many forms of home in this imaginative collection.
Seven: Or How to Play a Game by Joanna Kavenna (Faber)
An underemployed young academic assists a famous “Box philosopher” on researching her quixotic book in this stimulating if freewheeling novel from Orange Prize winner Kavenna. Read more.
Aging Out by Lucy Schiller (Flatiron)
Schiller, a nonfiction writing professor at Texas Tech, debuts with a moving examination of the complex reality of growing old in the U.S. Read more.
Our Knives Will Save Us by Nephi Craig (Penguin Press)
In this affecting debut memoir, Craig extols the culinary heritage of his ancestors and discusses how cooking supported his sobriety. Read more.
Push the Wall by Frank Miller (Saga)
Miller, creator of such celebrated comics series as the Dark Knight Returns and 300, meditates on the forces behind his art in this exuberant memoir. Read more.
Hustle, Baby by Priya Guns (Doubleday)
Guns serves up an energetic tale of a Tamil family struggling to survive in Toronto. Read more.
Should the Waters Take Us by Stephanie Soileau (Doubleday)
Steeped in history, Soileau’s wonderful debut novel, after the story collection Last One Out Shut Off the Lights, revolves around three interconnected French Acadian clans in 2019 Louisiana. Read more.
Bedlam by Jennifer Higgie (Verso)
Higgie, author of The Mirror and the Palette, captivates in this poetic story of English artist Richard Dadd (1817–1886) and his descent into madness. Read more.
Chosen Family by Madeleine Gray (Mariner)
Gray explores two women’s messy friendship and tortured love affair in her perceptive latest. Read more.
Country People by Daniel Mason (Random House)
The North Woods author's latest narrates a year in the life of a family as they strike out into the unknown (aka Vermont), leaving all the comforts of home behind.
Famous Men by Julie Buntin (Random House)
In the engrossing sophomore novel from Buntin, an aspiring writer enters a complex relationship with a renowned author notorious for his romances with younger women. Read more.
Journey to Nowhere by Shiva Naipaul (Outsider)
First published in 1980, this searing report from late novelist and journalist Naipaul picks apart the story of the 1978 Jonestown massacre. Read more.
A Quiet Place by Seichō Matsumoto (Modern Library)
In this stellar psychological thriller from Matsumoto, Japanese bureaucrat Tsuneo Asai tries to unravel why a woman with a serious heart condition would risk her health by climbing a steep hill in an area where she knew no one. Read more.
Data Empire by Roopika Risam (Harper)
Data science is “not a modern tool but an ancient turning point in how humans learned to organize and imagine the world,” asserts media studies scholar Risam in this brilliant history of “how those early marks grew into systems of power over everyday life.” Read more.
Sex Diaries by Alyssa Shelasky (Random House)
These all-new anonymous accounts, compiled by Shelasky in the style of her popular New York magazine column, pull back the curtain on non-monogamy.
It Will Come Back to You by Sigrid Nunez (Riverhead)
Nunez, winner of the National Book Award for The Friend, offers more close readings of human nature in this masterful career-spanning story collection. Read more.
Air by Christian Kracht, tr. Daniel Bowles (Norton)
In this disorienting tale by the International Booker Prize–nominated author of Eurotrash, a Swiss interior designer receives a strange commission to coat a massive Norwegian data center in the “perfect white.”
The Frenchmen: Or, My Life in Theory by Emily Eakin (Penguin Press)
New York Times Book Review editor Eakin’s masterful debut blends a coming-of-consciousness memoir with an engrossing portrait of the tumultuous (and often intertwined) lives of French theorists. Read more.
Unsayable: A Life in Writing by Michael Cunningham (Random House)
Pulitzer winner Cunningham offers eloquent reflections on life, love, and literature, as well as valuable pointers on craft and storytelling, in this sterling memoir. Read more.
Olenka by Budi Darma, tr. Tiffany Tsao (Penguin Classics)
Romantic obsession drives this intelligent 1983 novel from Darma and translated by Tsao, who won the PEN Translation Prize for Darma’s People from Bloomington. Read more.
Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins (Riverhead)
In this lyrical and scathing narrative from Watkins, an environmental advocate longs for another child. Read more.
Country of Lords by Kimberly Phillips-Fein (Norton)
Responses to the rise of Trumpism often focus on “cultural and economic conflicts of recent origin,” but this striking study from historian Phillips-Fein points to a different, older “source of strength for the right today”—a tradition stretching back to the nation’s founding that “sees working people as essentially inferior” and the rich as a “natural aristocracy.” Read more.
Carousel: An Essay on Seeing by Sarah Minor (Yale)
Minor delivers a meditative exploration of seeing and being seen, following a professor as she teaches a class called “History of the Panorama.” Read more.
Rise Above by Matthew Schnipper (Random House)
Schnipper debuts with a wrenching account of his toddler’s sudden death from a congenital abnormality. Read more.
Cool Machine by Colson Whitehead (Doubleday)
Whitehead concludes his Harlem Trilogy with a transcendent and wildly entertaining novel in which his recurring characters grapple with the ways their lives are defined by crime and the city they call home. Read more.
The Savage Landscape by Cal Flyn (Viking)
Flyn delivers an exhilarating exploration of the nature and meaning of wild lands. Read more.
Liberation Summer by Micki McElya (Avid Reader)
Pulitzer Prize finalist McElya writes a sweeping account of the road to the September 1968 protests of the Miss American Pageant and the birth of a new politics of beauty.
All That's Unseen by Emilee Hackney (Penguin Press)
Hackney debuts with a thought-provoking account of her early life in Appalachian Virginia, which was characterized by lush landscapes, financial hardship, and church. Read more.
Beginning Middle End by Valeria Luiselli (Knopf)
A writer and her 12-year-old daughter grapple with their family legacy while on a road trip through Sicily in this arresting and layered novel from Luiselli. Read more.
Few and Far Between by Jan Carson (Scribner)
On the eve of the Troubles, Northern Ireland’s largest lake is drained to form a new county, in this stunning alternative history from Carson. Read more.
I Made You Up Inside My Head by Marta Pérez-Carbonell, tr. Rosalind Harvey (Riverhead)
Three strangers meet on a sleeper train in this elegant debut from Pérez-Carbonell. Read more.
The Obsessed by Lizzie Buehler (Putnam)
Literary translator Buehler debuts with a thought-provoking meditation on romantic love, parasocial relationships, and academia. Read more.
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August
Profiling by Philippe Huneman (Stanford)
This demanding study from Huneman, director of research at the Institute of History and Philosophy of Science and Technology in Paris, examines how predictive algorithms influence identity and social life. Read more.
Suffer a Witch by Joy McCullough (Dutton)
YA novelist McCullough blends poetry and prose in this bruising account of being sexually abused by a youth pastor at her preacher father’s Presbyterian church. Read more.
Daylight Come by Joshua Jelly-Schapiro (Penguin Press)
Jelly-Schapiro paints a revealing portrait of Harry Belafonte, whose career as the “King of Calypso” and lifelong activism helped remake America through the civil rights era and beyond.
Yñiga by Glenn Diaz (Coffee House)
The incendiary latest from Diaz chronicles a Manila woman’s displacement and reckoning with her country’s legacy of violence. Read more.
Hiroshima, 8:15 by Kiyoshi Tanimoto (Modern Library)
This previously unpublished, English-language account by atomic blast survivor Japanese Methodist minister Tanimoto features his own harrowing observations of the catastrophic event. Read more.
Etna by Paul Yoon (Scribner)
A combat-trained dog sets out for home after a war in this magnificent novel from Yoon. Read more.
Awake Awake by Fiona Mozley (Algonquin)
Struggling writer Mary Mooney comes to wonder if she’s been fabricating “fabulous tales” of her childhood to her psychoanalyst in this quirky and intellectually complex novel from Mozley, author of the Booker-shortlisted Elmet. Read more.
The People’s Historian by Dave Zirin (Dutton)
Nation sports editor Zirin offers a rousing biography of historian Howard Zinn, whose 1980 bestseller A People’s History of the United States remains as embattled as it is popular, with ongoing attempts to ban it from libraries and classrooms. Read more.
The Amateur by Chris Bohjalian (Doubleday)
A freak accident at a Westchester County, N.Y., golf course derails a young woman’s life in this powerful domestic thriller from Bohjalian. Read more.
Plant Lady by Minyoung Kang, tr. Shanna Tan (Berkley)
A woman abandons her office job to open a nursery that sells more than plants in Korean journalist Kang’s brilliant debut. Read more.
Sex and Dissent by Meaghan Beatley (Penguin Books)
Journalist Beatley’s remarkable debut surveys four feminist protest movements that raged across Latin America and Spain in the 21st century. Read more.
Kitten by Stacey Yu (Random House)
Yu’s deeply felt debut finds Katie, a young Chinese American woman and recent college grad, adrift in New York City, financially precarious and unable to muster the professional or personal ambitions being so diligently pursued by her peers. Read more.
A Country Doctor by Sarah Orne Jewett (Modern Library)
This oft-forgotten 19th-century novel centers on a young woman torn between her passion for medicine and what society expects of her.
The Ego Trip by Kimon de Greef (Doubleday)
South African journalist de Greef, who has spent years reporting on global psychedelic movements, delivers a chilling saga about a former doctor who spearheaded the rise of toad smoking in the 2010s. Read more.
Beyond Beauty by Devon Cox (Norton)
Historian Cox serves up an evocative biography of prominent 19th- and 20th-century painter and portraitist John Singer Sargent. Read more.
The Story of Your Life by Kathryn Jezer-Morton (Viking)
The Cut columnist Jezer-Morton debuts with a shrewd analysis of how social media has restricted the stories people tell about themselves and others. Read more.
Triage by Claudia Rankine (Graywolf)
Poet and essayist Rankine delivers an innovative, genre-defying mix of narrative and criticism centered on a contentious friendship between the narrator—presumably Rankine—and a character referred to as “the theorist.” Read more.
Hannah Arendt: A Life of the Mind by Thomas Meyer, tr. Shelley Frisch (Penguin Press)
Meyer's intellectual biography draws on newly discovered archival materials and previously overlooked documents to trace the life and work of a philosophical icon.
Three Tenses by Ed Park (Random House)
Stray musings and recollections reveal a writer’s restless mind in this scintillating memoir from novelist Park. Read more.
A Tender Age by Chang-rae Lee (Riverhead)
The Korean American narrator of Lee’s striking latest reflects on a pivotal year of his childhood in the mid-1970s, inviting the reader to ponder with him the mystery of what drove him to act out in his wayward youth. Read more.
Mia by Leslie Bazzett (Scribner)
Two American expats in a picturesque Mexican city forge an exciting and dangerous bond in Bazzett’s nuanced and unsettling debut. Read more.
On the Mark by Florence Hazrat (Basic)
Hazrat's history, which spans ancient Mesopotamia to the dawn of emojis, argues that all punctuation marks—from the forgotten (ever heard of an obelus?) to the ubiquitous—are worthy of attention.
Sunrise by Téa Obreht (Random House)
A Wyoming ghost town provides the stage for this spectacular novel from Obreht about the enduring myths of the Wild West. Read more.
Under the Falls by Richard Russo (Knopf)
This gripping and grounded tale of friendship and self-delusion takes place in rough-and-tumble Stone Mountain, N.Y., a small town in the Adirondacks that’s less like its upscale, tourist-destination neighbors and more like the Rust Belt communities Russo portrayed in his early novels such as Mohawk. Read more.
The Maltese Version by Katy Simpson Smith (FSG)
Smith follows The Weeds with a stimulating and slippery anti-detective novel featuring a travel writer, her missing boyfriend, a mysterious poet, and another travel writer dispatched to find out what’s going on. Read more.
A Very Special Episode by Camille Acker (Random House)
A shadowy organization offers to help a young heir to one of Washington, D.C.’s most influential Black institutions in this sly social commentary on the interplay of race, class, and family legacy.
The Breakup by Kurt Andersen (Random House)
Andersen chronicles the aftermath of a near-future American civil war—Civil War II—in this moving satire. Read more.
Hello Baby by Kim Eui-Kyung, tr. Sora Russell (Hogarth)
Switching between six characters undergoing IVF—a journalist, a police officer, a vet, a lawyer, and two housewives—this thought-provoking novel explores the social pressure and emotional strain put on women struggling to conceive.
Jolt by Ted Scheinman (Scribner)
Scheinman's memoir of depression chronicles his intensive course of electroconvulsive therapy, which came at the price of many of his most important memories.
Range by Dorthe Nors; tr. Caroline Waight (Graywolf)
Nors's novel follows a professor of astrophysics who has taken a leave from the institute where she teaches and moved to a rural area, kicking off a meditation on space, time, identity, and consciousness.
Unprecedented Times by Malavika Kannan (Holt)
In the tender and sharp-witted adult debut from YA novelist Kannan, an Indian American undergrad explores an alternative path for her life during Covid-19. Read more.
Crocodilopolis by John Manuel Arias (Bloomsbury)
A Costa Rican dynasty’s lust for power drives this lush and suspenseful saga from Arias. Read more.
Jacaranda by Gaël Faye, tr. Sarah Ardizzone (Hogarth)
Faye offers a nuanced if tonally uneven story of a young Frenchman reckoning with the history of Rwanda, his mother’s native country. Read more.
Daytona Teddy Riggs by Drew Buxton (Hub City)
A bumbling muscle-bound Texan pursues his dreams of competing in the World’s Strongest Man contest and losing his virginity in this hilarious debut from Buxton. Read more.
Reality TV for Snobs by Ali Barthwell (Quirk)
Barthwell's guide to the 20 most influential reality shows of the last 25 years aims to "turn skeptics into fans and fans into scholars."
The Anniversary by Andrea Bajani, tr. Geoffrey Brock (Other)
The narrator of this poignant Strega Prize–winning novel from Bajani traces the causes and effects of his father’s physical and emotional abuse on his family. Read more.
Goodbye, Ramona by Montserrat Roig, tr. Megan Berkobian and María Cristina Hall (Modern Library)
The debut novel by Roig, a titan of Catalan literature, was first published in 1972 and chronicles the lives, loves, and secrets of three generations of women in 20th-century Barcelona.
Narrative of Sojourner Truth by Sojourner Truth (Modern Library)
Truth's 1850 autobiography details how she defied 19th-century conventions to become a preacher, popular speaker, abolitionist, and women’s rights activist.
The Shame Is Over by Anja Meulenbelt, tr. Ann Oosthuizen (Astra House)
Former Dutch senator Meulenbelt traces her political awakening in this unvarnished memoir, a firsthand account—equal parts heady and heartfelt—of one woman’s liberation. Read more.
The Ghost of the Mountains by Kulbhushansingh Suryawanshi (Riverhead)
Ecologist and conservationist Suryawanshi debuts with an enthralling account of efforts to study and protect snow leopards, elusive creatures that have become threatened as climate change and extractive mining impact their Himalayan habitat. Read more.
Changing Gender by Susan Stryker (FSG)
In this thought-provoking treatise, theorist Stryker forges an alternative history of gender inspired by an unlikely source: a lecture by right-wing pundit Matt Walsh. Read more.
Dèy by Edwidge Danticat (Knopf)
A Haitian American woman reckons with the cost of hiding her pain in this illuminating novel from Danticat, winner of the NBCC award for Everything Inside. Read more.
The Rise and Fall of the Artificial State by Jill Lepore (Liveright)
Society is on the precipice of “abandoning constitutional democracy…and even humanity itself for…government by machine,” warns Pulitzer winner Lepore in this powerful anti-AI treatise. Read more.
Her Own Voice by Anne Fernald (Beacon)
Using Virginia Woolf as a guide, Fernald chronicles the stories of eight wanderers, rebels, explorers, mentors, and other radical 20th-century women who forged their own paths.
I Have This Thing for Flowers by Alysia Li Ying Sawchyn (Flatiron)
Sachwyn, a creative writing professor at Bucknell University, mines her extensive plant knowledge for these introspective essays about personal relationships. Read more.
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September
O Mother by Emerson Whitney (McSweeney's)
The Daddy Boy author turns their eye to their flawed and complicated mother and the relationship they shared in this poignant memoir.
The Castle by Jon Ronson (Riverhead)
Journalist Ronson delivers a by turns amusing and harrowing report on the desultory state of contemporary men. Read more.
Tree by Aya Kōda, tr. Charlotte Goff (HarperOne)
The first-ever English translation of this Japanese classic invites us to foster peace in our lives by connecting with trees.
The Disappearers by Marlon James (Riverhead)
The Booker Prize winner’s latest—a sprawling novel clocking in at 640 pages—follows the survivors of a homophobic attack in 1980s Jamaica.
I Liked Rex by Diane Williams (NYRB Classics)
Delightful characters, curious images, and love affairs gone awry animate this minimalist metafictional collection by Williams. Read more.
The Mess That Made Them by Ryan T. Pozzi (Bloomsbury Academic)
Pozzi pushes back against our notions of "genius," arguing that the artists we revere didn't succeed because of destiny or innate brilliance, but were instead shaped by rejection, persecution, illness, and grief.
Voice of a Century by Anthony Tommasini (Penguin Press)
The former chief classical music critic for the New York Times delivers a rich tribute to Marian Anderson, one of the great singers of the modern era who also broke racial barriers.
Ambivalence by Brian Dillon (NYRB)
Critic and memoirist Dillon catalogs his adolescent coming-of-consciousness in this dazzling if remote account. Read more.
Black Arts by Megan Giddings (Amistad)
Giddings's first story collection explores complex family relationships, romances both troubled and charmed, and events that straddle the supernatural and the all-too-real.
The Chinese Lady by Bo Wang (HarperVia)
Wang’s debut novel depicts the life of Afong Moy, the first Chinese woman to be brought to the United States in the 1800s, becoming a curio in a live exhibition.
Erratica by Brian Laidlaw (Milkweed)
Inspired by Laidlaw's climb up Yosemite's stone monolith, this ode to climbing, nature, and attention is part adventure narrative and part philosophical inquiry.
The Contessa by Benedetta Craveri, tr. Alex Andriesse (NYRB)
Craveri argues that Contessa di Castiglione, an Italian aristocrat who gained notoriety as a mistress of Emperor Napoleon III, was the original “famous for being famous” It Girl in this biography.
Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel (Knopf)
Mandel’s masterful seventh novel opens in 2031, with the United States having collapsed into warring city-states and regional republics, and expands into a dizzying story of doubles and parallel universes. Read more.
The Occidental Book of the Dead by T. Geronimo Johnson (Morrow)
The National Book Award longlisted author of Welcome to Braggsville returns with a crime novel about a Black police officer in an Atlanta precinct, who sees the "white-washed veneer" of his life begin to crack after a highly publicized murder.
About Looking by John Berger (NYRB)
Part of an ongoing reissue of Berger’s major works of criticism and fiction, this 1980 essay collection considers our role as observers to reveal new layers of meaning in what we see.
Foam by Kate Zambreno (Semiotext(e))
Zambreno's latest, an unclassifiable work inspired by Eva Hesse and other masters of "soft sculpture," explores the notions of precarity and domestic disruption across genres, textures, and time.
Justice for Jehanne by Sara McDougall (Princeton)
Centered on a sexual assault case in 15th-century France, McDougall's narrative history challenges modern assumptions about women’s lives in the Middle Ages and and uncovers one woman's story of survival.
Hafni Says by Helle Helle, tr. Martin Aitken (New Directions)
This unconventional road trip novel is told over the course of one long conversation, wherein its titular character rings up the book's narrator—a protagonist from Helle's previous novel, they—in the aftermath of her failed marriage.
Postmuslim by Youssef Rakha (Graywolf)
Rakha explores the past three decades of Islam’s clash with the West from a secular Muslim perspective, finding inspiration for the future in the multiculturalism embodied by the Ottoman Empire.
Observer by Nicholas Russell (Ecco)
In Russell's debut novel, a woman investigates her mother's disappearance at an abandoned observatory in Nevada—and uncovers cosmic horrors in the process.
Blood Money by Anna Seghers, tr. Lucy Jones (NYRB)
Seghers's novel of suspense and political upheaval, first published in the 1930s, tracks the nascent rise of the Hitler movement in a German village.
Fallow by Sarah Anderson (FSG)
The 23-year-old narrator of Anderson’s darkly funny dystopian debut, hates working at the demeaning call center where she’s employed—so she signs a 10-year contract to work at exclusive surrogacy program for executives who don’t want to take time off for pregnancy and childbirth. Read more.
Music Sets You Free by Ryuichi Sakamoto, tr. Sam Bett (HarperVia)
The godfather of electronic music delivers a meditation on making art, living life, and accepting death.
Female Life on Planet Earth by Laleh Khadivi (Ecco)
A grieving Iranian American woman processes the shocking news of her late mother’s involvement in the Iranian Revolution in this darkly funny novel.
Exhibit G by Fady Joudah (Milkweed)
The National Book Award finalist's collection of poems, essays, and photographs explores the split perspective of a Palestinian American physician caring for the sick while watching the destruction of Gaza from the United States.
Anti-Zionism by Benjamin Moser (Doubleday)
The Pulitzer Prize winner delivers a sweeping history of the oft-suppressed tradition of Jewish thinkers around the world who oppose Zionism.
Madame Composer by Sarah Fritz (Pegasus)
Fritz's biography reveals how and why Clara Weick Schumann, a giant of Romantic music who became a household name over her 60-year career, has been diminished and sometimes deliberately obscured.
The Radiance by Ayad Akhtar (Summit)
Akhtar unfurls an intense and transcendent philosophical novel, narrated by a successful Pakistani American novelist named Ayad Akhtar who has recently moved upstate from New York City, about the limits of words. Read more.
The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw (Mariner)
The prominent wife of a megachurch pastor reckons with her humble roots in the uproarious debut novel from Philyaw. Read more.
American Hagwon by Min Jin Lee (Cardinal)
Lee returns nine years after Pachinko with an illuminating saga of ambition, education, and familial duty. Read more.
Traumatized by Catherine Liu (Verso)
The cultural theorist explores how trauma became a weapon in the culture wars, resulting in "capitalism's greatest coup: convincing us that wounds define us and that accommodating each other’s trauma is more important than challenging the powerful."
All the Love You Can Use by Carson McCullers, ed. Carlos Dews (Mariner)
The first and only comprehensive collection of the Carson McCullers's letters, spanning 1935 to her death in 1967, chronicle the high points and tragedies that defined her.
John Berger: From Life by Tom Overton (Verso)
This biography by Overton, who catalogued Berger's papers for the British Library, grew from the discovery, shortly after the novelist and critic's death in 2017, of a complete untouched archive of his 1960s life and work.
Something Followed Us Home ed. Cynthia Pelayo (Primero Sueño)
For this solid anthology, Bram Stoker Award winner Pelayo brings together 17 fascinating shorts by Latinx horror authors, all of which are bite-size, easy to get into, and span a wide range of subgenres. Read more.
The Weight of Angels by John Boyne (Holt)
Boyne delivers a witty alternate history of Oscar Wilde, who, instead of dying in 1900 at 46, enjoys an influential life of letters into the 1950s. Read more.
The Millions’ Great Spring 2026 Book Preview
As we slowly recover from one belligerent winter, we can look to spring as a time of growth, renewal, abundance—and nothing could be more abundant than the season's noteworthy books. Below, you’ll find 140 titles out this spring that we’re excited about here at The Millions. Some we’ve already read in galley form; others we’re simply eager to dive into based on their authors or subjects. We leaned on our friends at Publishers Weekly to help blurb some of the many, many titles that we’re eager to put on your radar.
—Sophia Stewart, editor
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April
Transcription by Ben Lerner (FSG)
In the beautiful and resonant latest from Lerner, a middle-aged man constructs an elaborate farewell to his mentor. Read more.
One Leg on Earth by ‘Pemi Aguda (Norton)
The marvelous debut novel from National Book Award finalist Aguda follows a young woman whose arrival in Lagos for an exciting career opportunity coincides with a series of harrowing suicides by pregnant women. Read more.
Work to Do by Jules Wernersbach (University of Iowa Press)
Wernersbach's debut follows a queer-owned Austin co-op as it prepares to unionize amid Texas hurricane season.
The Ritz of the Bayou by Nancy Lemann (Hub City)
The 1985-86 trials of Louisiana’s flamboyant Gov. Edwin Edwards on charges of crooked hospital deals and other racketeering is compellingly reported by Lemann, a New Orleans–born author with a New York City perspective. Read more.
Gather by Ashanté M. Reese (Norton)
In this phenomenal meditation on food’s role in Black history and culture, anthropologist Reese shares guiding principles gleaned from Black social gatherings that can help combat hunger and food insecurity. Read more.
Ghost Town by Tom Perrotta (Scribner)
A middle-aged man makes peace with his childhood trauma in Perrotta’s stellar latest. Read more.
Inheritance by Jane Park (Pegasus)
Upon returning to Canada for her father’s funeral, a young woman must confront her childhood and the legacy of guilt, sacrifice, and resilience that accompanies the immigrant experience.
London Falling by Patrick Radden Keefe (Doubleday)
“The truth is, everybody lies,” observes New Yorker staff writer and National Book Critics Circle award winner Keefe in this gripping investigation into a young man’s mysterious death in 2019 London. Read more.
Last Night in Brooklyn by Xochitl Gonzalez (Flatiron)
In her third novel, the author reimagines The Great Gatsby as a story of 2007 Fort Greene, with women in the male roles and vice versa. Read more.
Fourteen Ways of Looking by Erin Vincent (Deep Vellum)
Vincent parses and probes the death of her parents in a traffic accident when she was 14 years old through artfully arranged fragments—most of which contain the number 14.
My Dear You by Rachel Khong (Knopf)
In these provocative stories, Khong offers well-wrought and intricate depictions of Asian American and Asian life, often with a fantastical or speculative twist. Read more.
Empire of Skulls by Paul Stob (Counterpoint)
Stob, a professor of American studies and communication studies at Vanderbilt, casts a light on one family’s outsize role in the rise of phrenology. Read more.
Like This, But Funnier by Hallie Cantor (S&S)
When the reader meets Caroline Neumann, the TV comedy writer at the center of Cantor’s hilarious and propulsive debut, her life is in shambles. Read more.
After Oscar by Merlin Holland (Europa)
In this unique biography, Holland, Oscar Wilde’s grandson, explores the long-lasting impact of Wilde’s criminal conviction for homosexuality in London in 1895 and seeks to clear up misconceptions related to the incident. Read more.
Witches by Steven Veerapen (Pegasus)
Veerapen offers a stirring account of witches across the ages, from the witchcraft trials under King James VI to the ultimate decline of witch-hunting in the early 1700s.
The Oyster Diaries by Nancy Lemann (NYRB)
Lemann takes readers back to the world of her 1985 cult classic Lives of the Saints with an easygoing and lovely novel of late middle-age. Read more.
Picture of Nobody by Philip Owens (McNally Editions)
The forgotten modernist reimagines Shakespeare as a young writer in 1930s London in this strange, sharp satire.
Fidelty by Susan Glaspell (Belt)
First published in 1915, Glaspell’s feminist novel chronicles an affair between a woman and a married man—and how its ramifications echo across their small hometown in Iowa.
If This Be Magic by Daniel Hahn (Knopf)
Translator Hahn shows how Shakespeare’s intricate wordplay is preserved and transformed into other languages in this lively exploration. Read more.
Afternoon Hours of a Hermit by Patrick Cottrell (Ecco)
In this noir-tinged novel, a trans author returns to his childhood home after receiving a mysterious envelope in the mail with a photo of his deceased brother. Read more.
Body Double by Hanna Johansson, tr. Kira Josefsson (Catapult)
Johansson explores themes of doppelgängers, loneliness, and selfhood in her sly latest. Read more.
Wifehouse by Sonya Walger (Union Square)
Through shifting perspectives, Walger offers a nuanced portrait of a woman who embarks on an affair with her much-younger French tutor.
Starstruck by Christopher McDougall (Vintage)
McDougall delivers a propulsive, horrifying account of the sexual abuse scandal involving Mexican pop singer Gloria Trevi and her manager, Sergio Andrade, which he previously covered in 2001’s Girl Trouble. Read more.
Visitations by Julia Alvarez (Knopf)
In her prismatic fourth collection, novelist, memoirist, and poet Alvarez spins richly detailed micro-narratives of her childhood in the Dominican Republic in the 1950s, her young adulthood in New York City, and beyond. Read more.
A Private Man by Stephanie Sy-Quia (Grove)
A vivacious woman falls in love with a priest in 1950s England in the emotive and revelatory debut novel from poet Sy-Quia. Read more.
The Madness of Believing by Josh Owens (Grand Central)
Owens, who dropped out of film school at 24 to accept a job offer from Infowars, reflects on his fall into a world of conspiracy theories, propaganda, and disinformation—and what it means for the rest of us.
Leave Your Mess at Home by Tolani Akinola (Pamela Dorman)
Akinola’s debut takes a closer look at the American Dream through four siblings who reunite at their Nigerian immigrant parents’ Thanksgiving table after a decade apart.
How Black Music Took Over the World by Melvin Gibbs (Basic)
The intricate rhythms and protean harmonies of Africa lie at the heart of most modern music, according to this exuberant debut study. Read more.
The Witch by Marie NDiaye, tr. Jordan Stump (Knopf)
Witchcraft and family strife animate this 1996 novel by NDiaye, winner of the Prix Goncourt for Three Strong Women. Read more.
Midnight, at the War by Devi S. Laskar (Mariner)
Combining the drama of newsrooms, global conflicts, and personal strife, Laskar’s novel follows a foreign correspondent as she is dispatched to the war-torn Middle East in the aftermath of 9/11.
Famesick by Lena Dunham (Random House)
In her latest memoir, the writer and director contends with her swift, and often turbulent, rise to fame across three acts.
Ultranatural by Candice Wuehle (University of Iowa Press)
Wuehle’s latest sees a pop idol forced to confront her small-town past in Appalachia—and the friendship that first threatened her rise to stardom years before.
The Palm House by Gwendoline Riley (NYRB)
From the author of My Phantoms and First Love comes a slender, subtle meditation on friendships and how they endure during times of strife.
Surrender by Jennifer Acker (Delphinium)
Unfolding across the bountiful fields of New England, this bildungsroman follows a 47-year-old goat farmer as she reunites with her high school best friend—and realizes she wants more from her than just friendship. Read more.
Dear Monica Lewinsky by Julia Langbein (Doubleday)
For Jean Dornan, the protagonist of Langbein’s incandescent sophomore novel whose life is still in shambles following a toxic relationship with her college professor almost two decades earlier, it feels like “#MeToo had come and gone like a parade two streets over.” Read more.
American Spirits by Anna Dorn (S&S)
Dorn spins an enjoyable if chaotic satire of celebrity culture and the dark side of fandom. Just like its characters, this is messy and appealing in equal measure. Read more.
Talking Classics by Mary Beard (UChicago Press)
In her newest book, the renowned classicist considers our ongoing fascination with the ancient world and the role of antiquity in the popular imagination.
The First Emancipation by Jeremy D. Popkin (Princeton University Press)
Popkin expertly traces the influence of race on the French Revolution, charting how France became the first western country to abolish slavery throughout its empire—only to return many formerly enslaved people to bondage years later.
How It Feels to Be Alive by Megan O'Grady (FSG)
Critic and essayist O'Grady looks closely at five artworks and the circumstances of their creation, testing Barbara Kruger’s assertion that art offers the “ability to show and tell ... how it feels to be alive.”
The Memory Museum by M Lin (Graywolf)
Lin debuts with a perceptive story collection about the unsettled lives of characters who were born in China and are now scattered around the world. Read more.
Small Boat by Vincent Delecroix, tr. Helen Stevenson (Mariner)
A French coast guard officer confronts the existential dilemma of her job in the thought-provoking English-language debut by novelist and philosopher Delecroix. Read more.
Tosquelles: Healing Institutions by Francesc Tosquelles, tr. Robert Hurley and Mara Faye Lethem (Semiotext(e))
This rigorous anthology, the first of its kind, gathers the Catalan psychiatrist’s intellectual, clinical, and political writings, many of which have yet to appear in English.
Concert Black by Michael O'Donnell (Blackstone)
In this twisty novel, a biographer doggedly pursues a legendary but elusive conductor who is determined to thwart her efforts, setting them on a dramatic collision course.
Israel: What Went Wrong? by Omer Bartov (FSG)
American-Israeli Holocaust scholar Bartov offers a powerful meditation on his birth country’s turn toward violence. Read more.
Small Town Girls by Jayne Anne Phillips (Knopf)
Pulitzer-winning novelist Phillips takes a lyrical look at her West Virginia upbringing in this wonderful memoir-in-essays. Read more.
Exemplary Humans by Juliana Leite, tr. Zoë Perry (Two Lines)
In Leite’s ambitious English-language debut, a 100-year-old woman revisits her past, all while believing that a spy is watching her through her window.
American Men by Jordan Ritter Conn (Grand Central)
This immersive account from Ringer senior staff writer Conn profiles four American men whose lives uniquely tangle with an “inherited masculine ideal.” Read more.
Muskism by Quinn Slobodian and Ben Tarnoff (Harper)
In this searing analysis of Elon Musk, historian Slobodian and tech journalist Tarnoff argue that, just as Fordism “was the operating system” of the 20th century, “Muskism” is that of the 21st. Read more.
Middlemen by Laura B. McGrath (Princeton University Press)
McGrath, an English professor at Temple University, debuts with an enlightening study of how agents have shaped the American literary landscape. Read more.
When the World Sleeps by Francesca Albanese (Other Press)
“I am writing these words at a strange moment in my life: I have just been sanctioned by the United States.... for the absurd ‘crime’ of allegedly working with the International Criminal Court,” begins this incisive, heart-wrenching account from UN special rapporteur Albanese. Read more.
Questions 27 & 28 by Karen Tei Yamashita (Graywolf)
In this innovative polyphonic novel, Yamashita blends archival documents with fictional flourishes to chronicle the detention, forced removal, and conscription of Japanese Americans during WWII. Read more.
All Flesh by Ananda Devi (FSG)
At the beginning of this sensual and provocative novel by Mauritian writer Devi, the unnamed but unforgettable narrator announces she’s about to livestream her own “sacrifice.” Read more.
Mrs. Benedict Arnold by Emma Parry (Zando)
Parry debuts with a reimagining of the life of Peggy Shippen, wife of that infamous turncoat, as she navigates the political currents of the American Revolution and conspires to commit treason.
Fat Swim by Emma Copley Eisenberg (Hogarth)
The protagonists of this glittering story collection from Eisenberg grapple with the messiness of desire and their relationship to their bodies as queer and fat people. Read more.
Presence by Erin Maglaque (Astra House)
Maglaque's sweeping history of women's bodies braids personal experience with scholarship to probe the ways the female form has been politicized through sex, abortion, pregnancy, caregiving, and labor.
Aside from My Heart, All is Well by Héctor Abad, tr. Anne McLean (Archipelago)
Colombian author Abad follows The Farm with a mesmerizing chronicle of Luis Cordóba, an opera-loving priest and film critic, based loosely on the life of Luis Alberto Alvarez (1945–1996). Read more.
The Book That Taught the World to Orgasm and Then Disappeared by Rosa Campbell (Melville House)
Historian Campbell debuts with a revelatory biography of sex researcher Shere Hite (1942–2020), best known for her 1976 publication, The Hite Report. Read more.
*
May
Keeper of My Kin by Ada Ferrer (Scribner)
Pulitzer winner Ferrer traces the impact of her family’s migration in this wrenching account. Read more.
Patient, Female by Julie Schumacher (Milkweed)
This shrewd short story collection explores the messy, mundane realities of both girl- and womanhood from every possible angle.
Honey by Imani Thompson (Random House)
Thompson debuts with the scintillating tale of a disillusioned Cambridge University PhD student who goes on a killing spree. Read more.
Abundance by Hafeez Lakhani (Counterpoint)
Lakhani’s perceptive debut follows the fates and fortunes of an Indian American family facing an impending loss. Read more.
A Little Bit Bad by Cassandra Neyenesch (Summit)
Neyenesch’s darkly funny debut splices a murder mystery with a torrid extramarital affair between a sleep-deprived new mother and her roofer. Read more.
Ugly: A Letter to My Daughter by Stephanie Fairyington (Pantheon)
Journalist Fairyington examines beauty standards and reflects on her meandering road to self-acceptance in her bold debut. Read more.
Five Weeks in the Country by Francine Prose (Harper)
Hans Christian Andersen visits Charles Dickens and his family in this revealing novel from Prose. Read more.
Violent Phenomena, ed. Kavita Bhanot and Jeremy Tiang (HarperVia)
Across 22 essays by established and emerging translators alike, this captivating anthology proposes radical alternatives to the act of literary translation, all while grappling with its imperial legacies.
The Hill by Harriet Clark (FSG)
Clark blends vivid Kafkaesque motifs with a whimsical coming-of-age narrative in her beautiful debut. Read more.
The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer, tr. Shaun Whiteside (New Directions)
Four-year-old Marili learns about life and death and discovers the beauty of the natural world in this deeply perceptive and sensuous 1951 novella from Austrian writer Haushofer. Read more.
John of John by Douglas Stuart (Grove)
Booker Prize winner Stuart showcases his impressive gift for characterization in this perceptive and propulsive story of a tight-knit community of Gaelic-speaking sheep farmers and weavers on the remote Scottish isle of Harris. Read more.
Take a Picture, It Will Last Longer by Brooke DiDonato (Thames & Hudson)
This monograph collects the photographer’s surrealist images, which distort and reimagine familiar and domestic spaces.
Ghost Stories by Siri Hustvedt (S&S)
“I am alive. My husband, Paul Auster, is dead,” writes Hustvedt in the opening sentences of this tender tribute to Baumgartner author Auster, who died of lung cancer in 2024. Read more.
Adrift in the South by Xiao Hai (Granta)
Xai's memoir lays bare the realities of migrant labor in 21st-century China, from the alienation of the factory floor to the hope found in telling one's story.
A Siege of Owls by Uchenna Awoke (Catapult)
Nigerian author Awoke offers a captivating and magic-fueled adventure set in contemporary Africa. Read more.
The Lost Soldiers by Andrey Kurkov, tr. Boris Dralyuk (HarperVia)
The difficulty of solving crimes in a war-ravaged city is at the core of Ukrainian novelist Kurkov’s excellent third mystery featuring novice police investigator Samson Kolechko. Read more.
The Foursome by Christina Baker Kline (Mariner)
Orphan Train author Kline offers a daring and deeply empathetic tale of the sisters who married conjoined twins Chang and Eng Bunker (1811–1874). Read more.
Seek Immediate Shelter by Vincent Yu (Flatiron)
Residents of an Asian American community in Western Massachusetts respond in consequential ways to a false alert of a “ballistic missile threat” in Yu’s resonant debut. Read more.
Memory House by Elaine Kraf (Modern Library)
In this arresting posthumous novel from Kraf, who died in 2013, washed-up writer Marlane Frack attends a mysterious retreat for former artists. Read more.
The Lost Book of Lancelot by John Glynn (Grand Central)
The entertaining debut novel from memoirist Glynn puts a queer spin on Arthurian legend. Read more.
American Rambler by Isaac Fitzgerald (Knopf)
In this lyrical travelogue, memoirist Fitzgerald recounts a yearlong journey he took from Massachusetts to Indiana that was inspired by his childhood love of Johnny Appleseed. Read more.
Night Train by Xu Zechen, tr. Jeremy Tiang (Two Lines)
Hoping for a vacation before beginning his PhD program, an erratic student concocts a story about killing someone and needing to flee in Xu's latest novel.
America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation’s Anniversaries by Eddie S. Glaude Jr. (Crown)
Bestseller Glaude offers a forceful counternarrative to the official commemoration of America’s 250th anniversary by surveying the horrors attendant to some of the nation’s previous anniversaries. Read more.
Kitchen Venom by Philip Hensher (McNally Editions)
First published three decades ago, this inventive novel unravels the scandals that wracked Margaret Thatcher’s government through the eyes of the Iron Lady herself.
Electric Shamans at the Festival of the Sun by Mónica Ojeda, tr. Sarah Booker (Coffee House)
Ojeda delivers an intense and remarkable polyphonic hymn to the consoling and destructive power of music. Read more.
What's So Great About Great Books? by Naomi Kanakia (Princeton University Press)
The novelist and literary blogger makes the case that, despite their frequent difficulty and contentiousness, reading the “Great Books” is not only beneficial but necessary.
Attention-Seeking Behavior by Aea Varfis-van Warmelo (Graywolf)
In this genre-defying novel, an self-identified liar spins tales of love and betrayal, while we readers attempt to parse whether she’s telling the truth, or just looking for attention.
On Witness and Respair by Jesmyn Ward (Scribner)
The two-time National Book Award winner's creative nonfiction is collected here, from her most beloved essays to never-before-published speeches.
The Danger to Be Sane by Rosa Montero, tr. Lindsey Ford (Europa)
In this unique exploration, Spanish journalist and novelist Montero unpacks the relationship between creativity and madness. Read more.
How to Rule the World by Theo Baker (Penguin)
In this incendiary account, debut author Baker details how a tip he received as a freshman student journalist at Stanford University led to the resignation of university president Marc Tessier-Lavigne. Read more.
Memory Rehearsal by Eleni Sikelianos (City Lights)
Mixing poetry, prose, and archival materials, this hybrid text excavates the legacy of the author’s great-grandmother, classical Greek revivalist Eva Palmer.
The Land and Its People by David Sedaris (Little, Brown)
Humorist Sedaris returns with a funny and heartfelt essay collection on friendship, family, and aging. These essays are among the best of his career. Read more.
Glyph by Ali Smith (Pantheon)
Booker finalist Smith offers a clever and enjoyable companion piece to her 2025 novel, Gliff. Read more.
Artifacts by Natalie Lemle (S&S)
A repatriation case against a New York City museum forces a lawyer to revisit troubling memories from her college summer abroad in Lemle’s suspenseful debut. Read more.
I Would Die If I Were You by Emily Rapp Black (Counterpoint)
In her latest memoir, Rapp Black draws on two decades of teaching to meditate on disability, grief, and empathy across art.
Binary Star by Sarah Gerard (Seven Stories)
A teacher in training struggles with anorexia and a troubled relationship throughout this new paperback edition of Gerard’s 2015 debut novel in verse. Read more.
Lost Worlds by Patrick Wyman (Harper)
Historian Wyman upends myths about the rise of civilization in this profound and enchanting study. Read more.
Tarantula by Eduardo Halfon, trans. by Daniel Hahn (Bellevue Literary)
Guatemalan writer Halfon reflects on his time at a nightmarish summer camp in this resonant autofiction. Read more.
Mare by Emily Haworth-Booth (FSG)
A woman develops an all-consuming infatuation with the mare she leases part-time in Haworth-Booth’s alluring first novel.
It’s Hard to be an Animal by Robert Isaacs (Grand Central)
Riffing on Doctor Doolittle, the exciting and hilarious debut from Isaacs follows a 28-year-old New Yorker who suddenly develops the ability to hear what animals are saying. Read more.
Helen Levitt by Joshua Chuang (Thames & Hudson)
This groundbreaking survey catalogs the work of American photographer Helen Levitt (1913-2009), who, across six decades, captured the streets of her native New York City with startling intimacy.
Hope House by Joe Bond (Hub City)
Bond’s gut-punch of a debut centers on Hope House, a Kentucky group home for a motley crew of boys who, in the 1980s, don’t have much of a future ahead of them—most likely prison, living on the streets, or worse. Read more.
Pretend You're Dead and I'll Carry You by Julián Delgado Lopera (Norton)
Delgado Lopera dives into Colombia’s taboo queer culture in this scintillating narrative of a man torn between belonging and self-expression. Read more.
The Vivisectors by Missouri Williams (MCD)
In the hypnotic sophomore outing from Williams, a professor’s personal assistant gets drawn into a strange triangle with her boss and a male student. Read more.
The Story of Marie Powell, Wife to John Milton by Robert Graves (Seven Stories)
This reissue of Graves’s 1943 classic delves into the life of Marie Powell, who, at 16 years old, was pushed into marrying one of England’s greatest epic poets.
Spawning Season by Joseph Osmundson (Bloomsbury)
Biophysicist Osmundson blends memoir and science writing in this moving meditation on queer family, the climate crisis, and 21st-century child-rearing. Read more.
No God But Us by Bobuq Sayed (Harper)
Sayed’s impressive debut tells the parallel stories of two gay men who meet in 2015 Istanbul. Read more.
The Disease of Boredom by Josefa Ros Velasco, tr. Kyle Rosen (Princeton University Press)
In this thought-provoking historical account, Ros Velasco, a professor at the Complutense University of Madrid, demystifies a misunderstood emotion.
Prophecies by Chrisopher Dell (Thames & Hudson)
Across nine richly illustrated chapters, art historian Dell reveals how we've grappled with the future and its attendant uncertainties through the divine, the occult, and the supernatural.
And, How Have You Been by Maria Judite de Carvalho, tr. Margaret Jull Costa (Two Lines)
This collection gathers the late stories of the Portuguese author (1921-1998), known for her incisive prose and finely-tuned portraits of women, translated into English for the first time.
*
June
Whistler by Anne Patchett (Harper)
Patchett follows 2023’s Tom Lake with another perfectly executed and quietly profound family drama. Read more.
The Children by Melissa Albert (Morrow)
The 30-something daughter of a famous novelist looks back on her traumatic Vermont childhood in the eerie and assured adult debut from YA author Albert. Read more.
The Hidden History of Conspiracy Theory by Andrew McKenzie-McHarg (Princeton University Press)
From Machiavelli to QAnon, this incisive account charts how the conspiracy theories have evolved—and remained the same—throughout the centuries.
My Year in Paris with Gertrude Stein by Deborah Levy (FSG)
A transplanted Londoner in contemporary Paris struggles to write an essay on Gertrude Stein in this arch novel from Levy. Read more.
Meeting New People by Daniel M. Lavery (HarperVia)
Following Women’s Hotel, Lavery returns with a novel about a 50-something, twice-divorced woman looking back on the dissolution of the nine best friendships of her life.
Cut Out by Fiona Rogers (Thames & Hudson)
Complete with 200 color illustrations, this comprehensive volume explores the relationship between photography, feminist art, and collage through the collection of the V&A.
Good-Bye by Osamu Dazai, tr. Ralph McCarthy (New Directions)
This new collection of eleven short stories and vignettes, many never before translated into English, is sure to appeal to the rabid fanbase of the Japanese writer (1909–1948), best known for his portraits of despair.
1873 by Liaquat Ahamed (Penguin)
The latest from the Pulitzer Prize–winning financial historian reckons with the fraught legacy of the Rothschilds and the famous banking family's role in one of the world’s worst economic collapses.
It’s All River by Carla Madeira, tr. Alison Entrekin (Liveright)
In this taut narrative, the Brazilian writer offers the story of a prostitute caught in a twisted love triangle—and the destruction it leaves in its wake.
Like a Cat Loves a Bird by James Bailey (Princeton University Press)
Bailey's stylish biography traces the arc of Spark’s life and literary career, both of which spanned nearly the entire 20th century.
Bone Horn by Prudence Bussey-Chamberlain (Soft Skull)
Picasso once quipped that Alice B. Toklas's bangs hid the stump of a horn—and in Bussey-Chamberlain's queer detective novel, a newly registered private investigator attempts to track it down.
Freedom by Zinzi Clemmons (Viking)
The electrifying nonfiction debut from novelist Clemmons muses on the thorny concept of freedom in “a world buckling from the consequences of centuries of interlocking injustices.” Read more.
A Sense of Occasion by Brodie Crellin (Riverhead)
The British novelist's debut sees a dysfunctional family reunite in a small English village for their matriarch's funeral over a sweltering summer weekend.
Quake by Kitty Mrosovky (McNally Editions)
Mrosovsky, who died in 1995, weaves a sensuous tale of female desire—unpublished in her life time—in which a woman grows increasingly enamored with her younger Italian lover.
Rasputin Swims the Potomac by Ben Fountain (Flatiron)
Fountain's satire imagines an alternate reality not that far from our own, complete with a mysterious pandemic, a desperate president, and a pro wrestler thrust into the political limelight.
Two Ships by David S. Reynolds (Penguin)
Reynolds maps the how the arrival of two ships—The White Lion, which brought the first enslaved Africans to Jamestown in 1619, and the Mayflower, which brought the Pilgrims to Plymouth Rock in 1620—set the stage for centuries of American polarization.
Pool House by Mary H.K. Choi (Flatiron)
At the heart of Choic's adult debut is the tense relationship between a mother and daughter, both of whom live in their backyard pool house while renting out their main home to pay the bills.
Empire of Ink by Alex Wright (Basic)
Wright's history traces the rise of the American newspaper from the Revolutionary War through to the 20th century, and the radical spirit behind its inception.
On the Other Side Is March by Sólrún Michelsen, tr. Marita Thomsen (Transit)
A middle-aged woman adjusts to being a grandmother and caretaker for her own mother in the wake of her father’s death, in the poignant English-language debut from Michelsen—the first female Faroese writer to ever appear in the language. Read more.
Dodsworth by Sinclair Lewis (S&T Classics)
Lewis’s 1929 satire, about millionaire auto manufacturer whose marriage is imperiled by his wife's European vacation, returns in a new edition with insights from scholars Nissa Ren Cannon and Sheila Liming.
There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood by Rasheed Newson (Flatiron)
The My Government means to Kill Me author returns with a novel set in 1950s Hollywood and propelled by the untimely death of a young Black movie star.
The Summer of the Serpent by Cecilia Eudave, tr. Robin Meyers (Soho Press)
Set during a sweltering summer in 1977, this fragmented novel takes a surrealist tack to excavate the secrets of a quiet, residential neighborhood in Guadalajara.
The Perfect Moment by Isaac Butler (Bloomsbury)
The National Book Critics Circle Award–Winner returns with a smart cultural history of today's culture wars, arguing that their origins lie in a 1988 attempt by Pat Buchanan and other conservatives to stir up moral panic about contemporary artists like Robert Mapplethorpe.
The Narrow Road of Oku by Bashō, tr. Meredith McKinney (New Directions)
McKinney's translation breathes new life the Edo-era poet's now-famous travelogue chronicling his pilgrimage from Tokyo to Lake Biwa.
Cleanup on Aisle Five by Ann Larson (One Signal)
This illuminating debut chronicle turns Larson’s pandemic-era stint as a grocery worker into a rallying cry against corporate greed. Read more.
Without Terminus by Chaun Webster (Graywolf)
In his first work of nonfiction, the poet braids together memoir, archival research, visual poetics, and cultural criticism to explore anti-Black violence, inheritance, and memory, as well as his own grandfather's experience as a Pullman porter.
I’ll Take the Fire by Leila Slimani (Penguin)
Slimani's autobiographical coming-of-age novel follows a woman who, after growing up in socially conservative Morocco, embarks on a quest for political and sexual freedom.
The Cruelty of Nice Folks by Justin Ellis (Harper)
In this penetrating and moving debut, journalist Ellis examines past and present African American life in his hometown of Minneapolis. Read more.
Shakespeare’s Margaret by Charles O’Malley and Scott W. Stern (Norton)
Theater critic O’Malley and lawyer Stern assemble an enthralling history of Shakespeare’s portrayal of Margaret of Anjou, who married Henry VI at 14 and ruled during the War of Roses. Read more.
Trash! A Garbageman’s Story by Simon Pare-Poupart, tr. Pablo Strauss (Melville House)
“The garbageman is the Sisyphus of our consumer society, condemned to go from house to house picking up bags, swept along day after day in the never-ending flow of refuse we produce,” writes Montréal sanitation worker Pare-Poupart in his bewitching debut memoir. Read more.
The Sixth Nik by Daniel Kraus (Saga)
This galaxy-spanning adventure follows a nine-year-old cultist with a tech-enhanced brain as boards a mysterious spaceship to investigate an even more mysterious planet.
Weimar by Katja Hoyer (Basic)
Following her history of East Germany, the historian and journalist returns with a sprawling chronicle of interwar Germany, as told through the town of Weimar—which, Hoyer notes, was both the site of the country's first democracy and the first place Nazis were welcomed into local government.
The Millions’ Great Winter 2026 Preview
Winter demands that we slow down, take stock, rest. And while we hibernate, books can keep us company. Luckily, this season, there are plenty of noteworthy new reads to fill these cold, short days.
Below, you’ll find 100 titles out this winter that we’re excited about here at The Millions. Some we’ve already read in galley form; others we’re simply eager to dive into based on their authors or subjects. We leaned on our friends at Publishers Weekly to help blurb some of the many, many titles that we’re eager to put on your radar.
The Millions is, alas, still on hiatus, but we’re determined to continue bringing you our seasonal Most Anticipated previews in the interim (if a bit belatedly).
—Sophia Stewart, editor
*
January
Call Me Ishmaelle by Xiaolu Guo (Black Cat)
NBCC Award winner Guo delivers a spectacular retelling of Moby-Dick, in which she recasts Ishmael as a 17-year-old girl and Ahab as a Black freedman named Seneca who’s battling the “white devil.” Read more.
Philosophy of Writing by David Arndt (Bloomsbury Academic)
In his latest, the comparative literature professor proposes new frameworks through which to understand writing not just as a craft, but as a philosophical undertaking.
Nothing Random by Gayle Feldman (Random House)
This cinematic biography of Random House founder Bennett Cerf from longtime PW writer Feldman teems with a star-studded cast including Truman Capote, James Joyce, Alfred Knopf, Ayn Rand, and Dick Simon. Read more.
Palinuro of Mexico by Fernando del Paso, tr. Elizabeth Plaister (Dalkey Archive)
Virgil's Palinurus was Aeneas's helmsman who fell victim to the god of sleep; his namesake in this complex, beautiful novel, is also a guide to a novel that straddles the conscious and subconscious, life and death. Read more.
The Last of Earth by Deepa Anappara (Random House)
Edgar winner Anappara offers a vivid narrative of two 1869 expeditions into Tibet at a time when it was still closed off to outsiders and its rivers and mountains were mostly uncharted. Read more.
Fire Sword and Sea by Vanessa Riley (Morrow)
Riley’s exciting latest follows a young Haitian woman’s fight against slavery and her turn toward piracy. Read more.
We Would Have Told Each Other Everything by Judith Hermann, tr. Katy Derbyshire (FSG)
In this deeply affecting English-language debut, German writer Hermann reflects on the connections between art and experience, delving into her protagonist’s family history in West Germany and the relationships that shaped her life. Read more.
The Hitch by Sara Levine (Roxane Gay)
Levine serves up a bizarre and mordantly funny tale of a six-year-old who might be possessed by a dead corgi. Read more.
This Is Where the Serpent Lives by Daniyal Mueenuddin (Knopf)
Mueenuddin’s lavish sophomore effort spans six decades and traces the lives of a wealthy Pakistani clan and those who work for them. Read more.
The School of Night by Karl Ove Knausgaard, tr. Martin Aitken (Penguin)
In Knausgaard’s ingenious fourth entry in the Morning Star series, a self-absorbed Norwegian photographer strikes a Faustian bargain in exchange for success. Read more.
The Snakes That Ate Florida by Ian Frazier (FSG)
In this substantial yet brisk collection, essayist and humorist Frazier compiles highlights from his half-century career at the New Yorker and other outlets. Read more.
Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage by Belle Burden (Dial)
Immigration lawyer Burden traces the exhilarating start and excruciating dissolution of her two-decade marriage in this bruising debut. Read more.
Pedro the Vast by Simón López Trujillo (Algonquin)
In Trujillo’s equally heady and thrilling sci-fi debut, panic attack–prone mycologist Giovanna Oddó is summoned to a provincial Chilean hospital to consult on a strange case of “lethal blight” believed to be caused by the mushroom Cryptococcus gatti. Read more.
The Old Fire by Elisa Shua Dusapin, tr. Aneesa Abbas Higgins (Summit)
In the quietly affecting latest from Dusapin, two sisters reunite to clear out their family home in the French countryside. Read more.
Discipline by Larissa Pham (Random House)
Pham, author of the memoir Pop Song, turns to fiction with the dazzling story of an art critic who publishes a novel about the former professor who rejected her after their affair. Read more.
Eating Ashes by Brenda Navarro, tr. Megan McDowell (Norton)
The grieving unnamed narrator of Mexican writer Navarro’s spellbinding U.S. debut ruminates on the effects of migration. Read more.
Scale Boy by Patrice Nganang (FSG)
In this gorgeous memoir, Cameroonian novelist Nganang chronicles his coming of age in the 1970s and ’80s and his decision to pursue a literary life. Read more.
Fanny Hill: Or, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure by John Cleland (Unnamed)
Banned from publication in the U.S. until 1966, Cleland’s erotic novel from 1749 offers an account of a woman’s early days of prostitution in 18th-century London.
Iconophages by Jérémie Koering, tr. Nicholas Huckle (Princeton UP)
In this adroit English-language debut, Koering, an art history professor at the University of Fribourg in Switzerland, surveys the long and surprising tradition of how “figured representations” have been ritualistically consumed. Read more.
One Aladdin Two Lamps by Jeanette Winterson (Grove)
Critic and fiction writer Winterson anchors this dazzling memoir-in-essays in her childhood obsession with One Thousand and One Nights, the collection of Middle Eastern folktales that introduced magic lamps and flying carpets to the West. Read more.
When Trees Testify by Beronda Montgomery (Holt)
Plant biologist Montgomery mixes memoir, history, and science in this unique examination of the significance of trees in Black history. Read more.
The Flower Bearers by Rachel Eliza Griffiths (Random House)
In her stunning debut memoir, poet and novelist Griffiths details the most challenging period of her life, during which her best friend died and her husband, the author Salman Rushdie, was brutally attacked. Read more.
Crux by Gabriel Tallent (Riverhead)
This tense and staggering tale of rock climbing and family demons from Tallent explores the cost of following one’s dreams. Read more.
Beckomberga by Sara Stridsberg, tr. Deborah Bragan-Turner (FSG)
Stridsberg’s singular novel traces the history of Stockholm’s Beckomberga psychiatric asylum via wrenching stories of its patients. Read more.
How to Commit a Post-Colonial Murder by Nina McConigley (Pantheon)
McConigley follows her PEN/Open Book Award–winning collection, Cowboys and East Indians, with a witty and ultimately profound tale centered on two angsty preteens’ plot to kill their abusive uncle. Read more.
Just Watch Me by Lior Torenberg (Avid Reader)
Torenberg debuts with a bewitching tragicomedy about a young woman who takes drastic actions to raise money for her sister’s medical bills. Read more.
A Very Cold Winter by Fausta Cialente, tr. Julia Nelsen (Transit)
In this overdue translation of Cialente’s vital 1966 novel, her first to be published in English, a family struggles to find harmony while crammed together in a frigid Milan squat. Read more.
Station of the Birds by Betsy Sussler (Spuyten Duyvil)
In the author's latest, a son disinherited by his father while attending college returns to his hometown with an eye toward vengeance.
Vigil by George Saunders (Random House)
A ghost attempts to guide an unrepentant oil executive toward redemption and the afterlife in the staggering latest from Saunders. Read more.
A Hymn to Life by Gisèle Pelicot, tr. Natasha Lehrer and Ruth Diver (Penguin)
Pelicot, who first rose to prominence after waiving her right to anonymity in the court case against her husband and 50 men accused of sexually assaulting her, tells her story for the first time in this harrowing, galvanizing memoir.
Black Dahlia by William J. Mann (S&S)
Novelist and biographer Mann delivers a meticulous and humane reconsideration of one of America’s most sensationalized unsolved murders. Read more.
Rooting Interest by Cat Disabato (831 Stories)
In this sapphic sports romance from Disabato, NFL reporter Jennifer Felix is reassigned to cover WNBA All-Star Weekend, despite knowing nothing about basketball. Read more.
February
Lee and Elaine by Ann Rower (Semiotext(e))
In this second novel by Rower, the artistic and social excesses of the New York School painters—Jackson Pollock, Lee Krasner, Willem de Kooning and Elaine de Kooning—provide a welcome obsession for a painter in a midlife crisis. Read more.
The End of Romance by Lily Meyer (Viking)
Critic and translator Meyer’s sharp and sexy sophomore novel chronicles a young woman’s liberation from an abusive marriage. Read more.
Language as Liberation by Toni Morrison (Knopf)
In this series of lectures from the Nobel laureate’s tenure as a professor at Princeton, Morrison examines Black characters throughout American literature and their impact on our national imagination.
Superfan by Jenny Tinghui Zhang (Flatiron)
Zhang explores the line between fandom and idol worship in her sharp sophomore outing. Read more.
The People Can Fly by Joshua Bennett (Little, Brown)
Bennett charts the complex role of Black prodigies and gifted children in American history, including by tracking the early educations of luminaries ranging from Malcolm X to Stevie Wonder.
Second Skin by Anastasiia Fedorova (Catapult)
Toggling between memoir, reportage, social history, cultural criticism, and erotic writing, Fedorova maps the worlds of sexual fetishism and kink, considering the the forces that shape desire, and how desire shapes us.
Autobiography of Cotton by Cristina Rivera Garza, tr. Christina MacSweeney (Graywolf)
Memoirist and novelist Rivera Garza weaves labor history, environmental catastrophe, and stories of her family into a vivid tapestry. Read more.
A Killing in Cannabis by Scott Eden (Spiegel & Grau)
Investigative journalist Eden shines in this novelistic work of true crime, which opens in 2019, when deputies responded to a 911 call reporting a kidnapping in Santa Cruz, Calif., at the home of tech CEO Tushar Atre, who’d recently launched a cannabis company. Read more.
Heap Earth Upon It by Chloe Michelle Howarth (Melville House)
Howarth captures the rhythms and underlying tensions of an Irish village through the eyes of multiple characters in her alluring sophomore outing. Read more.
Ladies Almanack by Djuna Barnes (Dalkey Archive)
Barnes's trailblazing work of lesbian literature—part social satire, part Restoration pastiche, part love letter to Paris—returns nearly a century after its 1928 publication courtesy of Dalkey Archive.
The Wall Dancers by Yi-Ling Liu (Knopf)
This incisive, empathetic debut study from journalist Liu examines three decades of the internet’s evolution in China, from the mid-1990s explosion of microblogs and message boards that corresponded with the country’s increasing liberalization, to the mid-aughts raising of the Great Firewall. Read more.
Alice Baber: An Artist’s Triumph Over Tragedy by Gail Levin (Pegasus)
Levin’s biography questions why Baber—whose abstract paintings had entered into the collections of the Met, Whitney, Guggenheim, and MoMA by the time she died at 54—ultimately fell into obscurity, while also restoring the artist to her rightful place in modernist history.Scatman John by Gina Waggot (Bloomsbury Academic)
Music journalist Waggott debuts with an affectionate biography of John Larkin (1942–1999), better known as Scatman John, who rose to fame in the mid-1990s with a blend of jazz, pop, and scat-singing. Read more.
The Jills by Karen Parkman (Ballantine)
Parkman debuts with a thrilling mystery that offers an immersive view into the lives of NFL cheerleaders. Read more.
Frog by Anne Fadiman (FSG)
Essayist and reporter Fadiman reflects on her life and the ever-changing world around her in this affecting and often humorous collection. Read more.
I Hope You Find What You're Looking For by Bsrat Mezghebe (Liveright)
The nuanced debut from Mezghebe finds an Eritrean American teen seeking answers about her late father’s life as a revolutionary martyr. Read more.
This is Not About Us by Allegra Goodman (Dial)
Goodman delivers a bighearted linked story collection about a family’s travails. Read more.
One Bad Mother by Ej Dickson (Simon Element)
New York magazine writer Dickson debuts with a smart and funny exploration of what it means to be a “bad mom.” Read more.On Morrison by Namwali Serpell (Hogarth)
Serpell, a novelist and professor of English at Harvard, provides an insightful and stimulating exploration of the work of Nobel Prize winner Toni Morrison. Read more.
Queen by Birgitta Trotzig, tr. Saskia Vogel
The first in a trio of works by the legendary Swedish writer set to be translated by Vogel, this 1964 novella follows a girl named Judit and her enigmatic inner life.
Lean Cat, Savage Cat by Lauren J. Joseph (Catapult)
An artist’s bohemian existence in Berlin implodes in this exquisite novel from Joseph. Read more.
Evil Genius by Claire Oshetsky (Ecco)
Oshetsky’s potent latest dives into the volatile inner world of a young woman who fantasizes about a life beyond her abusive marriage. Read more.
Head of Household by Oliver Munday (S&S)
Munday's debut story collection mines the complexity, anxieties, and daily rituals of contemporary fatherhood.
The Writer's Room by Katie da Cunha Lewin (Princeton UP)
Literature lecturer Lewin debuts with an insightful exploration of the spaces where famous writers crafted their most influential works. Read more.
Citizenship by Daisy Hernández (Hogarth)
Hernández presents a comprehensive and timely inquiry into American citizenship, weaving together memoir, history, and cultural criticism.
Beloved Son Felix by Felix Platter, tr. Seán Jennett (McNally Editions)
In 1552, a 16-year-old Felix Platter left Switzerland to study medicine in France, documenting his daily life in a diary—and now, contemporary readers can enjoy one of the world’s earliest journals, which chronicles everything from a brush with the bubonic plague to a John Calvin speech.
A Place Both Wonderful and Strange by Scott Meslow (Running Press)
The short-lived 1990 TV series Twin Peaks cast a long cultural shadow, according to this energetic account from film critic Meslow. His diligent account of the show’s cultural legacy [is interwoven] with delightful peeks into its idiosyncratic production and the eccentric directorial style of David Lynch. Read more.
Daughter of Mother-of-Pearl by Mandy-Suzanne Wong (Graywolf)
This mesmerizing collection from novelist and essayist Wong uses observations of small invertebrates to tackle questions about selfhood, consciousness, and humans’ relationship with nature. Read more.
Everything Lost Returns by Sarah Domet (Flatiron)
In Domet’s latest page-turner, two women are united across time by the arrival of Halley’s comet.
Every Moment Is a Life, ed. susan abulhawa (One Signal)
This Arabic-English bilingual anthology compiles essays by 18 young Palestinian writers whose writing grapples with the ongoing genocide in their homeland.
The Disappearing Act by Maria Stepanova, tr. Sasha Dugdale (New Directions)
In this captivating and capacious novel from Stepanova, a 50-year-old novelist experiences a bizarre and liberating metamorphosis while in exile from her unnamed home country, which has just started a devastating war with its neighbor. Read more.
I Give You My Silence by Mario Vargas Llosa, tr. Adrian Nathan West (FSG)
Nobel laureate Llosa, who died last year, tackles Peruvian history and culture in this searching novel, published in Spanish in 2023, about the limits of idealism. Read more.
I Am the Ghost Here by Kim Samek (Dial)
Samek debuts with a striking collection of fantastical and speculative stories about conformity, technology, and the limits of bodily autonomy. Read more.
Doing Nothing by James Currie (Duke UP)
In his contribution to Duke University Press's Practices series, Currie delves into modes of being such as procrastination, resignation, and melancholia—and the unexpected opportunities these states can present.
Technology and Barbarism by Michel Nieva, tr. Rahul Bery and Daniel Hahn (Astra House)
From the author of Dengue Boy comes a probing nonfiction collection which investigates the influence of "hard" science fiction and how the genre informs our complicated relationship with technology.
The Silent Period by Francesca Manfredi, tr. by Ekin Oklap (Norton)
The elegant and witty latest from Manfredi sees an unfulfilled young woman commit to silence. Read more.
Brawler by Lauren Groff (Riverhead)
Story Prize winner Groff delivers a gorgeous collection about families transformed by desperate circumstances. Read more.
More Than Enough by Anna Quindlen (Random House)
DNA test results rattle a middle-aged New Yorker in the poignant latest from Quindlen. Read more.
Starry and Restless by Julia Cooke (FSG)
In this expansive group biography, journalist Cooke profiles three prolific mid-century female journalists and examines the impact their reporting had on both their times and their profession. Read more.
March
Dream Facades by Jack Balderrama Morley (Astra House)
Morley explores what the dwellings depicted on reality TV reveal about Americans’ deep-seated desires for safety and security.
Now I Surrender by Álvaro Enrigue, tr. Natasha Wimmer (Riverhead)
In his latest work of alternate history, Mexican novelist Enrigue delivers his most ambitious book to date—a multilayered epic of the Apache Wars. Read more.
Judy Blume: A Life by Mark Oppenheimer (Putnam)
Journalist Oppenheimer contends in this impressive biography that Judy Blume “rewired the English-speaking world’s expectations of what literature for young people could be.” Read more.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton: A Revolutionary Life by Ellen Carol DuBois (Basic)
As a historian of woman’s suffrage, DuBois paints a definitive portrait of one of the most influential leaders in the fight for American women’s right to vote.
The Complex by Karan Mahajan (Viking)
In Mahajan’s immersive third novel, a family tragedy unfolds against the backdrop of political upheaval in India. Read more.
Will This Make You Happy by Tanya Bush (Chronicle)
This hybrid memoir and cookbook from the cofounder of Cake Zine pairs more than 50 recipes with a chronicle of the year she rediscovered her joy of baking.
Seeking Sexual Freedom by Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah (S&S)
Sekyiamah profiles traditional sex practices across Africa—particularly older women and gurus who guide girls through puberty and early marital life—and argues that such open, liberated sex lives are hampered by Western norms.
A Marsh Island by Sarah Orne Jewett (S&T Classics)
Originally published in 1885, this reissue of Jewett’s idyllic classic chronicles life in a small New England coastal community through the eyes of a Manhattanite landscape painter.
Freezing Point by Anders Bodelsen (Faber)
In this sly and visionary 1969 novel from Bodelsen, reissued with a new introduction by Sophie Mackintosh, a 30-something magazine editor agrees to be cryogenically frozen until a cure is found for his terminal cancer. Read more.
Kids, Wait Till You Hear This! by Liza Minnelli (Grand Central)
The EGOT icon tells the story of her life in her debut memoir, from her four marriages to her lifelong struggle with substance use to her experience growing up as the only child of two Hollywood legends.
Voices by Frederic Prokosch (NYRB Classics)
American fantasist Prokosch's mostly made-up memoir of his childhood in Middle America and later years in the South of France, first published in 1982, returns thanks to a reissue by NYRB.
Down Time by Andrew Martin (FSG)
In Martin’s well-observed but listless third outing, a group of loosely connected 30-somethings float through the Covid-19 era, coping with cheating partners, enduring lockdown, and questioning their professional, romantic, and creative choices. Read more.
Whidbey by T Kira Madden (Mariner)
The propulsive debut novel from Madden, author of the memoir Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls, explores the aftermath of child sexual abuse. Read more.
I Was Alive Here Once, ed. Sarah Coolidge (Two Lines)
This anthology, the latest installment in Two Lines' Calico series, anthology gathers ghost stories from Korea, Yemen, Poland, Japan, Uzbekistan, Iceland, Tanzania, and Thailand.
On an Inland Sea, ed. Michael Welch (Belt)
Thirty-three writers meditate on the experience of living on the Great Lakes in this anthology from Cleveland-based Belt Publishing, which promotes voices from the Rust Belt.
The Natural Way of Things by Charlotte Wood (Riverhead)
Reissued on the occasion of its tenth anniversary, this novel is allegory at its best, a phantasmagoric portrait of modern culture's sexual politics textured by psychological realism and sparing lyricism. Read more.
Partially Devoured by Daniel Kraus (Counterpoint)
Novelist Kraus offers an entertaining deep dive into George A. Romero’s classic horror film, which inspired a lifelong passion for horror, low-budget filmmaking, and Romero’s movies. Read more.
Hooked by Asako Yuzuki, tr. by Polly Barton (Ecco)
In her follow-up to Butter, Yuzuki returns with an unnerving portrait of female obsession and friendship, in which a woman develops an all-consuming fascination with a popular lifestyle blogger.
Chains of Ideas by Ibram X. Kendi (One World)
The National Book Award winner tackles the “great replacement theory,” and how it came to find its way into contemporary politics, in his latest.
My Lover the Rabbi by Wayne Koestenbaum (FSG)
Polymath Koestenbaum charts the psychosexual relationship between the narrator and his rabbi, as the two men torture, pleasure, and exploit one another.
Sisters in Yellow by Mieko Kawakami, tr. Laurel Taylor and Hitomi Yoshio (Knopf)
Kawakami unfurls a remarkable noir-tinged tale of female desperation set during the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic. Read more.
Who Killed Bambi? by Monika Fagerholm, tr. Bradley Harmon (University of Wisconsin Press)
Set in a fictional, affluent suburb of Helsinki, this nonlinear novel follows a successful realtor haunted by his role as one of four teenage rapists involved in a devastating sexual assault.
The Oldest Bitch Alive by Morgan Day (Astra House)
Day explores the nature of parasitic and symbiotic relationships in her wondrous debut, which largely follows the deterioration of a couple’s beloved French bulldog, Gelsomina. Read more.
Sydney Journals by Antigone Kefala (Transit)
This cosmopolitan collection of journal entries from the late Australian poet Antigone Kefala, who died in 2022, contains moving reflections on the tension between modern life and the life of the mind. Read more.
Python's Kiss by Louise Erdrich (Harper)
Pulitzer winner Erdrich dives deep into the American psyche in this spectacular collection. Read more.
Ruins, Child by Giada Scodellaro (New Directions)
Scodallero’s mesmerizing and challenging debut novel focuses on a film screening in a near-future intentional community of women. Read more.
The Life You Want by Adam Phillips (FSG)
In a series of interlinked essays, Phillips uses psychoanalytic and literary approaches to unveil the difficulties of fashioning—and enjoying—our lives.
American Han by Lisa Lee (Algonquin)
Lee’s debut follows a brother and sister as they confront how they once embodied—and ultimately departed from—the American myth of the “model minority.”
The News from Dublin by Colm Tóibín (Scribner)
The Irish writer’s latest story collection includes nine works of short fiction—many never-before-published—set across Ireland, Spain, and America.
A Good Person by Kirsten King (Putnam)
Screenwriter King debuts with the clever tale of a vengeful woman whose ex-boyfriend winds up dead after she casts a spell on him. Read more.
Son of Nobody by Yann Martel (Norton)
In the inspired latest from Booker winner Martel, a literature scholar discovers an alternate account of the Trojan War. Read more.
The Monroe Girls by Antoine Volodine, tr. Alyson Waters (Archipelago)
The fascinating and sardonic latest from Volodine plays out in the mind of a schizophrenic who lives in a postapocalyptic psychiatric hospital among the living and the dead. Read more.
A Year in Reading: 2025
The Millions has been on hiatus for the last year, so we've had to scale back our editorial output to just our seasonal Most Anticipated lists. But we couldn't let 2025 go by without bringing out our annual Year in Reading series, where we check in with some of the most interesting writers and thinkers working today about their noteworthy reads of the last 12 months.
This year, the series is taking a more condensed form—we asked contributors for shorter reflections, and are publishing them all simultaneously—but we hope it will nevertheless help you discover your next great book. I, for one, am newly determined to finally read some Muriel Spark—thanks, Sebastian Castillo.
—Sophia Stewart, editor
* * *
Caleb Gayle
author, Black Moses
It’s usually impossible to find time to read much during a book launch. But when a book like Shattered Dreams, Infinite Hope: A Tragic Vision of the Civil Rights Movement by Brandon Terry landed on my doorstop, I knew that I would need to make the time. In it, Terry upends our too-often romantic, or at other times, deeply ironic memories of the Civil Rights Movement. It isn’t the kind of book that one breezes through—I know I didn’t! But it is the kind of book that lingered with me, haunted how I revisit the past, and forced me to reconsider how that past informs the present. When I wasn’t reconsidering the past, I just had a blast reading Katie Yee’s Maggie; Or, a Man and a Woman Walk Into a Bar. What a fun and funny ride.
* * *
James Webster
marketing director, Deep Vellum and Dalkey Archive Press
I’ll be honest, this was an unusually contemporary year for me! Normally I read pretty widely, time-wise, but there were a handful of remarkably self-assured debut novels that couldn’t be ignored. First, I adored Stephanie Wambugu’s deliberately-old-fashioned Lonely Crowds, and have recommended it to so many people that they could populate an upstate college town like the one that features so heavily in the novel. I loved the flame-throwing Bad Nature by Ariel Courage, which is so furious in its voice, so cutting with its humor, that it’s almost intoxicating—like the buzzy lightheaded feeling you get from giving blood. And rounding out the trilogy was Cora Lewis’s Information Age, which is one of those fragmentary novels that we’ve all seen countless times, but incredibly, Lewis sacrifices nothing in the negative space.
Elsewhere, Francesca Wade’s Gertrude Stein: An Afterlife is an exemplary biography, looking at both an artist, and the creation of that artist’s legacy—itself a sort of art form. I spent several months reading nothing but Italian women (Ginzburg, de Céspedes, Morante, Terranova, Raimo, Mazzetti), and I also enjoyed playing director while reading Karl Krauss’s delirious and impossible-to-stage Modernist play, The Last Days of Mankind.
Finally, as the father of a two-year-old, I read the same 10 children’s books approximately one thousand times, each. Don’t miss Curious George Takes a Job, which contains a disquieting scene at the hospital, where George finds a bottle of ether and inhales the anesthetic until “everything went dark.”
* * *
Henry Hoke
author, Open Throat
I became a parent at the start of 2025, and although I was hanging out with my kid on the opposite coast, my heart and my reading choices were with my long-time home of Los Angeles. In an unimaginable and devastating year for the city, I was grateful to experience new work by some of my favorite LA artists. First, Season of the Rat by Elizabeth Hall, published by the freshly launched Cash 4 Gold Books. It’s a cutting marvel of hybrid prose that explores forgotten queer landmarks, sexual assault, recovery, burgeoning romance, and, of course, a rat on the roof. Then, the arrival of Sitting Vol. 2: Plein Air by Stacy Elaine Dacheux, the second in her series of illustrated chapbook memoirs. I adore the singular wit and succinct beauty of Stacy’s writing and art. This remarkable volume—much of it covering the direct aftermath of the fires, in which many of my friends lost their homes and businesses—becomes a meditation on resilience, how we shape ourselves by moving through. Lastly, Ottodokki by Patrick Michael Ballard, from art press Sming Sming, which is a pack of 24 randomized collectible cards by a visionary of material and myth. The cards’ uses are undefined, up to you. I had to buy one pack to keep sealed and one to crack open. My baby divined seven cards from the deck and we built a bedtime story with his choices.
* * *
Grace Byron
author, Herculine
I spent a lot of the year finally reading Thomas Pynchon and Barbara Ehrenreich, a pair that perhaps never seemed so omnipotent in their prophetic powers as they do now. I was delighted to find the former reference in the latter in Bait and Switch, her chronicle of white collar unemployment, a spiritual sequel of sorts to Nickel and Dimed. I also tuned into Philip Roth for the first time; I found The Counterlife a fascinating experiment in fiction and adored Portnoy’s Complaint. I read less contemporary fiction than usual but I adored Information Age by Cora Lewis, Will There Ever Be Another You by Patricia Lockwood, and Hothouse Bloom by Austyn Wohlers. And, since this is a list, Things In Nature Merely Grow by Yiyun Li is a moving archive of grief, a list that unspools great beauty and gripping love.
* * *
Peter Mendelsund
author, Weepers and Exhibitionist
I stopped reading about four years ago (it’s a long story). But I’m recently back in the game.
I still don’t read contemporary literary fiction, which is especially ungenerous of me having just thrown my new novel onto the toppling pile. What I do read is philosophy, poetry, fanfiction, sci fi, and fantasy (I’ve dipped my beak into romantasy this year as well). Which is to say that this list will be a mixed bag. Though as John Ashbery says, “good things sometimes come in mixed bags.”
Speaking of Ashbery, this year I read his 1989 Norton Lectures: Other Traditions. I’d read very little poetry outside of those works anthologized in my high school and college textbooks, so decided I should educate myself. Ashbery is, in many ways, a surprising guide here, as his own poetry is daunting and hermetic. (Once, after he spoke to Richard Howard’s class at Columbia, Howard told him the students “wanted the key to your poetry, but you presented them with a new set of locks.”) Yet Ashbery’s lectures have helped me quite a bit—specifically due to his reluctance and self-professed inability to explain anything. I am trying to follow his example, relinquishing my compulsive need to have a poem reveal itself completely. I sit with a poem now, let it wash over me, hear its music, and take from it what I will. Ashbery discusses six “lesser-known” poets in the book, including David Schubert, whose work I now find myself reading obsessively.
The Horus Heresy is a set of sixty-four fanfiction novels based on—and contributing to—the lore surrounding a tabletop miniatures game called Warhammer. My YouTube algorithm decided I’d like to watch videos of men meticulously painting miniature models of blood-spattered space warriors and tentacular aliens. Wanting to learn more about these characters and the world they inhabit I dove headfirst into the history of a war-torn 31st millennium.
This has been my year of considering “the object.” I’ve been reading anything I can get my hands on that contends with the ontology and phenomenology of stuff. A sampling would include, of course, Plato, Kant, Wittgenstein, etc., but most recently I’ve read Heidegger’s wonderful (though at times inscrutable) “The Thing.” Also, I reread the excellent Alien Phenomenology by Ian Bogost as well as A Philosophy of Sport by Steven Connor, which includes a wonderful chapter on sports equipment and the philosophical implications of human/object interaction.
A piano is an object, but also quite a bit more than an object. I read Sophy Roberts’s beautiful, elegiac book The Lost Pianos of Siberia, as well as the late pianist and polymath Alfred Brendel’s Music, Sense and Nonsense.
I read eight novels by Terry Prachett this year. I recommend The City Watch series, which follows a motley police force in the fantastical city of Ankh-Morpork as they contend with dragons, golems, assassins, and interspecies warfare. Pratchett also takes on larger questions around what a city is, and how it can, against all odds, function. These books are smart and wickedly funny.
I also read Cyrill Connolly’s The Unquiet Grave, a book at once ingenious and utterly terrible. There are passages that fit neatly within a genre I love: the author discussing ideal conditions under which he will—but ultimately can’t—write his future masterpiece. See under Barthes’s last lectures Preparation for the Novel. Which I also re-read. Anyway, the degree of bellyaching and bathos alongside the extreme erudition in Connolly’s book is delightful.
* * *
Eliana Ramage
author, To the Moon and Back
I’ll Tell You When I’m Home by Palestinian American poet and writer Hala Alyan exists in the urgent space before the birth of a child, as Alyan waits in a separate country from her surrogate Dee. With breathtaking precision, Alyan gathers and considers her daughter’s inheritance. She maps a family legacy of displacement—from Palestine, Kuwait, Syria, and Lebanon. She weaves in her own coming-of-age—in Kuwait, Beirut, Abu Dhabi, Dallas, and Oklahoma City—and stories of addiction, sobriety, pregnancy, and loss. Meanwhile, her daughter is the size of a grain of rice, and then a raspberry. Alyan’s writing is lyrical and surprising, open-hearted and unwavering. A tender and honest exploration of peoplehood, personhood, endings, and beginnings.
* * *
Erin Somers
author, The Ten Year Affair
I published a book this year which makes a person—how to put this?—go completely insane. Maybe not everyone. Does someone out there not go insane? Reach out via email. I personally go buck wild. I got excessively fit this year? Like ripped? I wrote 60,000 words of a new book? I could hear how I sounded describing to people that this was only a third of the planned word count. I sleepwalked every night for five months. I am still sleepwalking every night. My nightmares are of being publicly disgraced in some way, or that I’ve forgotten about a podcast interview. Imagine dreaming of podcast interviews! A new hell for the twenty-first century.
You can get to wondering why you write for a living, if you are so ill-cut-out for it. If it fills you with horrible anxiety. If it chases you. If it sucks up all your time. If it takes you further away from the thing you liked doing in the first place, which was just reading. Why didn’t I go and make a job out of the thing I liked best?
In this frame of mind, I read Howards End by E.M. Forster. Every year I try to fill some holes, read some classics I missed. I have been doing this long enough that I should know that whatever my notions are about a classic are likely wrong. But no, I never learn. Every time I’m like, what is this turgid artifact? From what dusty tomb was it unearthed?
Howards End looks so, so dusty. It’s like they tried to make it look as dusty as possible. They should refresh the design. They must. But then when you crack it, it is funny and alive, a class novel inspired by the lives of Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell concerning the fate of a country house.
The refrain of Howards End is “only connect,” and it’s possible that this is corny, maybe the corniest part of the book, which is mostly a closely observed and perceptive novel about how different tiers of rich people interact in Edwardian England. The old rich hate the nouveau riche and vice versa. The old rich pity the poor, while the new rich loathe the poor, and so on. It is also about a set of sisters going around being charming and slightly eccentric.
“Only connect” is Forster’s entreaty to connect the rational part of your brain with what might be called the heart. In my ragged, somnambulant, pointlessly shredded state I interpreted this as an argument in favor of art. If you go looking for the reason you do something, or a reason to keep doing whatever you’re doing, you’ll see it everywhere. You’ll hear it in a pop song or see it in a painting or in your kid’s face or in the pattern of a leaf.
Do I write to connect? I hope so? Probably not though. If I’m being honest it’s just that I’m compelled to do it. It’s that stupid and that inescapable. I just feel like doing it. In spite of everything, the part that is good—purely and without complications—is sitting down and writing. If there were moments of gratification this year they were in one of two places: in hanging out and doing nothing and on the page. These are my two vocations. Nothing and typing on my laptop. But it’s nice, isn’t it, only connect? It gives a sort of nobility to the whole endeavor. Maybe I could be worthy of it one day.
* * *
Natan Last
author, Across the Universe
The year your first book comes out must always involve shameful rereading, pawing at the greats to avoid peering unconvinced at the competition, reviving the adolescent fantasies of reading made feeble and death-aware by the reality of publishing.
I began the year with my third encounter of Nabokov’s Pnin, that sepia shambolic schlub double-fisting his laminated antiques, pride at newly-acquired U.S. citizenship and a full-time post at a college. I hacked my way through inauguration, its days pointy and gray and tragicomic like the pigeon-proofing spikes at a baseball stadium, with the cutlass imagery of Martín Espada’s Imagine the Angels of Bread (lightning jabbed the building / … scattering bricks from the roof / like beads from a broken necklace).
John Berger’s About Looking was the perfect companion on a couple of cold-month jaunts to tropicality, first to Turks & Caicos for a residency (where the chapter on suits bent my eye from sea to sequin) and then to Colombia for a wedding (where everything from hummingbird sanctuaries to seating charts parroted the section on zoos).
More recently, Stephanie Wambugu’s Lonely Crowds emerged as the best new novel I’d read this year; each chapter ends, like a Tobias Wolff short story, with an eerie, inevitable spine-tingle, simultaneously slowed-down and propulsive. I work (to the extent the field still exists) in humanitarian immigration and keep up with the fictions and analyses its horrors generate; I really liked Vincent Delecroix’s non-judgmental experiment in Small Boat and Stephanie DeGooyer’s legal-literary history, Before Borders.
Finally, Ellen Bryant Voigt, a poet I’m always imitating, passed this year, and I spent Thanksgiving re-experiencing the tractor engine of her synactic wizardy in Headwaters (it matters / what we’re called words shape the thought don’t say / rodent and ruin everything).
* * *
Sebastian Castillo
author, Fresh, Green Life
This was a great year for reading (they are all great years) and some favorites include Denton Welch’s In Youth Is Pleasure (delectable), Dag Solstad’s Novel 11, Book 18 (protean, confounding! a compliment), Peter Weiss’s The Aesthetics of Resistance (prismatic and devastating), as well as Ron Padgett’s incredibly sweet Joe: A Memoir of Joe Brainard (it made me cry).
But if I had to pick two books I think will stay with me for a while—and this is perhaps due to some recency bias—they are A Far Cry from Kensington and Loitering with Intent, both by Muriel Spark, which I read back to back. I’ve long been a great admirer of her work but I’ve never read novels so perfect as these two, with voices so utterly sui generis, with such an addictive tonal buoyancy that I now pace about my apartment and sulk, look out the window with a little vapor in my mien, because I am not reading Muriel Spark, when I should be. In fact, I am starting a new one today.
And sorry, last one: I just finished Iris Murdoch’s The Bell last night, but so far my astonishment toward this work of art is too great to replace the experience meaningfully with words. And like Lyn Hejinian, I love to be astonished!
* * *
Hala Alyan
author, I’ll Tell You When I’m Home
I wasn't ready for Tiana Clark’s Scorched Earth in the best kind of way. It’s rare for a read to be both raucous and poignant, but this collection manages exactly that. Her explorations of Black womanhood are incisive and heart-lifting at turns, continuously testing what else language can hold. I'm sure many have characterized her tone as “unapologetic,” but that’s not quite right. Clark transcends apology. She’s willing to be ashamed, to be wrong, to be afraid. She’s willing to sit with history—and her own heart—a beat longer than is comfortable, which means the reader has to be as well. That sort of co-curated courage is what I love most in poetry, and Clark excels at it.
“The truth is: I lied,” she writes in the titular poem. “Did I have to be there for it to still hurt me?” The answer, of course, is no. Life marks us sometimes most in the act of witnessing. But more than the wound, Clark is interested in what grows around it. She writes joy with the same precision she brings to heartache—joy in femmeness, joy in Blackness, joy in restarting, in not getting what we want, and in getting it. The collection becomes a testimony to desire, to its unruly persistence, to the impossibility of a blank slate—and thank God for that.
* * *
Deesha Philyaw
author, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies
Denne Michele Norris’s When the Harvest Comes resonated with so many facets of who I am. There’s the lover-girl in me who can’t resist a sweet-but-complicated-but-genuine love story like the one Norris’s main character Davis and his husband Everett share. There’s the grieving daughter who has learned, as Davis learns, that there are unexpected and upending layers to that grief when the parent you lost hurt you when they were alive. And finally, there’s the reader-writer in me who hungers for a beautiful, breathtaking page-turner with emotional heft and narrative surprises. Norris’s debut is a powerful reminder of all the different kinds of love we’ll experience, if we’re lucky, and how those ever-evolving loves can both collide with and be shaped by important questions of legacy and identity.
* * *
Ethan Rutherford
author, North Sun
This has been a strange year—my father died, we moved, my book came out—and I’ve felt more adrift in my reading life than at any other point I can remember. I pick things up and put them down; favorite authors no longer do the trick. I feel like I’ve lost the ability to steer myself true. Luckily, I am blessed with friends who have impeccable taste, and who are incredibly thoughtful, and who, when I look back at what I read this year on their recommendations, seem also to be watching out for me, and to them I am grateful.
Tongues by Anders Nilsen is my favorite book of the year and the one book I would press on anyone—it is beautifully drawn, beautifully told, complicated and strange, somehow feels even larger than it is. It’s perfect.
I owe my favorite (or, most meaningful) reading experience of the year to my friend Jill, who, after my dad died, found a beautiful copy of Virgil’s Aeneid: Book VI, trans. by Seamus Heaney, and gave it to me. This small chapter of the story concerns the moment Aeneas travels to the underworld and meets the spirit of his own father. I thought I had processed things, but of course I hadn’t. I read this on an airplane, slowly, and quietly cried while everyone else slept, and I felt lucky to hold that book in my hands.
The titles that follow are others I’ve read and loved this year (actually, this fall; spring was a mess), and are, in fact, some the only books now with me in our new apartment, far from home. I’ve come to think of them as cherished traveling companions, though they’re all new to me. I took a picture for accuracy. Can’t go wrong with any of these:
Ultramarine by Mariette Navarro; Orbital by Samantha Harvey; Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck; Nocturnes by Kazuo Ishiguro; Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West; Refusing Heaven by Jack Gilbert; O’Clock: Sixteen Stories by Quim Monzo; The Infatuations by Javier Marías; Palaver by Bryan Washington; The Week of Colors by Elena Garro; The Battle for Spain by Antony Beevor; Los Cuarto Fantasticos: Mister Fantastico (I’m trying to learn Spanish); The Salt Stones by Helen Whybrow; State Champ by Hilary Plum; Magic Can’t Save Us by Josh Denslow; Look Out by Edward McPherson; States by Ciaran Berry; and The Understory by Saneh Sangsuk.
And finally, I am currently reading The Sisters by Jonas Hassen Khemiri, and I never want it to end.
* * *
Angela Flournoy
author, The Wilderness
At this point I might be becoming a broken record, but I really loved The Devil Three Times by Rickey Fayne, which is a debut novel that feels assured, and announces Fayne as a writer with a true storytelling gift. It’s an inter-generational saga that follows one family over more than a century—from West Africa to enslavement-era Tennessee to present day Tennessee. Alongside many memorable members of this family, we spend time with the devil himself, who functions as a kind of humorous, trickster guardian fallen angel for them. It is inventive, funny, and a book I still think about.
* * *
Emma Goldberg
reporter, the New York Times
There is something about New York that makes grit and shmaltz feel like two sides of one coin—the rat dragging its pizza on the A-train platform, the stranger holding open a subway door. The density of this place makes miracles feel more readily apparent, in the little kindnesses of people packed together like sardines and in the vastness of steel, iron, brick, and concrete. This year, I read three books about the history of New York, really about the underbelly of its miracles and about the people whose obstinance made the city as it is today, this ridiculous, jaw dropping grid of egos, lights and midnight sandwiches. One was The Power Broker by Robert Caro; the next was Gods of New York by Jonathan Mahler; the third was New York, New York, New York, New York by Thomas Dyja.
Taken together, the books explain how the city climbed from a fiscal hole to soaring wealth, how the chasm grew between the martini-drinking, Page Six names of billionaires’ row and the packed homes of NYCHA. These books course with the ambition that built oceanside boardwalks, but also with greed and plenty of petty point-scoring. In each one, the mythic men of New York turn into flesh and bones, men whose wives bought their socks: There was Robert Moses staging a fist fight with an “exceedingly drunk” city administrator, Alfred E. Smith unlocking the gates of the Central Park zoo at night to commune with the tigers, Ed Koch finally moving out of Gracie Mansion and into his nemesis Larry Kramer’s Greenwich Village apartment building. New York has a way of turning its bosses into demigods, but the authors turn those demigods back into men, characters whose grit and patriotic city schmaltz built New York and also left so many behind.
* * *
T Kira Madden
author, Whidbey
Because I’m currently working on a story about senior superlatives, maybe I’ll try to slot some of my other favorite reads by this way of categorization; Seduction Theory by Emily Adrian made me laugh the hardest. Reading the Waves by Lidia Yuknavitch made me cry the hardest. The book that asked me to slow down in large and small ways was Richard Powers’s The Overstory, and the book that asked me to devour it all at once was Quiara Alegría Hudes’s The White Hot. The most astonishing sentences I read were in Che Yeun’s forthcoming Tailbone, and the horniest, queerest book which has lodged itself in my brain is Melissa Faliveno’s forthcoming Hemlock. Stop Me if You’ve Heard this One by Kristen Arnett made me most homesick for Florida, and Mariah Rigg’s Extinction Capital of the World made me most homesick for Hawai’i. Sophie Lefens’s forthcoming Her Kind felt the most like hanging out with friends when I didn’t have friends to hang out with, and I learned a new term in 2025, “competency porn,” which calls to mind Michael Jerome Plunkett’s mesmerizing, obsessively detailed Zone Rouge. Most times I’ve said “so and so needs to read this book” in a gossipy way: Melissa Febos’s The Dry Season (IMO her best); most times I’ve said “so and so needs to read this book” in a you’re-not-alone way: Trying by Chloé Caldwell. The most beautifully written and composed cookbooks I read were Samin Nosrat’s Good Things (how many cookbooks quote June Jordan?) and Hetty McKinnon’s Linger.
* * *
Canisia Lubrin
author, Code Noir and The World After Rain
I read some great books this year. Among them The Book of Records, You Will Not Kill Our Imagination, We, The Kindling, The River Has Roots and Under the Eye of the Big Bird. A year in reading can mean uncovering the nearly surreal layers of recent days and a book’s intersecting with the world in real-time.
This year, it was Olive Senior’s Hurricane Watch, a poetry volume collecting one “New and Uncollected Poems” with four previously published books. Having read it in 2022, my rereading of it felt talismanic. If you’re a reader like me, you appreciate the long arc that is the life of a book in the world and how it might defy the logic of its pub season because it accompanies you through many years. As I read Hurricane Watch super typhoons swelled to terrifying girths in the East and a category five storm called Hurricane Melissa—queue memories of Katrina and Sandy—tore down the Atlantic basin with Jamaica, the poet’s island in its path, eye and all. All at once with Jamaica, Haiti, Dominican Republic and Cuba were also hit with scale-tipping winds, carnage and heartache for those on and off island. The poems in Hurricane Watch—prescient and tightly constructed—manage playfulness without being performative. Their second-order wisdoms that should by now have swayed the human hand away from the risks of treating human life as preordained resound in Senior’s poetic world of interconnected life.
* * *
Oliver Munday
author, Head of Household
This is no exaggeration: I've been waiting for Maggie Gram's The Invention of Design for twenty years (maybe not this book exactly, but a worse version to be sure). As a graphic designer myself, I've found very few books that take a comprehensive look at design—and none that have done so with the rigor and wit of Maggie Gram. The book charts the ways in which design has gone from something decorative to potentially destructive, evolving from the Bauhaus to the boardroom over the last hundred or so years. Through this fascinating story, a history of the 20th century emerges, as we watch design contorting itself to serve the shifting demands of capital. Written with a sceptical Marxist bent, without ever being didactic, the book illuminates design as the overlooked phenomenon that it is: something so ubiquitous (and insidious) we often have no idea that we're even engaging with it. Grounding her narrative with biographical sketches of figures like ceramicist Eva Zeisel and industrial designer Walter Teague, Gram gives us a deeply human sense of how design’s utopian ideals continued to be reimagined, and how we ended up endowing design with such faith to solve even society’s biggest problems. If you've ever wondered just how we got to this place where the facile language of Design Thinking has so deeply pervaded our culture, this is the book for you. I learned so much about something I thought I knew well. The single best book on design I've read.
* * *
Sophia Stewart
Editor, The Millions
Nonfiction tends to comprise the bulk of my reading diet, but my absolute favorite books of 2025 were two novels: Michelle de Kretser’s Theory & Practice and Erin Somers’s The Ten Year Affair. Both are scarily smart and largely concerned with the unbridgeable gaps between our ideals, our fantasies, and our realities. Among my other Year in Reading–worthy encounters, I finally read Norman Rush’s Mating, a novel belonging to my preferred genre which my boyfriend calls "How Men and Women Relate." I adored and cried reading linguist Julie Sedivy’s memoir Linguaphile, and made my first foray into audiobooks with my girl Martha Barnette’s impossibly delightful (and wonderfully narrated) Friends with Words. And finally, I continued to steadily work my way through Shelley Jackson’s Riddance, which is not just a masterpiece of stuttering literature, but a masterpiece, period.
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The Millions’ Great Fall 2025 Book Preview
The leaves are turning, and new books abound. Fall is famously publishing's busy season, and this year is no exception. My favorite book of the year came out this autumn—Erin Somers's The Ten Year Affair—and I wouldn't be surprised if your own favorite read of 2025 awaits you on this list as well.
Here you’ll find around 100 titles out this fall that we’re excited about here at The Millions. Some we’ve already read in galley form; others we’re simply eager to dive into based on their authors or subjects. We leaned on our friends at Publishers Weekly to help blurb some of the many, many titles that we're eager to put on your radar.
The Millions is, alas, still on hiatus, but we’re determined to continue bringing you our seasonal Most Anticipated previews in the interim (if a bit belatedly).
—Sophia Stewart, editor
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October
The Four Spent the Day Together by Chris Kraus (Scribner)
A successful writer chafes at criticism and obsesses over a murder case in the ponderous latest from Kraus. Read more.
The Great Grown-Up Game of Make-Believe by Lauren D. Woods (Autumn House)
A wife literally begins to shrink inside her house, a mother remembers a surreal encounter between her infant daughter and a bear, and a woman stumbles upon a night club filled with her lover’s exes in Woods’s imaginative debut.
Things That Disappear by Jenny Erpenbeck, tr. Kurt Beals (ND)
After winning the Booker International Prize in 2024, Erpenbeck returns with a stunning collection of interlinked autobiographical essays exploring memory, loss, and absence.
The Mind Reels by Fredrik deBoer (Coffee House)
In this bracing debut novel from cultural critic deBoer, a young woman becomes a prisoner of her own mind. Read more.
Mothers by Brenda Lozano, tr. Heather Cleary (Catapult)
From Mexican writer Lozano comes a smashing novel set in 1946, as a wave of kidnappings shock and scandalize northern Mexico. Read more.
It Girl by Marisa Meltzer (Atria)
In this first comprehensive biography of Jane Birkin, Meltzer gives due credit to the woman behind one of the world’s most iconic and coveted handbags—and makes the case for why she was much more than an “it girl.”
Vaim by Jon Fosse, tr. Damion Searls (Transit)
Nobel winner Fosse centers this spectacular story of loneliness, love, and death on three linked characters living in small-town Norway. Read more.
Shadow Ticket by Thomas Pynchon (Penguin Press)
With his casually playful and chillingly resonant ninth novel, Pynchon delivers a warning against global fascism, a slapstick symphony whose antic comedy can’t begin to conceal its hopelessly broken American heart. Read more.
Unfit by Ariana Harwicz, tr. Jessie Mendez Sayer (ND)
Harwicz spins an unrelenting tale of a migrant woman who takes drastic steps to fulfill her radical conception of motherly love. Read more.
Gertrude Stein: An Afterlife by Francesca Wade (Scribner)
This innovative biography of Stein from Square Haunting author Wade assesses the influential writer’s life and work, from her childhood in California and productive years in Paris, to the ways that scholars constructed her posthumous legacy. Read more.
Intemperance by Sonora Jha (HarperVia)
In the jaunty latest from Jha, a twice-divorced feminist scholar decides to celebrate her 55th birthday by throwing herself a swayamvar, a traditional Indian ceremony in which a woman invites potential suitors to compete for her hand in marriage by performing various feats. Read more.
The Wayfinder by Adam Johnson (FSG)
Johnson, the Pulitzer-winning author of The Orphan Master’s Son, unfolds a majestic saga of political unrest in the South Pacific and a girl’s quest to save her people. Read more.
We Survived the Night by Julian Brave NoiseCat (Knopf)
Fresh off his first Oscar nomination, NoiseCat returns with an oral history and work of reportage that probes Indigenous culture through an intimate journey shared by a father and a son.
Minor Black Figures by Brandon Taylor (Riverhead)
The gimlet-eyed latest from Taylor follows a creatively blocked painter through the New York City art world. Read more.
Vagabond: A Memoir by Tim Curry (Grand Central)
In this charming debut autobiography, British actor Curry offers a peek behind the curtain of his prolific screen and stage careers. Read more.
A Guardian and a Thief by Megha Majumdar (Knopf)
Majumdar spins a luminous story of a family facing climate catastrophe and food scarcity in near-future Kolkata. Read more.
A Wooded Shore: And Other Stories by Thomas McGuane (Knopf)
McGuane rounds up another memorable group of misguided and doomed characters in this stellar collection. Read more.
Analog Days by Damion Searls (Coffee House)
Searls, translator of Jon Fosse and author of The Philosophy of Translation, offers in these clear-eyed ruminations a Gen Xer’s impressions of the technology and violence that shape 21st-century life. Read more.
Three or More Is a Riot by Jelani Kobb (One World)
New Yorker staff writer Cobb offers an expansive collection of his published essays, spanning from 17-year-old Trayvon Martin’s murder in 2012, which “ruined the mood of a nation that had, just a few years earlier, elected its first black president,” to Donald Trump’s return to office in 2025. Read more.
The House of Beauty by Arabelle Sicardi (Norton)
Across this searing collection of essays, former beauty editor Sicardi takes a knife to the industry in which they built their career, considering everything from the shimmering mica in beauty products to the historical connection between fragrance and fascism.
Twice Born by Hester Kaplan (Catapult)
In this affecting memoir, Kaplan examines her relationship with her father, Pulitzer Prize–winning biographer Justin Kaplan, who died in 2014. Read more.
Bog Queen by Anna North (Bloomsbury)
The discovery of a woman’s body in an English bog kicks off the piercing latest from North, which alternates between the perspectives of a forensic scientist tasked with identifying the remains and the long-dead woman, a young Druid leader who died around the year 50 BCE. Read more.
All That We See or Seem by Ken Liu (Saga)
This dazzling near-future mystery from Hugo winner Liu sparkles with suspense, intensity, and effortless worldbuilding. Read more.
The Land of Sweet Forever by Harper Lee (Harper)
This posthumous collection of Lee’s work offers up newly discovered short stories and previously published essays and magazine pieces that reveal another side to the To Kill a Mockingbird author.
The Ten Year Affair by Erin Somers (S&S)
Somers’s latest novel is a wry and ingenious tale of marital infidelity, offering a sardonic view into the pressures of marriage and motherhood and the ambient temptation of adultery. Read more.
Look Out by Edward McPherson (Astra House)
Guggenheim fellow McPherson presents a charming, idiosyncratic meditation on the human urge to see further, and more, in this cultural history of the “aerial view.” Read more.
Time Tunnel by Eileen Chang, tr. Karen S. Kingsbury and Jie Zhang (NYRB)
This sweeping collection gathers stories and essays from every stage of the late Chinese author’s career, some of which have never before been translated into English, spanning Shanghai and Hong Kong to the freeways of Los Angeles.
Looking for Tank Man by Ha Jin (Other Press)
In the latest from the National Book Award winner, a Chinese Harvard student grows fixated on the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Read more.
Motherland: A Feminist History of Modern Russia, from Revolution to Autocracy by Julia Ioffe (Ecco)
This kaleidoscopic volume from Ioffe, a finalist for this year’s National Book Award, combines memoir, journalism, and history to paint a nuanced portrait of modern Russia, all through the lens of womanhood.
That's How It Works, ed. Katherine Webb-Hehn (Hub City)
This vibrant collection highlights the best Southern fiction published by the Spartanburg, S.C.–based Hub City Press over the past three decades, featuring work by Carter Sickels, James Yeh, and more.
Sacrament by Susan Straight (Counterpoint)
Straight’s immersive latest is a vibrant drama following a group of nurses at the height of Covid-19 in August 2020. Read more.
The Anthony Bourdain Reader by Anthony Bourdain (Ecco)
This career-spanning collection offers up new and never-before-seen material, including diary entries and unpublished short stories, while also celebrating Bourdain’s most compelling and definitive essays.
Patchwork: A Graphic Biography of Jane Austen by Kate Evans (Verso)
This artful and thought-provoking graphic biography from Evans stitches a postcolonial layer into the narrative by examining the fabrics worn by Jane Austen and her contemporaries. Read more.
I Deliver Parcels in Beijing by Hu Anyan, tr. Jack Hargreaves (Astra House)
A literary sensation in China when it was first published in 2023, this vivid self-portrait is a universal exploration of gig work and the financial pressures of surviving in today’s big cities.
One, None, and a Hundred Grand by Luigi Pirandello, tr. Sean Wilsey (Archipelago)
The 1926 novel by the late Nobel Prize winner—a meditation on relativism that poses urgent questions about self-perception, insecurity, and doubt—gets a second life in this elegant new translation.
The Book of Kin by Jennifer Eli Bowen (Milkweed)
Bowen’s probing debut questions how we forge relationships, community, and joy within a world rife with isolation and solitude, drawing on her experiences as a mother, daughter, and founder of the Minnesota Prison Writing Workshop.
Bigger by Ren Cedar Fuller (Autumn House)
Fuller’s collection of personal essays calls on readers to imagine a "bigger" way of being in the world, from accommodating and celebrating difference, to finding new modes of expressing ourselves and loving others.
Jack the Modernist by Robert Glück (NYRB)
Glück's novel of sex and art—a cult classic and trailblazing work of postmodern gay fiction—traces the gradual dissolution of a love affair against the backdrop of 1980s San Francisco.
Dead and Alive by Zadie Smith (Penguin Press)
Novelist and critic Smith brings an incisive eye and keen wit to art, music, fiction, politics, and more in these wide-ranging essays. Read more.
Little F by Michelle Tea (Feminist Press)
By turns heartbreaking, hilarious, and hope-filled, the latest from Tea follows a 13-year-old runaway’s search for a queer paradise. Read more.
November
Across the Universe by Natan Last (Pantheon)
New Yorker crossword constructor Last debuts with an enthusiastic exploration of the crossword puzzle, amounting to a love letter best suited for fellow obsessives. Read more.
On the Calculation of Volume III by Solvej Balle, tr. Sophia Hersi Smith and Jennifer Russell (ND)
In the ingenious third installment of Balle’s septology, Danish rare book dealer Tara Selter is still trapped in the 18th of November. Read more.
Dress, Dreams, and Desire by Valerie Steele (Bloomsbury)
Steele, once described by critic Suzy Menkes as "the Freud of fashion," probes the intersections of psychoanalytic principles and the clothes we wear.
Queen Esther by John Irving (S&S)
Irving revisits the setting of The Cider House Rules with a novel about a Viennese Jewish orphan and her adoptive family in New Hampshire. Read more.
Book of Lives: A Memoir of Sorts by Margaret Atwood (Doubleday)
The remarkable debut memoir from Booker Prize winner Atwood recounts pivotal moments in her personal life that shaped some of her most enduring work as a writer. Read more.
Lightbreakers by Aja Gabel (Riverhead)
A California couple’s marriage is put to the test when they take part in a dodgy experiment in Gabel’s satisfying sophomore novel. Read more.
Palaver by Bryan Washington (FSG)
Washington revisits the Japanese setting of his novel Memorial with a bighearted drama about a 30-something Houston man’s reunion with his estranged mother. Read more.
The Year of the Wind by Karina Pacheco Medrano, tr. Mara Faye Lethem (Graywolf)
Pacheco Medrano dazzles in her English-language debut, the surreal story of a 50-something Peruvian writer reckoning with her cousin’s disappearance during the government’s conflict with a Maoist insurgency in the 1980s. Read more.
Helm by Sarah Hall (Mariner)
This virtuosic outing from Hall gives voice to the Helm—a storied northeasterly wind known for its destructive power and distinctive cloud formations that blows down the Cross Fell escarpment in Northwest England. Read more.
Bread of Angels by Patti Smith (Random House)
Smith returns with yet another memoir, even more intimate than the last, traversing her teenage years, romantic entanglements, defining losses, and creative liberation.
False War by Carlos Manuel Álvarez, tr. Natasha Wimmer (Graywolf)
Cuban writer Álvarez constructs a mesmerizing novel out of vignettes featuring characters who left Castro’s Cuba only to experience more dispossession and indignity. Read more.
Hidden Portraits by Sue Roe (Norton)
In six biographical essays, Roe paints a detailed study of the women who inspired, loved, and troubled Pablo Picasso: models Fernande Olivier and Marie-Thérèse Walter, ballerina Olga Khokhlova, painters Dora Maar and Françoise Gilot, and Picasso’s widow, Jacqueline Roque. Read more.
Pandora by Ana Paula Pacheco, trans. by Julia Sanches (Transit)
Equal parts ribald and unsettling, Brazilian writer Pacheco’s English-language debut chronicles a literature professor’s mental breakdown. Read more.
Governing Bodies by Sangamithra Iyer (Milkweed)
Iyer traces her passion for conservation and animal rights activism back two generations in this beautiful debut memoir. Read more.
Queen Mother by Ashley D. Farmer (Pantheon)
Historian Farmer offers an impressive biography of pioneering Black Nationalist Audley “Queen Mother” Moore. Read more.
Life on a Little-Known Planet by Elizabeth Kolbert (Crown)
Kolbert has radically informed the way modern audiences understand climate change, and her newest collection is no exception, zooming into stories of hope, activism, and innovation across the globe.
Black-Owned by Char Adams (Tiny Reparations)
Former NBC News journalist Adams debuts with an illuminating history of America’s Black-owned bookstores, from the Tribeca storefront opened in 1834 by abolitionist David Ruggles to the radical bookshops of the 1960s. Read more.
Fire in Every Direction by Tareq Baconi (Washington Square)
In this poignant autobiography, queer Palestinian writer and activist Baconi tenderly explores identity, nationality, and family history. Read more.
The Bridegroom Was a Dog by Yoko Tawada, tr. Margaret Mitsutani (ND)
First published in 1998, Parul Sehgal called Tawada’s absurd yet tender tale of unexpected romance "her masterpiece."
The Silver Book by Olivia Laing (FSG)
Laing, who’s written nonfiction about the lives of artists and one previous novel, Crudo, fuses the two forms with a lush narrative of art and love in 1970s Italy. Read more.
The White Hot by Quiara Alegria Hudes (One World)
The potent debut novel from playwright and memoirist Hudes follows a single mother who abandons her daughter to try and find herself. Read more.
The Emergency by George Packer (FSG)
Packer, a journalist and National Book Award winner, delivers a propulsive Orwellian novel set in a strange future world known as “the empire.” Read more.
Find Him! by Elaine Kraf (Modern Library)
Kraf, who died in 2013, depicts in this striking 1977 novel the eccentric life of a mysterious unnamed woman who confesses she has “no identity, no ability to think or speak.” Read more.
This Unruly Witness, ed. Lauren Muller, Becky Thompson, Dominique C. Hill, and Durell M. Callier (Haymarket)
June Jordan’s legacy as a poet, activist, and healer is celebrated in this landmark collection, complete with contributions from such luminaries as Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Imani Perry, and Angela Davis.
The Book of Women's Friendship, ed. Rachel Cooke (Norton)
Drawing on fiction, diaries, poetry, and letters, this first major anthology of female friendship succinctly mines the impact, history, and beauty of platonic love between women.
The Body Digital by Vanessa Chang (Melville House)
Chang, director of programs at Leonardo, the International Society for the Arts, Sciences, and Technology, debuts with a lofty history of the relationship between technology and the human body. Read more.
Estate by Cynthia Zarin (FSG)
The elegant latest from Zarin offers a new and seemingly autofictional version of the love story central to her previous novel, Inverno. Read more.
Girls Play Dead by Jen Percy (Doubleday)
Percy, a New York Times Magazine contributing writer, offers a groundbreaking exploration of women’s often shamed and silenced responses to sexual assault. Read more.
Blank Space by W. David Marx (Viking)
Marx offers an astute glimpse into how culture has stagnated throughout the past 25 years while examining how commercial and technological forces have played into that shift.
My Little Donkey by Martha Cooley (Catapult)
In this elegant volume, novelist Cooley reflects on her late-in-life move to Italy. Read more.
Fear Less: Poetry in Perilous Times by Tracy K. Smith (Norton)
The Pulitzer Prize–winning poet demystifies an art form that for many can seem inaccessible and intimidating, arguing that poetry—and the humanity it brings to the fore—is needed now more than ever.
Winning the Earthquake by Lorissa Rinehart (St. Martin's)
Historian Rinehart offers an illuminating biography of the first woman elected to Congress. Read more.
(Th)ings and (Th)oughts by Alla Gorbunova, tr. Elina Alter (Deep Vellum)
The 61 stories in this razor-sharp collection from Gorbunova evoke the absurdity of everyday life in post-Soviet Russia. Read more.
Queen of Swords by Jazmina Barrera, tr. Christina MacSweeney (Two Lines)
In this propulsive, deeply researched narrative, readers accompany Barrera as she investigates the influential 20th-century Mexican novelist Elena Garro, using everything from Garro's archives to astrology.
The Week of Colors by Elena Garro, tr. Megan McDowell (Two Lines)
Publishing in tandem with Barrera’s The Queen of Swords is this dazzling 1963 collection of stories about hauntings, curses, and the uncanny from Garro, a pioneer of magical realism. Read more.
Baby Driver by Jan Kerouac (NYRB)
The autobiographical novel by Jack Kerouac’s daughter, first published in 1981, offers a thrilling and unflinching glimpse into the author's difficult childhood—shaped by paternal neglect—and the sense of resilience and self-reliance it instilled in her.
Married Life by Sergio Pitol, tr. George Henson (Deep Vellum)
From one of Mexico’s most influential writers comes a satirical, unsparing story about a heartbroken wife seeking a fresh start in the wake of her husband’s infidelity.
Palace of Deception by Darrin Lunde (Norton)
The rise of scientific racism takes on a new dimension in Lunde’s stunning investigation into the American Museum of Natural History and its complicated origins.
Beasts of the Sea by Iida Turpeinen, tr. David Hackston (Little, Brown)
Turpeinen’s fantastic debut interweaves the fate of an extinct aquatic species with the stories of the people who discovered and destroyed it. Read more.
Racial Fictions by Hazel V. Carby (Verso)
Combining historical analysis, literary criticism, and cultural theory, Carby’s interrogation of the racial myths that have shaped our world is as insightful as it is timely.
December
House of Day, House of Night by Olga Tokarczuk, tr. Antonia Lloyd-Jones (Riverhead)
This vivid 1998 novel from Nobel winner Tokarczuk prefigures the discursive style of her later work such as Flights, with the story of a woman who moves with her husband from their Polish city to rural Silesia. Read more.
A Long Game by Elizabeth McCracken (Ecco)
Story Prize winner McCracken distills decades of personal experience into 280 idiosyncratic reflections on writing. Read more.
Algorithm of the Night by A.S. Hamrah (n+1)
The film critic's talents are on full display in this collection, which gathers recent essays from n+1, The Baffler, the New York Review of Books, the Criterion Collection, and more.
The Complete C Comics by Joe Brainard (NYRB)
Throughout the 1960s, Joe Brainard teamed up with such poets as John Ashbery, Frank O’Hara, and Barbara Guest to create pioneering, collaborative comic strips—and now, these comics are compiled for the first time in a single, sweeping volume.
Galapagos by Fátima Vélez, tr. Hannah Kauders (Astra House)
Colombian writer Vélez makes a striking debut with a fever dream of a novel that evokes the AIDS epidemic as it follows a group of artists and political radicals on a phantasmagoric voyage. Read more.
Barbieland by Tarpley Hitt (One Signal)
Timed perfectly to Barbie’s cultural resurgence, Hitt deftly unpacks the history behind and enduring appeal of the beloved doll.
The Jaguar’s Roar by Micheliny Verunschk, tr. Juliana Barbassa (Liveright)
The Brazilian author’s fifth novel, and first to be translated into English, weaves an extraordinary tale about an Indigenous girl’s kidnapping during a colonial expedition and the ramifications that unfold centuries later.
The Award by Matthew Pearl (Harper)
Pearl takes a knife to the publishing industry and its much-ballyhooed literary prizes, offering a keen-eyed portrait of ambition, jealousy, and desperation.
Casanova 20 by Davey Davis (Catapult)
Davis unfurls a fascinating narrative of art and desire, following an amorous and preternaturally beautiful young man and his unusual friendship with an elder painter. Read more.
Googoosh by Googoosh (Gallery)
The legendary Iranian superstar tells the story of her rise to fame in pre-revolution Iran, her arrest and imprisonment, her 20 years in exile, and, eventually, her triumphant return to the global stage.
The Aquatics by Osvalde Lewat, tr. Maren Baudet-Lackner (Coffee House)
Cameroonian filmmaker and photographer Lewat makes her English-language debut with a shocking morality tale about an African woman torn between her bureaucrat husband and her artist friend, whose homosexuality is a high crime in their fictional country of Zambuena. Read more.
The Lord by Soraya Antonius (NYRB)
This timely, vivid novel meditates on myth, community, revolution, and prejudice through the eyes of a magician living in Palestine before the Nakba.
Television by Lauren Rothery (Ecco)
Rothery’s nimble debut zooms in on an aging, A-list movie star, the relationships that buoyed him throughout his career, and the disparities of talent, wealth, and artistry that mar Hollywood.
A Danger to the Mind of Young Girls by Adam Morgan (One Signal)
Morgan, founder of the Chicago Review of Books, debuts with a comprehensive biography of Margaret C. Anderson (1886–1973), founder of the early-20th-century avant-garde magazine The Little Review. Read more.
Daring to Be Free by Sudhir Hazareesingh (FSG)
In this stunning revisionist history, Hazareesingh makes the case that enslaved people rebelled against their captivity throughout all four centuries of the Atlantic slave system—and that those efforts contributed more to their freedom than "the campaigns of enlightened white abolitionists." Read more.
Daddy Was a Number Runner by Louise Meriwether (Feminist Press)
This new edition of Meriwether’s classic novel about a young Black girl’s coming of age in 1930s Harlem offers a fresh glimpse into the author’s legacy, featuring new writing celebrating her life, work, and activism.
The Millions’ Great Summer 2025 Book Preview
Any book can be a beach read with the right attitude. On offer this summer are a bevy of books to take seaside, or poolside, or to the park, patio, or outdoor setting of your choosing. Here you’ll find just over 100 titles out this summer that we’re excited about here at The Millions. Some we’ve already read in galley form; others we’re simply eager to dive into based on their authors or subjects. We hope you find your next great read among them.
The Millions is, alas, still on hiatus, but we're determined to continue bringing you our seasonal Most Anticipated previews in the interim (if, at times, a bit belatedly).
—Sophia Stewart, editor
*
July
I Want to Burn This Place Down by Maris Kreizman (Ecco)
Kreizman's writing captures that distinctly millennial brand of malaise with refreshing wit and vigor, and her always-correct book world takes are informed by a deep love of literature. I'm looking forward to seeing these chops and more on display in her debut essay collection. —Sophia M. Stewart
Hot Girls with Balls by Benedict Nguyễn (Catapult)
Nguyen's debut is a subversive satire and romantic romp rolled into one, following two Asian American trans women's scheme to join a men's pro indoor volleyball league. —SMS
Vera, or Faith by Gary Shteyngart (Random House)
Shteyngart returns with the story of a precocious little girl as she searches for her birth mother, navigates her imploding family, and strives toward unending love. —Eva M. Baron
Long Distance by Ayşegül Savaş (Bloombsury)
Savas's followup to her brilliant novel The Anthropologists is a collection of stories that deconstruct contemporary life through the lenses of desire, loss, and intimacy. —SMS
A Bomb Placed Close to the Heart by Nishant Batsha (Ecco)
The sophomore novel from Batsha, inspired by the real-life romance of 20th-century radicals M.N. Roy and Evelyn Trent, tells the love story of an Indian revolutionary and Stanford grad student who fall for one another in 1917. —SMS
Bring the House Down by Charlotte Runcie (Doubleday)
A ruthless theater critic meets his match in a struggling actress, who sets off the unraveling of his reputation after a one-night stand in Runcie’s clever tale, which also offers a piercing critique of power games and misogyny. —Sam L. Spratford
Putafeminista by Monique Prada, tr. Amanda De Lisio (Feminist Press)
Brazilian sex worker and activist Prada calls for a working class women's movement that rejects "whorephobia" and critiques current feminist discourse around sex work in this bracing manifesto. —SMS
Sunburn by Chloe Michelle Howarth (Melville House)
Howarth's queer coming-of-age novel set in small-town Ireland in the early 1990s mines the intensity of first love (and first heartbreak) as well as the pain of being queer in a small, conservative community. —SMS
Fools for Love by Helen Schulman (Knopf)
Following her 2023 novel Lucky Dogs, Schulman offers up a smart short story collection complete with a cast of characters including an East Village playwright, a precocious baby, and an American mother and French Orthodox rabbi who become lovers. —EMB
The Feather Detective by Chris Sweeney (Avid Reader)
In the 1960s, Roxie Laybourne pioneered the field of forensic ornithology, which is exactly what it sounds like—using feathers to solve bird-related mysteries and crimes, from plane crashes to a racist tarring-and-feathering. Sweeney's biography must be read to be believed. —SMS
A Return to Self by Aatish Taseer (Catapult)
Part travelogue, part memoir, A Return to Self was spurred by the revocation of Taseer's Indian citizenship in 2019, exiling him from his home of 30 years. Traveling across cities in Turkey and Mexico, he considers questions of identity, home, and why certain sites become historical epicenters. —SMS
The Convenience Store by the Sea by Sonoko Machida, tr. Bruno Navasky (Putnam)
Centered on a small-town Japanese mini-mart aptly called Tenderness, Machida’s international bestseller is a heartfelt ode to community and the unassuming delights that help us all endure. —SLS
Passport to Paris and Los Angeles Poems by Vernon Duke, tr. Boris Dralyuk (Paul Dry Books)
I've been reading Dralyuk's translations of and writing about Vernon Duke for a couple years now, courtesy of his wonderful blog, and could not be more excited to see Duke's Los Angeles poems paired with his 1995 memoir—both rendered in Dralyuk's always-brilliant translation from the Russian. —SMS
A Flower Traveled in My Blood by Haley Cohen Gilliland (Avid Reader)
Gilliland's sweeping, rigorous narrative history tells the story of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo, the fearless Argentine grandmothers whose pregnant daughters were disappeared and whose grandchildren were kidnapped by the government—and have much to teach us now. —SMS
Make Your Way Home by Carrie R. Moore (Tin House)
The 11 stories in Moore's debut collection explore the lives of Black men and women in the American South—from North Carolina to Florida to Texas—who seek a sense of belonging in the oppressive shadow of history. —SMS
Information Age by Cora Lewis (Joyland)
Lewis’s novella of a journalist covering technology in the late 2010s looks back on the not-so-distant early days of our dizzying digital news cycle, through the ears of one woman whose reporting and personal life meld into one noisy milieu. —SLS
Blowfish by Kyung-Ran Jo, tr. Chi-Young Kim (Astra House)
A successful sculptor contemplates killing herself by eating a fatal serving of blowfish—just as her grandmother did before her—in Jo's haunting novel. —SMS
Nothing More of This Land by Joseph Lee (One Signal)
Growing up on Martha’s Vineyard, Lee found that his Wampanoag identity didn’t match what he learned about U.S. history at school. Now a journalist, he thinks about the meaning of Indigenous identity today and how one might move beyond colonial legacies. —Nathalie op de Beeck
Necessary Fiction by Eloghosa Osunde (Riverhead)
Following their acclaimed debut Vagabonds!, Osunde’s sophomore novel conjures up more than two dozen multi-generational characters navigating queer life in Nigeria, who grapple with everything from the risks of authenticity to questions of death and God. —SLS
Maggie; or, A Man and a Woman Walk Into a Bar by Katie Yee (Summit)
Yee weaves tragedy into comedy in her debut novel, which follows an unnamed Chinese American woman as she navigates the one-two punch of discovering her husband's infidelity and being diagnosed with breast cancer. —SMS
Pan by Michael Clune (Penguin)
A precocious teenager tries to get to the roots of his anxiety after he starts suffering from panic attacks, reading and writing his way toward an explanation—including that the Greek god Pan, from which the word panic, comes, might be trapped inside his body. —SMS
Sloppy by Rax King (Vintage)
King follows up her cheeky debut Tacky with an essay collection about bad behavior—from shoplifting to drug use and abuse to mental illness—written with her characteristic wit, cheek, and sense of gallows humor. —SMS
Black Genius by Tre Johnson (Dutton)
Johnson’s subversive and entertaining essays weave family and U.S. history to illuminate Black ingenuity and the "brilliance of the everyday," from 90s airbrush graffiti tees to unassuming family traditions. —SLS
The Trembling Hand by Mathelinda Nabugodi (Knopf)
Nabugodi's new history of Romantic literature illuminates the ever-looming presence of the Atlantic slave trade in the lives and work of Shelley, Keats, and others, exemplifying the difficulty—and necessity—of facing the violent contradictions that undergird the stories we love to read and tell. —SLS
An Oral History of Atlantis by Ed Park (Random House)
Park’s story collection perfects the tongue-in-cheek accounting of modern life that characterized his two novels, delivering a memorable cast of characters whose fates coincide at the border between mundane and strange. —SLS
Time of Silence by Luis Martín-Santos, tr. Peter Bush (NYRB)
This new translation restores the most unsavory truths about Franco’s dictatorship to Martín-Santos's darkly funny 1962 novel, which follows a Nobel-aspiring scientist through the shadows of a society that has hit rock bottom. —SLS
The Dance and the Fire by Daniel Saldaña París, tr. Christina MacSweeney (Catapult)
Described as "spellbinding" by PW, Saldaña’s latest is a smoldering tale of three friends whose erotic and artistic dynamics rouse a Mexican city from its collective slumber. —SLS
Simplicity by Mattie Lubchansky (Pantheon)
From the editor of the satirical comics publication the Nib comes an imaginative and terrifying story of monsters both natural and supernatural, set in 2081 between a dystopian New York City and a cult in the Catskills. —SLS
My Clavicle and Other Massive Misalignments by Marta Sanz, tr. Katie King (Unnamed)
Sanz's autofictional English-language debut is a poetic meditation on illness, mortality, and writing sure to please memoir readers and mystery enthusiasts alike. —SLS
Love Forms by Claire Adam (Hogarth)
In a sprawling and emotional tale of an aging woman in search of the daughter she gave up for adoption at 16, Adam probes the many ways love can shape our lives in her latest novel since her prize-winning debut Golden Child. — SLS
Lonely Crowds by Stephanie Wambugu (Little, Brown)
The art world is infamously cutthroat—and an endless source of inspiration for novelists. Wambugu’s debut fits squarely into this tradition, conjuring New York’s art scene in the early 1990s through the intense, competitive, and richly imagined friendship of two ambitious women. —EMB
August
Solitaria by Eliana Alves Cruz, tr. Benjamin Brooks (Astra House)
In Cruz’s propulsive liberation novel, a mother and a daughter work as live-in maids in the Golden Plate, the most expensive building in an unnamed Brazilian city. While there, the duo must reckon not only with their own invisibility and dissatisfaction, but with Brazil’s legacies of colonial violence, wealth, and injustice. —EMB
He Rolled Me Up Like a Grilled Squid by Yoshiharu Tsuge, tr. Ryan Holmberg (D&Q)
Manga creator Yoshiharu Tsuge, now in his 80s, had a relatively short comics career from 1965–1987, rising to cult status but plagued by difficulties with his mental health. This collection of his work, spanning 1975–1981, showcases Yoshiharu’s characteristic blend of the personal and the nightmarish. —NodB
People Like Us by Jason Mott (Dutton)
Mott follows up his 2021 National Book Award–winning novel Hell of a Book with a surreal and intimate story about two Black writers contending with loss, longing, and gun violence. —EMB
Blessings and Disasters by Alexis Okeowo (Holt)
Perhaps even more than the New Yorker writer's journalistic chops, Okeowo's ability to navigate, with nuance and empathy, seemingly hopeless racial divides is what makes this ground-level depiction of her home state of Alabama exceptional. —SLS
The Invention of Charlotte Brontë by Graham Watson (Pegasus)
Watson's debut biography deconstructs the Jayne Eyre author's swift ascent to literary fame and the dueling narratives that continue to shape her legacy. —SMS
The Book of Homes by Andrea Bajani, tr. Elizabeth Harris (Deep Vellum)
Bajani’s episodic, nonlinear narrative traces one man’s memories and rites of passage through a series of northern Italian homes, from infancy in 1976 to 21st-century adulthood. —NodB
Moderation by Elaine Castillo (Viking)
As our world becomes more virtual, so too does romance. That shift grounds Castillo’s intriguing latest, where one of the world’s best content moderators must contend with falling in love during a digital—and increasingly isolated—era. —EMB
Putting Myself Together by Jamaica Kincaid (FSG)
Intimate in scope and ambitious in subject matter, this collection gathers Kincaid's early pieces from such publications as the New Yorker, Village Voice, and Ms., exemplifying her stylistic confidence—and evolution—across time. —EMB
Friends with Words by Martha Barnette (Abrams)
A Way with Words is the only podcast I listen to, and the fact is that I would die for Martha Barnette, so I can't wait to read her chronicle of her lifelong love of language. —SMS
God and Sex by Jon Raymond (S&S)
Climate disaster, New Age writing, carnality, and meditations on God may seem an unlikely melange, but Raymond brilliantly merges each of these strands into this rigorous and probing novel about an author whose brush with a forest fire pushes him to seek a higher power. —EMB
The Dilemmas of Working Women by Fumio Yamamoto, tr. Brian Bergstrom (HarperVia)
Each of the five stories in Yamamoto's collection centers on a different woman navigating life in contemporary Japan, where the alienation of wage labor compounds with the pressure to be agreeable, maternal, and non-confrontational—patriarchal norms to which these "spiky" women cannot bend. —SLS
Loved One by Aisha Muharrar (Viking)
Muharrar—a TV writer with credits on Hacks, Parks and Rec, The Good Place, and more—makes her literary debut with this story of love and loss, about a young woman who goes on an intercontinental journey to recover the belongings of her old friend and first love, who dies unexpectedly at 29. —SMS
Dwelling by Emily Hunt Kivel (FSG)
Perhaps out of necessity, our ongoing housing crisis offers perfect fodder for fiction—or at least that’s the case for Kivel’s aptly-titled, surrealist debut. Part fairy tale, part social commentary, this innovative and wry story follows a young woman’s quest for a home when, in a world-ending twist, every renter is evicted en masse. —EMB
Little World by Josephine Rowe (Transit)
Rowe's story about various lives touched by a child saint's corpse over space and time is lyrical, varied, and only slightly less strange than it sounds. —SLS
Positive Obsession by Susana M. Morris (Amistad)
Octavia Butler was a literary trailblazer as the first Black woman to consistently write and publish science fiction. This sweeping biography probes Butler’s legacy with both sensitivity and rigor, considering the cultural, political, and social contexts that shaped her life and writing. —EMB
Black Moses by Caleb Gayle (Riverhead)
It's a rare and satisfying experience to find a nonfiction book that balances the scope of its content with narrative coherence, without sacrificing either. Gayle's latest carves a historical epic out of a forgotten episode in the Black separatist movement, enthralling as both a character study and a novel look at America's racial history. —SLS
Stories of the True by Jeyamohan, tr. Priyamvada Ramkumar (FSG)
With evocative, refreshing, and at times volatile prose, Jeyamohan reveals the intricacies of life in contemporary India through stories about bureaucrats, elephants, gurus, and doctors. —EMB
The Dancing Face by Mike Phillips (Melville House)
In this highly original thriller, Gus, a Black university professor, plans a burglary to "liberate" a priceless Benin mask from a London museum. The result is a timely meditation on what art institutions owe us and the cultures they plunder. —EMB
The Right of the People by Osita Nwanevu (Random House)
Taking up some of the most monumental political questions of our day, including the viability of America's founding institutions, this treatise from Nwanevu, an editor at the New Republic, is essential reading for anyone who feels their hopes for democratic reform floundering. —SLS
The New Lesbian Pulp ed. Sarah Fonseca and Octavia Saenz (Feminist Press)
Who doesn't love pulp fiction, the more melodramatic the better? This collection is a heady mix of 1950s-era lesbian pulp and newer material that turns up a notch or two the classic tropes of romantic peril, unbridled passion, and revenge. —Claire Kirch
Women, Seated by Zhang Yueran, tr. Jeremy Tiang (Riverhead)
In this propulsive translation, a nanny witnesses a wealthy Chinese family’s fall from grace—all while knowing their darkest secrets and caring for their only son. —EMB
The El by Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. (Vintage)
Van Alst Jr.'s semi-autobiographical novel, inspired by Sol Yurick's The Warriors, follows a group of teenage gang members in Chicago who trek across the city to attend a high-profile gathering of gangs. —SMS
Where Are You Really From by Elaine Hsieh Chou (Penguin Press)
In Chou's clever collection, which includes short stories and a novella, features a cast of characters who invariably find themselves in extraordinary situations that shake up their sense of self and make them reconsider their place in the world. —CK
The New Negro ed. Martha H. Patterson and Henry Louis Gates Jr. (Princeton UP)
This anthology, coedited by the great Skip Gates, spanning 1887-1937 chronicles how generations of Black thinkers from W.E.B Du Bois to Oscar Micheaux to Zora Neale Hurston conceptualized and debated the idea of the "New Negro." —SMS
The Quiet Ear by Raymond Antrobus (Hogarth)
Antrobus's memoir untangles his knotty relationship to his own deafness, exploring the "missing sounds" that shaped his life and the sense of in-betweenness that long defined both his aural ability and racial identity. —SMS
Dominion by Addie E. Citchens (FSG)
The debut novel from the inaugural FSG Writer's Fellow is a Black Southern family drama that wrestles with sin, silence, and patriarchy in a small Mississippi town. —SMS
Mounted by Bitter Kalli (HarperOne)
As Beyoncé and others push us to reconsider the legacy of the cowboy, Kalli explores how intertwined Blackness, nationhood, and horses have been throughout history. —EMB
Patchwork by Tom Comitta (Coffee House)
For fans of Burroughs's cut-up tradition, Comitta's latest is a fresh experiment in the limits of literary collage. Using illustrations and passages from classic literature, the Nature Book author fashions a playful story about the search for a missing snuff box, full of sensory surprises and curiosities of craft. —SLS
Archipelago by Natalie Bakopoulos (Tin House)
This atmospherically rich book, which follows an unnamed translator at an artists' residency on a Croatian island, is also chock-full of thought-provoking commentary on authorship and creative identity. —SLS
Baldwin by Nicholas Boggs (FSG)
Boggs's door-stopper of a biography—the first of Baldwin in three decades—examines how the visionary author's intimate and artistic relationships with four men shaped his life and work. —SMS
Hothouse Bloom by Austyn Wohlers (Hub City)
Wohlers's debut novel follows a young woman who arrives at her late grandfather's apple orchard with the intention of giving up her painting career and social life in order to become one with the trees—until the appearance of an old friend upends her plans. —SMS
A Truce That Is Not Peace by Miriam Toews (Bloomsbury)
Marking the first time in two decades that Toews has written about her own life in nonfiction, this memoir is a poignant meditation upon her sister’s suicide, the urge to write, and the limits of memory. —EMB
Two Serious Ladies by Jane Bowles (Picador)
Bowles's 1943 novel—her only one, now with a new introduction from Sheila Heti—is a modernist tale about two upper-class women who eschew convention and embrace debauchery. —SMS
Katabasis by R.F. Kuang (HarperCollins)
Fans of Babel will not be disappointed by Kuang's latest dark-academia epic, which follows an honors graduate student in "Analytical Magick" and her rival as they embark on a Dantesque journey to rescue her advisor from the underworld. —SLS
Such Great Heights by Chris DeVille (St. Martin's)
This cultural history of the indie rock explosion—from Neutral Milk Hotel and Death Cab to Sufjan and the National—would have blown my teenage self's mind. It is total catnip to adult-me as well. —SMS
September
Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy (Scribner)
In electrifying, intimate prose, Roy's first memoir traces the her complex relationship with her mother, Mary and how it shaped the person—and writer—she ultimately became. —EMB
The Woman Dies by Aoko Matsuda, tr. Polly Barton (Europa)
Following her last collection Where the Wild Ladies Are, Matsuda's latest stays focused on the absurdities and traumas of sexism in Japan, presenting 52 fresh, subversive stories that call to mind Shirley Jackson's short works. —SLS
Trip by Amie Barrodale (FSG)
Barrodale's debut novel follows Sandra, who dies suddenly at a death conference in Nepal and must set off on a quest in the afterlife to help her son, who is both literally and metaphorically lost at sea. —SMS
Beyond All Reasonable Doubt, Jesus Is Alive! by Melissa Lozada-Oliva (Astra House)
Magic, humor, and faith ground Lozada-Oliva’s story collection, which features beheaded bodies, bizarre video games, sentient tails, and haunted punk houses. —EMB
Miss Ruki by Fumiko Takano, tr. Alexa Frank (NYRC)
Frank's translation brings this lighthearted manga into English for the first time. Originally published in Japan in the 1980s, the eponymous protagonist is an offbeat young woman who rejects the rat race for a slower, more intentional life. —SLS
The Improbable Victoria Woodhull by Eden Collinsworth (Doubleday)
At once celebrated and maligned, the 19th-century businesswoman and activist at the center of Collinsworth's biography dipped her toe in everything from mysticism to free love to an unprecedented presidential campaign. —EMB
The Wax Child by Olga Ravn, tr. Martin Aitken (ND)
An unlikely narrator guides this visceral horror story: a wax doll created by an unmarried noblewoman accused of witchcraft. Through the eyes of this doll, we witness—with startling clarity—the brutality and fear that ruled 17th-century Denmark. —EMB
Grace Period by Maria Judite de Carvalho, tr. Margaret Jull Costa (Two Lines)
When de Carvalho's protagonist sets out to sell his childhood home to fund a trip for his dying girlfriend, he is forced to reckon with the 25 out-of-control years that separate him from his past, which is full of paralyzing love, pain, and apathy. —VMS
Reflections on Exile by Edward W. Said (Vintage)
This reissue of selected essays by the great scholar and critic Said, which features the particularly salient title essay on the fate of the Palestinian people, is just the book we need right now. —SMS
Middle Spoon by Alejandro Varela (Viking)
As polyamory and open relationships gain cultural relevance, Varela's subversive and generous novel considers the sting of rejection and heartbreak from the perspective of its married narrator who has just been dumped by his younger boyfriend. —EMB
Tracker by Alexis Wright (ND)
Decorated novelist Wright returns to nonfiction with a portrait of an influential Aboriginal Australian leader conveyed through collective storytelling, providing a window into Aboriginal culture as it narrates a moment in 20th-century Australian politics. —SLS
The Sweet Dove Died by Barbara Pym (NYRB)
Pym's shrewd and ahead-of-its-time 1978 novel about a women's attachment to a much younger man is back in a new edition from NYRB, featuring an intro from Loved and Missed author Susie Boyt. —SMS
Helen of Nowhere by Makenna Goodman (Coffee House)
The country home around which Goodman's story coalesces is no ordinary haunted house. Through the eyes of a male protagonist, readers feel the titular spirit Helen at once as an intimately tangible presence and a harbinger of the existential stakes of starting one's life over again. —VMS
The Animal on the Rock by Daniela Tarazona, tr. Lizzie Davis and Kevin Gerry Dunn (Deep Vellum)
After the death of her mother, a woman named Irma holes up on a faraway beach to grieve and, the process, undergoes a supernatural metamorphosis in the Mexican author's latest. —SMS
A Silent Treatment by Jeannie Vanasco (Tin House)
Vanasco's memoir looks at how silence is wielded and weaponized through the lens of her own complicated relationship with her mother. —SMS
The Lack of Light by Nino Haratischwili, tr. Charlotte Collin and Ruth Martin (HarperVia)
This sprawling, densely populated saga charts the lead-up to and fallout from Georgia's independence from the Soviet Union through the lives of four childhood friends. —SMS
The Wilderness by Angela Flournoy (Mariner)
The brilliant sophomore novel from the National Book Award finalist follows five Black women across two decades as they attempt to shape their lives on their own terms. —VMS
Surviving Paris by Robin Allison Davis (Amistad)
We've all dreamed of escaping to Paris and living "la vie en rose." Davis, a Black woman and journalist, has written a memoir of how she did just that, but things did not go exactly as she'd hoped: Davis was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to contend with it far away from her loved ones, all while trying to find her way amid a foreign culture. —CK
Bird School by Adam Nicolson (FSG)
It’s a slippery slope from looking up a little brown bird on Cornell’s Merlin app to becoming an all-season birder. For Nicolson, a recognition of nesting species led to setting up a shed to watch wildlife year round. The book's British setting covers only a narrow range of birds, but its sentiments are universal; the world might have greater peace and sounder environmental policies if everyone took up birding. —NodB
Animal Stories by Kate Zambreno (Transit)
Zambreno is one of our most inventive and formally daring writers, and their latest work of nonfiction—a meditation on mortality, alienation, boredom, surveillance, and the animal kingdom—sees them at the height of their powers. —SMS
Do Admit: The Mitford Sisters and Me by Mimi Pond (D&Q)
Pond crafts a graphic narrative biography of the six Mitford sisters, among them writers Jessica and Nancy. Raised in a deteriorating English country manse, the early 20th-century socialites were known for differences of opinion around Empire and fascism. Pond paints the upper crust scene in prim navy, cool periwinkle, and powder blue. —NodB
Kaplan's Plot by Jason Diamond (Flatiron)
Centered on a son who returns to Chicago to be with his dying mother, Diamond's debut novel is a stunning story of how families bend to accommodate the unspoken, and how, every once in a while, a tenacious individual might straighten things out. —VMS
Articulate by Rachel Kolb (Ecco)
The deaf writer's deft debut memoir probes the many meanings of language, voice, and communication through the lens of her own attempts to harness speech and be perceived as "articulate." —SMS
For the Sun After Long Nights by Fatemeh Jamalpour and Nilo Tabrizy (Pantheon)
Iranian journalists Jamalpour and Tabrizy chronicle the 2022 women-led protests in Iran over the murder of Kurdish woman Mahsa Jîna Amini at the hands of police, catalyzing one of the country's largest uprisings in decades: the Woman, Life, Freedom movement. —SMS
The Waterbearers by Sasha Bonét (Knopf)
Bonét's profound ode to Black womanhood narrates the history of America through generations of Black mothers and daughters—including her own. —SMS
Discontent by Beatriz Serrano, tr. Mara Faye Lethem (Vintage)
When Marisa goes on a company retreat with her unhinged coworkers, the lies she's built her whole successful, fine-art-appreciating persona around are threatened to be exposed. What ensues is like a car crash you can't look away from—if a car crash was as hilarious and well-crafted as Serrano's writing. —SLS
It's Me They Follow by Jeannine Cook (Amistad)
Cook, founder and owner of the beloved Harriett's Bookshop in Philly, debuts with a romance starring a bookseller who becomes a reluctant matchmaker. —SMS
Will There Ever Be Another You by Patricia Lockwood (Riverhead)
After a bout with Covid, a successful author reckons with a dissolving sense of self and struggles to maintain her public persona, in this fictive exploration of consciousness. The No One Is Talking About This author conveys her protagonist’s dissociation and memory loss, heightened when her husband becomes ill and requires her care. —NodB
Goliath's Curse by Luke Kemp (Knopf)
The state of the world seems uniquely grim today—but haven't people always thought so? Kemp's sweeping survey charts the surprising history of societal collapse, bringing some (not always comforting) perspective to our own troubling reality. —SMS
We Love You Bunny by Mona Awad (S&S/Marysue Rucci)
Awad returns with another darkly comedic novel set in the "Bunny-verse," after her 2019 cult classic Bunny, about a lonely MFA student who gets seduced by a creepy clique. —SMS
Electric Spark by Frances Wilson (FSG)
The enigmatic Scottish writer Muriel Spark gets her due in Wilson's illuminating biography, which aims to demystify its stubbornly elusive but endlessly fascinating subject. —SMS
Beings by Ilana Masad (Bloomsbury)
Masad's second novel, after All My Mother's Lovers, weaves together three narratives—two set in the 1960s and one in the present—of love, loneliness, and supernatural encounters. —SMS
Cécé by Emmelie Prophète, tr. Aidan Rooney (Archipelago)
Immersed in the atmosphere and people of a Haitian cité, Prophète's titular protagonist attempts to claw a life for herself out of the hands of gangs, junkies, grandmothers, and preachers. With her morbid internet following on one side and the pressures of sex work on the other, Cécé is an imperfect and deeply human testament to female resiliency. —SLS
The Autobiography of H. Lan Thao Lam by Lana Lin (Dorothy)
Taking inspiration from Gertrude Stein's The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Lin chronicles her partner Lan Thao's life and work in this genre-defying portrait. —SMS
To the Moon and Back by Eliana Ramage (Avid)
Ramage's ambitious and big-hearted debut novel follows one young woman across three decades and multiple continents on her quest to become the first Cherokee astronaut. —SMS
A Year in Reading: 2024
Welcome to the 20th (!) installment of The Millions' annual Year in Reading series, which gathers together some of today's most exciting writers and thinkers to share the books that shaped their year. YIR is not a collection of yearend best-of lists; think of it, perhaps, as an assemblage of annotated bibliographies. We've invited contributors to reflect on the books they read this year—an intentionally vague prompt—and encouraged them to approach the assignment however they choose.
In writing about our reading lives, as YIR contributors are asked to do, we inevitably write about our personal lives, our inner lives. This year, a number of contributors read their way through profound grief and serious illness, through new parenthood and cross-country moves. Some found escape in frothy romances, mooring in works of theology, comfort in ancient epic poetry. More than one turned to the wisdom of Ursula K. Le Guin. Many describe a book finding them just when they needed it.
Interpretations of the assignment were wonderfully varied. One contributor, a music critic, considered the musical analogs to the books she read, while another mapped her reads from this year onto constellations. Most people's reading was guided purely by pleasure, or else a desire to better understand events unfolding in their lives or larger the world. Yet others centered their reading around a certain sense of duty: this year one contributor committed to finishing the six Philip Roth novels he had yet to read, an undertaking that he likens to “eating a six-pack of paper towels.” (Lucky for us, he included in his essay his final ranking of Roth's oeuvre.)
The books that populate these essays range widely, though the most commonly noted title this year was Tony Tulathimutte’s story collection Rejection. The work of newly minted National Book Award winner Percival Everett, particularly his acclaimed novel James, was also widely read and written about. And as the genocide of Palestinians in Gaza enters its second year, many contributors sought out Isabella Hammad’s searing, clear-eyed essay Recognizing the Stranger.
Like so many endeavors in our chronically under-resourced literary community, Year in Reading is a labor of love. The Millions is a one-person editorial operation (with an invaluable assist from SEO maven Dani Fishman), and producing YIR—and witnessing the joy it brings contributors and readers alike—has been the highlight of my tenure as editor. I’m profoundly grateful for the generosity of this year’s contributors, whose names and entries will be revealed below over the next three weeks, concluding on Wednesday, December 18. Be sure to subscribe to The Millions’ free newsletter to get the week’s entries sent straight to your inbox each Friday.
—Sophia Stewart, editor
Becca Rothfeld, author of All Things Are Too Small
Carvell Wallace, author of Another Word for Love
Charlotte Shane, author of An Honest Woman
Brianna Di Monda, writer and editor
Nell Irvin Painter, author of I Just Keep Talking
Carrie Courogen, author of Miss May Does Not Exist
Ayşegül Savaş, author of The Anthropologists
Zachary Issenberg, writer
Tony Tulathimutte, author of Rejection
Ann Powers, author of Traveling: On the Path of Joni Mitchell
Lidia Yuknavitch, author of Reading the Waves
Nicholas Russell, writer and critic
Daniel Saldaña París, author of Planes Flying Over a Monster
Lili Anolik, author of Didion and Babitz
Deborah Ghim, editor
Emily Witt, author of Health and Safety
Nathan Thrall, author of A Day in the Life of Abed Salama
Lena Moses-Schmitt, author of True Mistakes
Jeremy Gordon, author of See Friendship
John Lee Clark, author of Touch the Future
Ellen Wayland-Smith, author of The Science of Last Things
Edwin Frank, publisher and author of Stranger Than Fiction
Sophia Stewart, editor of The Millions
A Year in Reading Archives: 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005
A Writer’s Toolbox
1.
I pulled the heavy red book down from my dad’s bookshelf. Bryan A. Garner’s A Dictionary of Modern American Usage, its cover announced. “David Foster Wallace said it’s the only usage guide he ever consulted,” my dad said, a note of pride in his voice as if he and DFW had been old buddies. “I got it on sale at The Strand.”
“Huh,” I said and sat down, opening the tome on my lap to the word “eventuate,” the subject of a controversial debate with a coworker at my day job. The entry was short and snarky:
Eventuate is ‘an elaborate journalistic word that can usually be replaced by a simpler word to advantage.’ George P. Krapp, A Comprehensive Guide to Good English (1927).
Then came several examples of its misuse, explanations of what was wrong about it, and suggestions for words should have been used in it place (e.g., “happened,” “occurred,” “took place”). This comprehensive lesson perfectly resolved my confusion, since I had misconstrued the meaning of “eventuate” as something along the lines of “would eventually lead to.”
“This is terrific!” I told my dad. “Usually when I have a usage question at work, I just Google the question—like further vs. farther—and read the first few entries that pop up.”
“See, that’s the trouble with the Internet,” he scoffed, single-handedly dismissing an entire global digital stratosphere. “The demise of authoritative references.”
It was nice to have such a complete and well-researched reference on language usage right here at my fingertips. I immediately looked up several more entries, and started chuckling and reading them aloud. “Hey, listen to this, about ‘insofar as:’ ‘the dangers range from mere feebleness or wordiness, through pleonasm or confusion of grammar.’ Zing!”
“Keep the Garner’s, then,” my dad said with a smile. “I never use it.”
Tickled, I hugged my newest diction and style guide to my chest. What a great new writer’s tool I didn’t even know that I needed. This got me thinking about my other writers’ tools. What are the books that every writer should have handy? My other go-to writing books are not necessarily manuals of mechanics, but instead are resources that provide inspiration, moral support, models of good writing, and above all, comfort.
2.
When I was 18, taking expository writing in my first semester of college, my professor, Kevin DiPirro, assigned Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg. It was an optional text, so while he assigned us to read certain chapters concurrently with our other assignments, we never once discussed the content of the book in class. Instead, we wrote expository essays trying to frame rhetorical situations, analyze evidence, and make well-researched arguments. But my teacher-student relationship with Natalie Goldberg started that year, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to Kevin.
One afternoon, in a darkened corner of the library, I cracked open Writing Down the Bones. What’s this all about? I wondered. Natalie’s words spoke aloud to me, like a calm teacher, echoing in my mind:
Writing As Practice
This is the practice school of writing… You practice whether you want to or not. You don’t wait around for inspiration and a deep desire to run. It’ll never happen, especially if you are out of shape and have been avoiding it. But if you run regularly, you train your mind to cut through or ignore your resistance… Sit down with the least expectation of yourself; say, ‘I am free to write the worst junk in the world.’ You have to give yourself the space to write a lot without a destination… My rule is to finish a notebook a month. Simply fill it. That is the practice.
Then, at the end of the chapter:
Think of writing practice as loving arms you come to illogically and incoherently. It’s our wild forest where we gather energy before going to prune our garden, with our fine books and novels. It’s a continual practice.
Sit down right now. Give me this moment. Write whatever’s running through you. You might start with this moment and end up writing about the gardenia you wore at your wedding seven years ago. That’s fine. Don’t try to control it. Stay present with whatever comes up, and keep your hand moving.
I wrote for about five or 10 minutes in my notebook, and wrote what was running through me. My experiences and deepest longings leapt straight from my heart and out onto the page through my hand, and the act of writing became so simple and direct that it was as if my brain was just a spectator, anxious mutterings quieted at last. By the time I finished, I was quietly sobbing in that dark corner of the library, in the sheltered desk carrel that shielded me from the rest of the campus studying on that day in late September of 2002. Something was unleashed that day, and I was so moved by that feeling of being granted permission to write any way I wanted that I dated that page in Writing Down the Bones. Something big happened here today.
I kept that book with me, when things were great and when things were shitty, when I felt despair or years of writer’s block or crippling fear. It’s okay, just write for 10 minutes. Natalie has given me permission to write the worst junk imaginable, because it is the practice that matters. Now, more than a decade later, in my writing sessions, I can finally distinguish the feeling of the juice, the flow of when I’m finally cooking with gas or sparks are flying—pick your metaphor—and I can channel that energy into whatever feels important to work on. But first I have to warm up. Even if I’m writing every day consistently, I still have to shake off the rust and the stiff joints and re-enter the river of writing, the thrall of my own subconscious voice, in order to be receptive enough to conduct electricity when lightning strikes. When I’m stuck, I open up Writing Down the Bones and read:
Be Specific
Be specific. Don’t say ‘fruit.’ Tell what kind of fruit—‘It is a pomegranate.’ Give things the dignity of their names.
Don’t Marry the Fly
Watch when you listen to a piece of writing. There might be spaces where your mind wanders.
A New Moment
Katagiri Roshi often used to say: ‘Take one step off a hundred-foot pole.’
3.
One paradox of my writer’s toolbox of books is that I don’t often write at my writing desk—preferring instead the anonymous yet community feel of a table at my local coffee shop. But I tend to carry that dog-eared and war-torn copy of Writing Down the Bones with me wherever I go. Sometimes I switch it out for my almost-as-demolished copy of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, which is funnier and a bit more genre-specific about writing fiction. Over the years, I have trafficked through copies of The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, On Writing by Stephen King, Zen and the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury, Still Writing by Dani Shapiro, and Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett—which technically isn’t a craft book, but I lump it in, because it’s a memoir of being a young unpublished writer and of “making it,” documenting one particularly deep writing friendship. You could say that I’m a craft book junkie. You could say that.
I also keep books around that remind me of what I love about good writing. I have books that I reread just for the feeling of basking in good writing, like snuggling under a warm blanket or quenching my thirst with a perfectly cold glass of water. Novels like The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, Motherless Brooklyn, A Visit from the Goon Squad, Fight Club, and the Unbearable Lightness of Being are some of these books, and in college, along with the books I was reading for classes, I kept a “greatest hits” shelf of books that made me feel better just by dint of their being nearby.
Yet I don’t own a dictionary. My fiancé, a recreational poet, has a rhyming dictionary, which it has never occurred to me to purchase. I use an online thesaurus regularly at work, but in this digital age, I would never buy a hardcover copy.
Recently, I picked up a copy of Scratch: Writers, Money, and the Art of Making a Living, which I think of as a kind of lifestyle companion for writers delusional enough to think they might someday might make real money from this. It has anecdotal guidance and moral support for writers and those pursuing the writing life, a type of useful and practical advice that reminds me of my regular bimonthly Poets & Writers arrival. My subscription always seems on the verge of lapsing, but I read the magazine cover to cover whenever it arrives. I read the Residencies and Conferences and Grants and Awards sections with a pen in my hand.
4.
I was giddy but apprehensive about my gift of Garner’s Modern Usage. My first thought was, I should bring this to work! In my office, my windowsill-turned-bookshelf has on it a weathered copy of William Zinsser’s On Writing Well, an ancient copy of William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White’s Elements of Style, an untouched copy of the AP Style Guide, and Bill Bryson’s Dictionary for Writers and Editors. The latter is interesting but not comprehensive, so I eventually stopped looking up entries that didn’t exist. But it has a beautiful cover.
My second thought was, Screw work, I want to keep this at home and use it for my own writing at my writing desk! My immediate third thought was, I have to clean my writing desk! Lacking bookshelf space, I started stacking books I’ve just read or want to read on one corner of the small wooden desk I shellacked with rejection slips years ago, back when literary magazines sent paper rejections. I have a tiny ceramic lamp that sits on the other corner of the desk, and without a home office space larger than the footprint of this desk, I’ve collected a variety of other things on its surface—papers, folders, envelopes, DVDs, an unpaid doctor’s bill. My checkbook, more books I’m planning to read, recent drafts of novel revisions, with all manner of handbags and tote bags hanging off the handles of my desk chair like a flea market handbag stall.
[millions_ad]
Could a single modern usage book revolutionize my home writing space and daily writing practice?
I’ve always thought of myself as a writing nomad. Natalie says,
Write Anyplace. Okay. Your kids are climbing into the cereal box. You have $1.25 left in your checking account. Your husband can’t find his shoes, your car won’t start, you know you have lived a life of unfulfilled dreams….Take out another notebook, pick up another pen, and just write, just write, just write. In the middle of the world, make one positive step. In the center of chaos, make one definitive act. Just write.
I write her words, copy them into my notebook, and in that moment, I am reborn. I like having authorities, teachers, mentors on the page. Natalie has taught me a great deal in the 15 years that I’ve been reading and rereading her book.
Maybe Bryan Garner can become my newest teacher on the page, in his witty biting asides about “eventuate” and “insofar as” and many other linguistic predicaments that I have yet to identify. Of course, one great appeal of having the voice of Garner giving me authoritative advice on proper usage is that hovering over his shoulder is the friendly specter of David Foster Wallace, and next to him, my dad nodding along and laughing at my enthusiasm. When he gifted me the book, he said, “This is a great reference for a writer.” It’s in those tiny moments that I feel his slight seal of approval, or at least simple affirmation, of that life that I’ve chosen for myself. He sees me as a writer. Thanks, dad.
Building My Own Strange Machines: A Conversation with Jonathan Lethem and Christopher Boucher
Time flies. Six years ago Jonathan Lethem published The Ecstasy of Influence, a sprawling collection of essays, sketches, interviews, and fiction, knitted together with candid autobiographical notes. Since then, he’s brought out his ninth and 10th novels -- Dissident Gardens and A Gambler’s Anatomy -- as well as a story collection, Lucky Alan and Other Stories, and apen monograph on the album Fear of Music. A new year, another book. More Alive and Less Lonely collects literary essays, introductions and book reviews from the last 20-plus years. The book was edited -- or curated, rather -- for Melville House by Christopher Boucher, whose two novels (How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive; Golden Delicious), as I recently read them, significantly altered my perception of language in fiction, reminding me of when I first encountered Lionel Essrog, the compulsively lyrical narrator of Lethem’s now classic New York crime novel, Motherless Brooklyn.
In the spirit of generosity and of abundance, both author and editor agreed to participate in a roundtable conducted recently over several days of emails. Unlike in the humorous essay “The Counter-Roth” included in the new book, which details Lethem’s attempts to entertain Philip Roth at literary functions, I made it clear up front I had abandoned any hope of making either of these writers laugh.
The Millions: This collection caught me completely by surprise, even though I'm an avid reader of Jonathan's work and previously hunted down several of these pieces online. The editor's introduction states that a framework and coherence were evident early on among the 60 or so short essays in this book. Were there other breakthroughs later in the process?
Christopher Boucher: It's fun to think back to the very beginnings of the process, when Jonathan started sending me contenders for the collection. I'd loved The Ecstasy of Influence, and so these uncollected essays seemed like a gift -- my own “lonely book” (see “The Loneliest Book I’ve Read”), if you will.
As I remember it, we came to the idea of a “book on books” early on -- during our first meeting at Melville House. I was thrilled with this direction, because that was the book I wanted to read. As a diehard fan of Jonathan’s fiction, I gravitated towards his essays on books and literature -- I found them addictive, sneakily-instructive, and full of the same joyful inquiry and insight that’s so prevalent in Ecstasy. What’s more, these essays made me want to read -- to drop everything and read for days. I liked the idea of trying to create the same experience for the reader -- to curate a book that served as a readerly “wake-up call.”
That said, though, we left a lot of wonderful material out. Along the way, too, I found myself lobbying for a rather broad definition of "books and writers” so that we could include as many essays as possible. I remember really wanting to include Jonathan's fictional exchange between his character Perkus Tooth and director Spike Jonze (“The Original Piece of Wood I Left in Your Head”), for example. While it's unlike anything else in the book, it's just so poignant and funny.
Jonathan Lethem: For me, the image of this book emerged in the negative space described by my two earlier essay collections -- The Disappointment Artist, and The Ecstasy of Influence. The first one, Disappointment Artist, is really a memoir of my teenage life and self-invention as a writer, disguised as a cycle of cultural essays. It's about losing my mother and understanding my relationship to my father and concealing my vulnerabilities behind movies and pop music and books. The form is exclusive and everything I wrote in that mode is included in that short book (arguably, the Cassavetes piece doesn't really belong). Ecstasy of Influence is a baggy monster, full of writing in different modes, and on different occasions. There's even fiction in there, and a poem. It's a deliberate -- and obnoxious, I'm sure -- attempt to measure the space I'd blundered into as a "public intellectual," which wasn't a plan I'd had for myself. It's modeled, for better and worse, on Mailer's Advertisements for Myself.
What was excluded from those collections created the possibility that became More Alive and Less Lonely. I'd written more often on books and writers than on any other topic, in the form of reviews and introductions, largely. And "appreciations." Writing about books was the first thing I did besides writing fiction, and the first thing I published in any venue (in the Philip K. Dick Society Newsletter, when I was 22). I reviewed a few books for Salon in the mid-'90s -- one of those earliest examples is included here, on Jill Robinson's Past Forgetting. And the first book I was ever asked to introduce was Walter Tevis's Mockingbird. That's here too. It's really the heart of my activities, the center of my life, as a reader, bookseller, and "author." It's a book of devotions, basically.
TM: Were there specific collections (by other writers) that occurred to either of you during this process?
JL: By way of comparison, I thought mostly of books by British writers -- things like Anthony Burgess's Homage to Qwert Yuiop, or Penelope Fitzgerald's The Afterlife -- books that are full of things like introductions and "appreciations." I think the ways my bookishness manifests itself are more like a U.K. writer than like an American one, honestly.
But I didn't shove any of these comparisons at Chris. I preferred to let him find the form and the tone, and to do all the heavy lifting here. I really let him wade through the morass -- and there was more ass than you'd think. He covered it, for the most part.
TM: I'm curious, how were the pieces received? How many at a time? Over what period of time? Were there any changes or cuts made to specific essays, or other issues or obstacles that came up in bringing this work into book form?
CB: Conversations about this project began in December of 2015, when a mutual friend put Jonathan and me in contact by email. Jonathan sent me 60 or so pieces to review, and we met to discuss the project in early 2016. It was during that meeting that we first talked about the idea of a “book on books.” With a preliminary theme in mind, I dug in and started looking for threads in the essays that could inform their sequencing and the book's scope and shape. These pieces were published at different times and in a variety of venues, so our reader was going to have do some time travel. And I didn’t want them to feel “unstuck,” or mapless. So I searched for ways for the book to stake out its range and territory early on -- that was certainly my goal in the first chapter, “Engulf and Devour,” which shifts from a “devotion” on a book from Jonathan’s childhood to pieces on Moby-Dick and Philip Roth.
Later in the book, the essays focus in on specific writers (Kazuo Ishiguro, Philip K. Dick), link thematically (as in the last chapter, “Fan Mail”), or connect via what I think of as “channels” -- inquiries or enthusiasms that reappear in different garb. I love the various forms of nostalgia expressed in the chapter “It Can Still Take Me There,” for example -- there’s a piece on the character of Batman, and further on, an essay about Jonathan’s encounter with the beat hero Herbert Huncke.
As the book took shape, Jonathan sent along other pieces that might fit. To my delight, he also wrote some new essays that helped round out the chapters and complete some of the narratives therein. One of my favorite pieces in the book, for example, is his “Footnote on Thomas Berger,” a new piece that follows two previously-published essays on Berger. I won’t spoil it, but it’s an astounding story.
Editorially, most of the heavy lifting took place last summer. Since most of these pieces were previously published, I saw my work as a sort of literary forensics: I read the manuscript version against the published version, and sent Jonathan edits that catalogued all editorial discrepancies and suggested a way forward. I sent these to Jonathan in batches of 10 or so and he returned finalized versions. Overall, my edits were modest -- these essays were already in fighting shape. We settled on a preliminary structure and title by July, and the manuscript was submitted a few weeks later.
JL: I'm fighting the temptation to satirize Chris's scrupulous account of all his due diligence with claims of my having handled the perimeter defense, or being the one in charge of bringing the ziplock bags of trail mix. "First I built a bonfire hot enough to melt down the horse's hooves," etc. But the truth is that I did nothing so comprehensive or thoughtful even as that. I really just dumped that initial catastrophe's worth of pieces on Chris, by means of Dropbox. Then, to make matters worse, I sporadically discovered pieces I'd missed or forgotten about entirely that were hiding either in dingy corners of the Internet or of my own hard-drive, and sent those along as well.
As Chris began to settle on pieces -- which didn't happen all at once, but in sequences -- I periodically flew into a panic of rewriting. I think I did a bit more "improving" -- or at least triage -- on these clumsy old sentences than Chris shows signs of being aware of. Mostly I tried to simplify tormented thoughts into merely agitated ones.
I really like hearing about Chris's concerns about the risk of "maplessness" and the way he thought of his solution in terms of "channels." I find the design and flow he arrived at consistently surprising and delightful, nothing I'd have managed myself. That feeling extends to the title of the various sections, and the title of the book itself, which are all Chris's discoveries.
TM: Readers now can go over the trail themselves to find a discarded ziplock, map in hand. The Hawkman trail? To borrow language describing two kinds of Pynchon novels (in the essay "Pychonopolis") this new collection teeters between Comparatively Stable and Utterly Centrifugal. Not because it is chaotic but because there is narrative drive and so many plot threads. The time-travel aspect, far from disorienting, is gratifying. What was lived, and sometimes suffered through, for decades, we see transpire in a few pages. I'm wondering if Jonathan's attitude toward collaboration has changed at all since the famous Harper's essay and his "Promiscuous" Internet project, where material he authored was made available for filmmakers and music bands?
JL: Well, I'm in no way repentant, if that's what you mean. All of my impulses -- my yearnings -- are still in the direction of a gift economy. It seems even more urgent to me now, more bound up in our political lives, all this stuff: acknowledging intertextuality, breaking the spell of "property" over our expressive cultural lives, find ways to reclaim a commons or create a "temporary autonomous zone" wherever possible. Locating versions of mutual aid for artists and artworks. Distinguishing corporatist imperatives from life imperatives. Not that I have some coherent political plan on offer!
The Promiscuous Materials site is in disrepair -- I need to rework it, and freshen it up, make it inviting again. I'm not web-savvy that way, and there are only so many hours in the day. Still, people still do find their way to those stories and texts and song lyrics and make their own things out of them from time to time. I'm glad about that. I should say that it wasn't some major experiment, I don't make any such claim for it. The project was more a gesture -- a mild provocation, combined with a sort of playground. Like a community garden in a vacant lot.
My main job is writing novels, and as I get older I know I've got to exclude a lot of other involvements. Too often that means missing chances to collaborate, and locking myself in my room. But I'm still really dedicated to breaking down the dull imperial notion of the novelist-as-Prometheus. Finding ways to introduce apertures or slippages in the mask of authority -- both inside the text, and around it.
CB: My response here skims the surface of your question, Chris, but for me this project has been wholly defined by Jonathan’s generosity. After the briefest of introductions in late 2015, Jonathan invited me to help steer this ship; I’ll always be grateful for, and amazed by, the trust he showed in me from the get-go. Received en masse as they were, too, these essays felt very much like “uncommodifiable surpluses of inspiration” -- like gifts, in other words.
This seems like a good time, too, to note that Jonathan’s donating all of his earnings from the book, and that half the proceeds are going to the charity Doctors Without Borders. Jonathan included this proviso in the initial book proposal, and I think it set the tone for the entire project. While I know I’m speaking of a different currency now than the one that drives the gift-economy, the creation of this book was certainly driven by a “Give All” sensibility.
TM: That kind of generosity is inspiring. Now pet theories are kicking around in my mind. Did the choice of Doctors Without Borders have anything to do with the list of doctors acknowledged in last year's A Gambler's Anatomy and the convincing, or convincingly imagined, medical research involved in that book, or does the association go back further?
JL: I'm sure it would be easy to overthink it. The fact is that I've always just been astonishingly moved by what they do. Which is no knock on, say, The Southern Poverty Law Center, or The Center for Biological Diversity, or many other possible destinations. But you have to pick one. Doctors Without Borders might seem to me -- I've never thought about this, exactly, before -- like the ultimate opposite of the kind of indirect politics practiced even by the most righteous of us artists and writers (I don't mean myself). That's to say, where we're by definition operating in the realm of the figurative and the intangible, in my case also the hesitant and ambiguous. While they are literally rushing bodily into zones of violence and crisis and putting bandages on other human bodies. So it was the least I could do. Let's leave it at that.
Oh, but I should confess here that the doctors acknowledged in A Gambler's Anatomy aren't all doctors! By the time my list of acknowledgees had four or five doctors on it, it seemed fair -- I mean, it seemed funny -- to award the same title to Chris Offutt, and to my wife. Doctors of my spirit, and doctors to my book.
TM: The acknowledgments reminded me of the dedication, also funny, in Stanley Elkin's The Dick Gibson Show. A list of radio hosts and their stations -- Jean Shepherd; WOR...etc -- ending with Joan Elkin; WIFE. I guess compared with the earlier discussion of a cultural commons, I was struck in this new collection by more traditional roles of authorship, for the reader respecting what great authors do on their terms. Which of course is a different matter, although I admit conflating them a little. One of my favorite pieces is the essay on Joseph McElroy. It does a great job anticipating a reader's objections while full-throatedly supporting a big league writer's craft. Are there some artists that, more than others, represent some kind of line or limit? With McElroy, "narrative 'sense'" sums it up. Have you experienced any conversions during your reading lives? This essay does much toward recruiting me to the McElroy camp.
JL: Elkin's WIFE, I'd forgotten that. Genius -- I wouldn't try to compete. But my own wife regards my honorary doctorates as embarrassing jokes, so I took my revenge by awarding her a bogus one too.
As for the opposition you suggest between "authors doing things on their terms" and the cultural commons, I'd say nah. My whole point, if I had one, was that to wade into the cultural commons was my description of what authors do when authors do what they do -- on their terms. Anyway that's how it feels to me. Whether conscious or semi-conscious or unconscious of the fact, we're all intertextually polymorphous-perverse in the end. As Dr. George Harrison wrote, "text goes on within you and without you."
I'm glad I rallied your curiosity about McElroy -- he'll gratify it (though, honestly, I probably wouldn't pick up Ancient History as an entry point. Try Lookout Cartridge first.) But since I've gotten started picking apart premises lurking in your questions, let me do it again, and protest the terms "big-league," "conversion" and "recruit." Because I know McElroy is generally associated with "difficulty," and so what I hear in those words of yours is a kind of reader's hierarchy of striving, as if reading him or someone like him is a matter of stepping up to some higher realm or duty. I'm not into it. Too much Protestant work ethic in there, and status-seeking, and a hair shirt too. Read hedonistically instead. McElroy offers a delicious blast of oxygen -- it's fun to be in his brain, that's the reason to go there. I mean, if it turns you on to think of your reading of great novels, whether canonical or modernist or postmodernist or translated or just loooong, as some kind of sacrificial devotional act or military campaign or mountain-climbing expedition, go ahead. But admit that that's what turns you on! Life's too short to be intimidated by the books that are waiting only to be picked up and encountered, and then devoured, if you like what's on offer -- it's like being intimidated by food.
CB: I’ll resist the urge to go literal here and steer us towards the last piece in the book, “Books Are Sandwiches,” and say instead that I love this answer because it reminds me, as a reader, to eat what I like and all that I can -- to follow my instincts without regard for anything that might obstruct my engagement with the page. Some of my favorite moments in the book, too, are those when Jonathan finds vitality in places I wouldn’t have known to look for it -- when he hails Chester Brown as a “a citizen of the timeless nation of the dissident soul,” for example, or sees in the work of Gilbert Sorrentino “a mind whose only way of handling a first introduction is to blurt out ‘Don’t we know one another already?’”, or praises Vivian Gornick’s Fierce Attachments as “an object in furious motion, humming with its own energy, and all you might wish to do is touch it, alter its trajectory barely, so as to nudge it into universal view.”
TM: One other term that probably does more to activate a reader's resistance, if the book doesn't conform to the reader's preconceived notion of said term, is novel. It's understood that this is the reader's problem, the reader's loss. Although, also it's a cultural loss if the book or author goes out of print, which lends an urgency to what’s said about the lesser-read authors praised in this book and elsewhere. In The Ecstasy of Influence, Jonathan calls the dip in John Barth "terrifying.” This collection nonetheless concerns novels, second only to the unmitigated joy of reading anything. It's largely a novelist's bag of novels and novelists. What draws you to writing novels?
CB: What I love about the novel, both as a writer and a reader, is that it lives with you for a while, imprints itself on you. The novels that first invited me to write one, though, were particularly strange machines: The Age of Wire and String, for example,and Trout Fishing in America. I remember well the experience of reading the latter for the first time, and how the world continued buzzing for me even when I wasn’t reading it; it felt like having a pair of anti-gravity boots stowed away in my backpack. No other object has informed my life quite like my favorite novels have.
From a craft perspective, the novel caters to the kinds of risks that I like to take in my writing. Because of my early influences, perhaps, I’m drawn to building my own strange machines. Also, I don’t think novelistically, as I know some writers do. I have to think small, write small, and I only find my novels once I’m inside them. I began my second book, for example, with one stand-alone piece about a piano that changes your point of view, and another about a character who has a sentence for a pet. It wasn’t until a year later, maybe, that I admitted to myself that these should be part of the same narrative. At the core of my process is a certain unease or anxiety about the form, and I’m glad for that -- I think it’s a good place to write from.
Even so, I marvel at those writers who seem to have an easier relationship with the form. Jonathan’s one of my favorite living novelists, and for me his novels are built like tanks -- each one different from the last, and yet always dizzyingly inventive, uniquely ambitious, and expertly constructed. Reading A Gambler’s Anatomy, for example, I was amazed by its grand design -- the way that the narrative arc, pacing, and sentence-level music all work together. I’m curious to hear what he has to say about a form to which he clearly brings such mastery.
JL: "A novelist's bag of novels and novelists" -- you make it sound like a sack of cats! Yet one also being carried around by another, larger cat. Or a smaller one who is struggling with a very large sack.
Well, I doubt I could write a more impassioned love letter to the novel than Chris B. has done here, so instead I'll play the feisty elder, and remind you young whippersnappers what Norman Mailer said when someone played devil's advocate about the viability of his chosen form (some of which devil's advocacy I think I hear in your question). I quote: "The novel will be at your funeral!"
Maybe me and Boucher have our heads too far up the wazoo of the novel to realize that the world has moved on to other, better things...the human attention span having suffered irreparable damage,,,I doubt it...but even if so, it has been a pretty good place to spend my life. What I really think is this: the novel is the least airless, the least restrictive, the least solipsistic of wazoos to have climbed up. It is a wazoo with a view.
Okay, to be a bit more serious, I really have come to understand that the humbling mystery of my chosen practice is how capacious the damn thing is. It holds together impossible things (like life itself). It even makes room for the anti-novel -- for those always turn out to be novels, too. It models human consciousness in any number of ways -- by its involvement simultaneously in narrative and language and also sensation, dreaming and projection and fear, and with our feeling of duration -- time, that is. It concerns itself with concurrence of being-in-our-heads (that's the siren call of solipsism) and being-in-the-herd (the basic fact that we're social creatures, wandering among others every day of our lives). The two are simultaneous immersions, never resolving their permanent juxtaposition. The novel actually captures this! How incredible. And even the shortest and simplest novel is oceanic, confusing, too big to get your head around, or see all at once (again, like life).
Anyway, this here bag of cats -- it's got other things in it, I swear. There's my mother-in-law, in the "Footnote to Berger." She's no novelist! There are cameos by any number of others -- painters, poets, children, and teenaged pre-novelist me. It's less lonely because it's fungible to human beings. As are novels. Whereas bags of cats are just -- well, cats, all the way down.
October Preview: The Millions Most Anticipated (This Month)
We wouldn't dream of abandoning our vast semi-annual Most Anticipated Book Previews, but we thought a monthly reminder would be helpful (and give us a chance to note titles we missed the first time around). Here's what we're looking out for this month -- for more October titles, check out the Great Second-Half 2016 Fiction and Non-Fiction Previews.
The Mothers by Brit Bennett: The Mothers begins when a grief-stricken 17-year-old girl becomes pregnant with the local pastor’s son, and shows how their ensuing decisions affect the life of a tight-knit black community in Southern California for years to come. The church’s devoted matriarchs — “the mothers” — act as a Greek chorus to this story of friendship, secrets, guilt, and hope. (Janet)
A Gambler’s Anatomy by Jonathan Lethem: Lethem’s first novel since 2013’s Dissident Gardens has the everything-in-the-stewpot quality that his readers have come to expect: the plot follows a telepathic backgammon hustler through various international intrigues before forcing him to confront a deadly tumor — as well as his patchouli-scented Berkeley past. Though it remains to be seen if A Gambler’s Anatomy can hit the emotional heights of Motherless Brooklyn andThe Fortress of Solitude, it will be, if nothing else, unmistakably Lethem. (Jacob)
The Angel of History by Rabih Alameddine: I love a novel the plot of which dares to take place over the course of one night: in The Angel of History, it’s the height of the AIDS epidemic in San Francisco, and Yemeni-born poet Jacob, who is gay, sits in the waiting room of a psych clinic in San Francisco. He waits actively, as they say — recalling his varied past in Cairo, Beirut, Sana’a, and Stockholm. Other present-time characters include Satan and Death, and herein perhaps lies what Michael Chabon described as Alameddine’s “daring” sensibility…“not in the cheap sense of lurid or racy, but as a surgeon, a philosopher, an explorer, or a dancer.” (Sonya)
Nicotine by Nell Zink: Zink now enters the post-New Yorker profile, post-Jonathan-Franzen-pen-pal phase of her career with Nicotine, a novel that seems as idiosyncratic and — the term has probably already been coined — Zinkian as Mislaid and The Wallcreeper. Nicotine follows the struggle between the ordinary Penny Baker and her aging hippie parents — a family drama that crescendos when Penny inherits her father’s squatter-infested childhood home and must choose “between her old family and her new one.” Few writers have experienced Zink’s remarkable arc, and by all appearances, Nicotine seems unlikely to slow her winning streak. (Jacob)
The Loved Ones by Sonya Chung: Her second novel (after Long for this World), this ambitious story is a multigenerational saga about family, race, difference, and what it means to be a lost child in a big world. Charles Lee, the African-American patriarch of a biracial family, searches for meaning after a fatherless childhood. His connection with a caregiver, Hannah, uncovers her Korean immigrant family’s past flight from tradition and war. Chung is a staff writer at The Millions and founding editor of Bloom, and her work has appeared in Tin House, The Threepenny Review, and BOMB. Early praise from Nayomi Munaweera compares Chung’s prose toElena Ferrante or Clarice Lispector, “elegant, sparse, and heartbreaking.” (Claire)
The Red Car by Marcy Dermansky: Dermansky’s Bad Marie featured an ex-con nanny obsessed with her employer and with a tendency to tipple on the job. The protagonist of her latest is a less colorful type: a struggling novelist suffocated by her husband, also a struggling novelist. When her former boss dies in a crash, Leah is willed the red sports car in which her nurturing friend met her end: “I knew when I bought that car that I might die in it. I have never really loved anything as much as that red car.” What is the idling heroine to make of the inheritance and the ambiguous message it contains? (Matt)
Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood: Margaret Atwood joins authors Jeanette Winterson, Howard Jacobson, and Anne Tyler in the Hogarth Shakespeare series — crafting modern spins on William Shakespeare’s classics. Hag-Seed, a prose adaptation of The Tempest, follows the story of Felix, a stage director who puts on a production of The Tempest in a prison. If Felix finds success in his show, he will get his job back as artistic director of the Makeshiweg Festival. The Tempest is one of Atwood’s favorites (and mine, too), and Hag-Seed should be an exciting addition to the Hogarth Shakespeare series. (Cara)
The Mortifications by Derek Palacio: Palacio’s debut novel follows his excellent, tense novella, How to Shake the Other Man. Palacio shifts from boxing and New York City to the aftermath of the Mariel boatlift, set in Miami and Hartford, Conn. Here Palacio’s examination of the Cuban immigrant experience and family strife gets full breadth in a work reminiscent of H.G. Carrillo’s Loosing My Espanish. (Nick R.)
The Trespasser by Tana French: In her five previous novels about the squabbling detectives of the Dublin Murder Squad, French has classed up the old-school police procedural with smart, lush prose and a willingness to explore the darkest recesses of her characters’ emotional lives. In The Trespasser, tough-minded detective Antoinette Conway battles scabrous office politics as she tries to close the case of a beautiful young woman murdered as she sat down to a table set for a romantic dinner. On Goodreads, the Tanamaniacs are doing backflips for French’s latest venture into murder Dublin-style. (Michael)
The Boat Rocker by Ha Jin: It’s not without good reason that Jin has won practically every literary prize the United States has to offer, despite his being a non-native English speaker — he is something of a technical wizard who, according to the novelist Gish Jen, “has chosen mastery over genius.” Steeped in the terse, exact prose tradition of such writers as Nikolai Gogol and Leo Tolstoy, Jin’s work is immediately recognizable. His newest novel, The Boat Rocker, follows in the same vein. It finds Chinese expatriate Feng Danlin, a fiercely principled reporter whose exposés of governmental corruption have made him well-known in certain circles, wrestling with his newest assignment: an investigation into the affairs of his ex-wife, an unscrupulous novelist, and unwitting pawn of the Chinese government. (Brian)
Today Will Be Different by Maria Semple: Semple, formerly a writer forArrested Development and Mad About You, broke into the less glamorous, less lucrative literary world with 2013’s Where’d You Go, Bernadette? (her second novel), which this reviewer called “funny.” In this novel she sets her bittersweet, hilarious, perceptive gaze on Eleanor, a woman who vows that for just one day she will be the ideal wife, mother, and career woman she’s always known she could be. And it goes great! Just kidding. (Janet)
No Knives in the Kitchens of This City by Khaled Khalifa: This novel, Khalifa’s fourth, illuminates the prelude to Syria’s civil war, and humanizes a conflict too often met with an international shrug. Tracking a single family’s journey from the 1960s through the present day, No Knives in the Kitchens of This City closely examines the myriad traumas — both instantaneous and slow-burning — accompanying a society’s collapse. As of this year, the U.N. Refugee Agency estimates there to be 65.3 million refugees or internally displaced persons around the world, and more than 4.9 million of those are Syrian. For those hoping to understand how this came to pass, Khalifa’s book should be required reading. (Nick M.)
The Wangs vs. the World by Jade Chang: Entertainment Weekly has already expressed excitement about former journalist Chang’s novel, calling it “uproarious,” and in her blurb, Jami Attenberg deemed The Wangs vs. the World her “favorite debut of the year.” Charles Wang, patriarch and business man, has lost his money in the financial crisis and wants to return to China to reclaim family land. Before that, he takes his adult son and daughter and their stepmother on a journey across America to his eldest daughter’s upstate New York hideout. Charles Yu says the book is, “Funny, brash, honest, full of wit and heart and smarts,” and Library Journal named it one of the fall’s 5 Big Debuts. (Edan)
About My Mother by Tahar Ben Jelloun: Frequent Nobel-shortlister Jelloun, who the Guardian calls "Morocco's greatest living author," has a newly translated novel--a mother-story set in Fez and Tangier that explores the familiar ravages of Alzheimers. (Lydia)
Truevine by Beth Macy: One day in 1899, a white man offered a piece of candy to George and Willie Muse, the children of black sharecroppers in Truevine, Va., setting off a chain of events that led to the boys being kidnapped into a circus, which billed them as cannibals and “Ambassadors from Mars” in tours that played for royalty at Buckingham Palace and in sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden. Like Macy’s last book, Factory Man, about a good-old-boy owner of a local furniture factory in Virginia who took on low-cost Chinese exporters and won, Truevine promises a mix of quirky characters, propulsive narrative, and an insider’s look at a neglected corner of American history. (Michael)
Upstream by Mary Oliver: Essays from one of America’s most beloved poets. As always, Oliver’s draws inspiration from the natural world, and Provincetown, Mass., her home and life-long muse. Oliver also writes about her early love ofWalt Whitman, the labor of poetry, and the continuing influence of classic American writers such as Robert Frost, Edgar Allan Poe, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. (Hannah)
Most Anticipated: The Great Second-Half 2016 Book Preview
This year is already proving to be an excellent one for book lovers. Since our last preview, we’ve gotten new titles by Don DeLillo, Alexander Chee, Helen Oyeyemi, Louise Erdrich; acclaimed debut novels by Emma Cline, Garth Greenwell, and Yaa Gyasi; new poems by Dana Gioia; and new short story collections by the likes of Greg Jackson and Petina Gappah. We see no evidence the tide of great books is ebbing. This summer we’ve got new works by established authors Joy Williams, Jacqueline Woodson, Jay McInerney, as well as anticipated debuts from Nicole Dennis-Benn and Imbolo Mbue; in the fall, new novels by Colson Whitehead, Ann Patchett, and Jonathan Safran Foer on shelves; and, in the holiday season, books by Javier Marías, Michael Chabon, and Zadie Smith to add to gift lists. Next year, we’ll be seeing the first-ever novel (!) by none other than George Saunders, and new work from Kiese Laymon, Roxane Gay, and (maybe) Cormac McCarthy. We're especially excited about new offerings from Millions staffers Hannah Gersen, Sonya Chung, Edan Lepucki, and Mark O'Connell (check out next week's Non-Fiction Preview for the latter).
While it’s true that no single list could ever have everything worth reading, we think this one -- at 9,000 words and 92 titles -- is the only 2016 second-half book preview you’ll need. Scroll down and get reading.
July
Here Comes the Sun by Nicole Dennis-Benn: In a recent interview in Out magazine, Dennis-Benn described her debut novel as “a love letter to Jamaica -- my attempt to preserve her beauty by depicting her flaws.” Margot works the front desk at a high-end resort, where she has a side business trading sex for money to send her much younger sister, Thandi, to a Catholic school. When their village is threatened by plans for a new resort, Margot sees an opportunity to change her life. (Emily)
Heroes of the Frontier by Dave Eggers: The prolific writer has made his reputation on never picking a genre, from starting the satirical powerhouse McSweeney's to post-apocalyptic critiques on the tech world. But if there's one thing Eggers has become the master of, it's finding humor and hope in even the most tragic of family situations. In Eggers's seventh novel, when his protagonist, Josie, loses her job and partner, she escapes to Alaska with her two kids. What starts as an idyllic trip camping out of an RV dubbed Chateau turns into a harrowing personal journey as Josie confronts her regrets. It's Eggers's first foray into the road trip novel, but it's sure to have his signature sharp and empathetic voice. (Tess)
Multiple Choice by Alejandro Zambra: The Chilean writer Zambra’s new book is: a.) a parody of that nation’s college-entrance Academic Aptitude Exam, b.) a parody of a parody of same, c.) an exercise in flouting literary conventions, d.) all of the above. The correct answer is d.) -- because this sly slender book, translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell, is divided into 90 multiple-choice questions suggesting that how we respond to a story depends on where the writer places narrative stress. The witty follow-up questions suggest that the true beauty of fiction is that it has no use for pat answers. For example: “What is the worst title for this story -- the one that would reach the widest possible audience?” (Bill)
Ninety-Nine Stories of God by Joy Williams: Williams is the sort of writer one “discovers” -- which is to say the first time you read her, you can’t believe you’ve never read her before; and you know you must read more. Ninety-Nine Stories of God is a “slim volume,” according to Kirkus, at the same time it lives up to its name: each of the very-short stories (yes, there are 99 of them) features God and/or the divine -- as idea, character, or presence. In the world of Joy Williams, we can expect to meet a God who is odd, whip-smart, exuberant, surprising, funny, sad, broken, perplexed, and mysterious. I look awfully forward. (Sonya)
Home Field by Hannah Gersen: The debut novel from The Millions’s own Gersen has one of the best jacket copy taglines ever: “The heart of Friday Night Lights meets the emotional resonance and nostalgia of My So-Called Life”...I mean, right? Its story bones are equally striking: the town’s perfect couple -- high school football coach Dean and his beautiful sweetheart, Nicole -- become fully, painfully human when Nicole commits suicide. Dean and his three children, ages eight to 18, must now forge ahead while also grappling with the past that led to the tragedy. Set in rural Maryland, it’s a story, says Kirkus, built upon “meticulous attention to the details of grief,” the characters of which are “so full, so gently flawed, and so deeply human.” (Sonya)
How to Set a Fire and Why by Jesse Ball: Jesse Ball’s last novel, A Cure for Suicide, wrestled with questions of memory’s permanence, existence, and beginning again -- all subjects that, according to The New York Times, “in the hands of a less skilled writer...could be mistaken for science fiction cliché.” Ball’s newest novel, his sixth, is something of a departure. How to Set a Fire and Why takes place in a normal-enough town peopled by characters who have names like Lucia and Hal. Don’t worry, though, Ball the fabulist/moralist is still very much himself; the young narrator muses on the nature of wealth and waste as she gleefully joins an Arsonist’s Club, “for people who are fed up with wealth and property, and want to burn everything down.” (Brian)
Problems by Jade Sharma: Problems is the first print title from Emily Books, the subscription service that “publishes, publicizes, and celebrates the best work of transgressive writers of the past, present and future” and sends titles to readers each month. They’ll be publishing two original printed books a year in conjunction with Coffee House Press. Sharma’s debut is described as “Girls meets Trainspotting,” about a heroin addict struggling to keep her life together. Emily Books writes, “This book takes every tired trope about addiction and recovery, ‘likeable’ characters and redemption narratives, and blows them to pieces.” (Elizabeth)
The Unseen World by Liz Moore: Ada is the daughter of a brilliant computer scientist, the creator of ELIXIR, a program designed to “acquire language the way that human does,” through immersion and formal teaching. Ada too is the subject of an experiment of sorts, from a young age “immersed in mathematics, neurology, physics, philosophy, computer science,” cryptology and, most important, the art of the gin cocktail by her polymath father. His death leaves Ada with a tantalizing puzzle to solve in this smart, riddling novel. (Matt)
The Trap by Melanie Raabe: Translated from the German, the English version of this celebrated debut was snaffled up by Sony at the Frankfurt Book Fair and is now on its way to a big-screen debut as well. A thriller, The Trap describes a novelist attempting to find her sister’s killer using her novel-in-progress as bait (this always works). (Lydia)
Leaving Lucy Pear by Anna Solomon: The Pushcart-winning author received a lot of praise for her debut, The Little Bride, and accolades are already flowing in for her latest, with J. Courtney Sullivan calling Lucy Pear, "a gorgeous and engrossing meditation on motherhood, womanhood, and the sacrifices we make for love." It opens with an unwed Jewish mother named Bea leaving her baby beneath a Massachusetts pear tree in 1917 to pursue her dreams of being a pianist. A decade later, a disenchanted Bea returns to find her daughter being taken care of by a strong Irish Catholic woman named Emma, and the two woman must grapple with what it means to raise a child in a rapidly changing post-war America in the middle of the Prohibition. With poetic prose but a larger understanding of the precarious world of 1920s New England, Solomon proves herself as one of the most striking novelists of the day. (Tess)
Bad Faith by Theodore Wheeler: Kings of Broken Things, Wheeler’s debut novel about young immigrants set during the Omaha Race Riot of 1919, is coming in 2017 from Little A. The riot followed the horrific lynching of Will Brown. A legal reporter covering the Nebraska civil courts, Wheeler brings much authenticity to the tale. For now, readers can enjoy Bad Faith, his first story collection. (Nick R.)
Sarong Party Girls by Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan: Described in promotional materials as both Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Emma set in Singapore, Tan’s first novel explores “the contentious gender politics and class tensions thrumming beneath the shiny exterior of Singapore’s glamorous nightclubs and busy streets.” It is also the first novel written entirely in “Singlish” (the local patois of Singapore) to be published in America. The long-time journalist -- Tan has been a staff writer at The Wall Street Journal, In Style, and The Baltimore Sun -- previously published a memoir called A Tiger in The Kitchen: A Memoir of Food & Family, which was praised as “a literary treat.” (Elizabeth)
Pond by Claire Louise-Bennett: Published in Ireland last year, a linked series of vignettes and meditations by a hermitess. The Guardian called it a “stunning debut;” The Awl’s Alex Balk offers this rare encomium: “the level of self-importance the book attaches to itself is so low that you are never even once tempted to make the 'jerking off' motion that seems to be the only reasonable response to most of the novels being published today.” (Lydia)
An Innocent Fashion by R.J. Hernández: Ethan St. James was born Elián San Jamar, the son of multiracial, working-class parents in Texas. At Yale, he befriends two wealthy classmates, who help him reinvent himself as he moves to New York to work for the fashion magazine Régine. But once he’s there, things begin to crumble. It’s described as “the saga of a true millennial -- naïve, idealistic, struggling with his identity and sexuality,” and an early review says that Hernández writes in “a fervently literary style that flirts openly with the traditions of Salinger, Plath, and Fitzgerald.” (Elizabeth)
Listen to Me by Hannah Pittard: Following up The Fates Will Find Their Way and Reunion, two-time Year in Reading alum Pittard hits us with a “modern gothic” novel about a faltering marriage and an ill-fated road trip. (Lydia)
My Name Is Leon by Kit de Waal: A former magistrate who has spent years doing family law and social work in England, de Waal publishes her debut novel at the respectable age of 55, bringing experiences from a long career working with adoption services to a novel about a mixed family navigating the foster care system in the 1980s. (Lydia)
Night of the Animals by Bill Broun: A strangely prophetic novel set in London, Night of the Animals takes place in a very near, very grim future -- a class-divided surveillance state that looks a little too much like our own. A homeless drug addict named Cuthbert hears the voices of animals who convince him to liberate them from the London Zoo, joining with a rag-tag group of supporters to usher in a sort of momentary peaceable kingdom in dystopian London. The book is difficult to describe and difficult to put down. (Lydia)
Break in Case of Emergency by Jessica Winter: The fiction debut of Slate editor Winter, a seriocomic look at a woman trying to do what used to be called “having it all,” dealing with a job that sucks -- a send-up of a celebrity non-profit -- and uncooperative fertility. Publisher’s Weekly called it a “biting lampoon of workplace politics and a heartfelt search for meaning in modern life.” (Lydia)
August
Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue: This is one of those debuts that comes freighted with hype, expectation, and the poisonous envy of writers who didn’t receive seven-figure advances, but sometimes hype is justified: Kirkus, in a starred review, called this novel “a special book.” Mbue's debut, which is set in New York City at the outset of the economic collapse, concerns a husband and wife from Cameroon, Jende and Nemi, and their increasingly complex relationship with their employers, a Lehman Brothers executive and his fragile wife. (Emily)
The Nix by Nathan Hill: Eccentricity, breadth, and length are three adjectives that often earn writers comparisons to Thomas Pynchon. Hill tackles politics more headlong than Pynchon in this well-timed release. The writing life of college professor Samuel Andresen-Andersen is stalled. His publisher doesn’t want his new book, but he’s in for a surprise: he sees his long-estranged mother on the news after she throws rocks at a right-wing demagogue presidential candidate. The candidate holds press conferences at his ranch and “perfected a sort of preacher-slash-cowboy pathos and an anti-elitist populism” and his candidacy is an unlikely reason for son and mother to seek reunion. (Nick R.)
Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson: Although the National Book Award winner's Brown Girl Dreaming was a young adult book, everyone flocked to lyrical writing that honed in on what it means to be a black girl in America. Now Woodson has written her first adult novel in two decades, a coming-of-age tale set in 1970s Bushwick, where four girls discover the boundaries of their friendship when faced with the dark realities of growing up. As Tracy K. Smith lauds, "Another Brooklyn is heartbreaking and restorative, a gorgeous and generous paean to all we must leave behind on the path to becoming ourselves." (Tess)
Bright, Precious Days by Jay McInerney: This is the third of three McInerney novels following the lives of New York book editor Russell Calloway and his wife Corinne. The first Calloway book, Brightness Falls (1992), set during leveraged buyout craze of the late-1980s, is arguably McInerney’s last truly good novel, while the second, The Good Life (2006), set on and around 9/11, is pretty inarguably a sentimental mess. This new volume, set in 2008 with the financial system in crisis and the country about to elect its first black president, follows a now-familiar pattern of asking how world-historical events will affect the marriage of McInerney’s favorite cosseted and angst-ridden New Yorkers. (Michael)
Carousel Court by Joe McGinniss, Jr.: Each unhappy mortgage is unhappy in its own way. A man and his beautiful wife (“a face that deserves granite countertops and recessed lighting”) try to flip a house in a California development at the wrong time. Now “it’s underwater, sinking fast, has...them by the ankles, and isn’t letting go.” This is the bleak but gripping setup for McGinniss’s second novel (coming 10 years after The Delivery Man), a portrait of a marriage as volatile as the economy. (Matt)
Shining Sea by Anne Korkeakivi: Korkeakivi’s second novel -- her first was 2012’s An Unexpected Guest -- opens with the death of a 43-year-old WWII veteran, and follows the lives of his widow and children in the years and decades that follow. A meditation on family, the long shadow of war over generations, and myth-making. (Emily)
How I Became a North Korean by Krys Lee: Lee’s debut novel (following her praised short story collection, Drifting House), is set in and adjacent to North Korea. The novel follows three characters who meet across the border in China: two North Koreans, one from a prominent and privileged family, the other raised in poverty, and a Chinese-American teen who is an outcast at school. Together the three struggle to survive in, in the publisher’s words, “one of the least-known and most threatening environments in the world.” (Elizabeth)
Moonstone by Sjón: “One thing I will not do is write a thick book,” asserts Icelandic author Sjón, who seems to have done just about everything else but, including writing librettos and penning lyrics with Lars von Trier for Björk’s Dancer in the Dark soundtrack. Sjón’s novels often dwell in mytho-poetic realms, but Moonstone, his fourth, is set firmly in recent history: 1918 Reykjavik, a city newly awash with foreign influence: cinema, the Spanish flu, the threat of WWI. Moonstone deals with ideas of isolation versus openness both nationally and on a personal scale, as Máni navigates his then-taboo desire for men, his cinematic fantasies, the spreading contagion, and the dangers imposed. (Anne)
Insurrections by Rion Amilcar Scott: The fictional town of Cross River, Md., founded after our nation's only successful slave revolt, serves as the setting for the 13 stories in Scott's latest collection. Here, readers track the daily struggles of ordinary residents trying to get ahead -- or just to get by. By turns heartbreaking, darkly funny, and overall compelling, Insurrections delivers a panorama of modern life within a close-knit community, and the way the present day can be influenced by past histories, past generations. Scott, a lecturer at Bowie State, is a writer you should be reading, and this book serves as a nice entry point for first-timers. Meanwhile, longtime fans who follow the author on Twitter are in no way surprised to hear Scott’s writing described as "intense and unapologetically current" in the pre-press copy. (Nick M.)
White Nights in Split Town City by Annie DeWitt: DeWitt’s first “slender storm of a novel” White Nights in Split Town City lands on the scene with a fury worthy of a cowboy western. To wit, Ben Marcus calls the book a “bold word-drunk novel,” that deals a good dose of swagger, seduction, and “muscular” prose (as corroborated by Tin House’s Open Bar). It’s a coming-of-age tale where a young girl’s mother leaves, her home life disintegrates, and she and her friend build a fort from which they can survey the rumors of the town. Laura van den Berg calls it a “ferocious tumble of a book” that asserts DeWitt as a “daring and spectacular new talent.” (Anne)
A House Without Windows by Nadia Hashimi: Hashimi, part-time pediatrician and part-time novelist (The Pearl That Broke Its Shell, When the Moon Is Low), offers readers an emotional heavyweight in her latest story, A House Without Windows. An Afghan woman named Zeba’s life changes when her husband of 20 years, Kamal, is murdered in their home. Her village and her in-laws turn against her, accusing her of the crime. Overcome with shock, she cannot remember her whereabouts when her husband was killed, and the police imprison her. Both the audience and Zeba’s community must discover who she is. (Cara)
Still Here by Lara Vapnyar: In her new novel, Russian-born writer Vapnyar dissects the lives of four Russian émigrés in New York City as they tussle with love, tumult, and the absurdities of our digital age. Each has technology-based reasons for being disappointed with the person they’ve become. One of the four, Sergey, seeks to turn this shared disappointment upside down by developing an app called Virtual Grave, designed to preserve a person’s online presence after death, a sort of digitized cryogenics. It could make a fortune, but is there anyone -- other than Ted Williams or an inventive novelist – who could seriously believe that Virtual Grave is a good idea? (Bill)
Divorce Is in the Air by Gonzalo Torné: For his third novel (and first published in the U.S.), Spanish writer Torné gives us a man we can love to hate. Joan-Marc is out of work and alone as he sets out to make things right by coming clean with his estranged second wife, giving her a detailed account of his misspent life -- from childhood scenes to early sexual encounters, his father’s suicide and his mother’s mental illness, and on through a life full of appetites indulged, women mistreated, and the many ways his first wife ruined him. The novel, translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell, becomes an unapologetic exploration of memory, nostalgia, and how love ends. (Bill)
September
The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead: In 1998, Whitehead appeared out of nowhere with The Intuitionist, a brilliant and deliciously strange racial allegory about, of all things, elevator repair. Since then, he’s written about junketing journalists, poker, rich black kids in the Hamptons, and flesh-eating zombies, but he’s struggled to tap the winning mix of sharp social satire and emotional acuity he achieved in his first novel. Early word is that he has recaptured that elusive magic in The Underground Railroad, in which the Underground Railroad slaves used to escape is not a metaphor, but a secret network of actual tracks and stations under the Southern landscape. (Michael)
Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer: It’s tempting to play armchair psychiatrist with the fact that it’s taken JSF 11 years to produce his third novel. His first two -- both emotional, brilliant, and, I have to say it, quirky -- established him as a literary wunderkind that some loved, and others loved to hate. (I love him, FWIW.) Here I Am follows five members of a nuclear family through four weeks of personal and political crisis in Washington D.C. At 600 pages, and noticeably divested of a cutesy McSweeney’s-era title, this just may be the beginning of second, more mature phase of a great writer’s career. (Janet)
Nutshell by Ian McEwan: "Love and betrayal, life and death come together in the most unexpected ways," says Michal Shavit, publisher of the Booker Prize-winner's new novel. It's an apt description for much of his work and McEwan is at his best when combining elegant, suspenseful prose with surprising twists, though this novel is set apart by perspective. Trudy has betrayed her husband, John, and is hatching a plan with his brother. There is a witness to a wife's betrayal, the nine-month-old baby in Trudy's womb. As McEwan puts it, he was inspired to write by, "the possibilities of an articulate, thoughtful presence with a limited but interesting perspective." (Claire)
Jerusalem by Alan Moore: For anyone who fears that Watchmen and V for Vendetta writer Moore is becoming one of his own obsessed, isolated characters -- lately more known for withdrawing from public life and disavowing comic books than his actual work -- Jerusalem is unlikely to reassure. The novel is a 1,280-page mythology in which, in its publisher’s words, “a different kind of human time is happening, a soiled simultaneity that does not differentiate between the petrol-colored puddles and the fractured dreams of those who navigate them.” Also: it features “an infant choking on a cough drop for eleven chapters.” Something for everyone! (Jacob)
Commonwealth by Ann Patchett: A new novel by the bestselling author of gems like Bel Canto and State of Wonder is certainly a noteworthy publishing event. This time, Patchett, who also owns Parnassus Books in Nashville, Tenn., takes on a more personal subject, mapping multiple generations of a family broken up by divorce and patched together, in new forms, by remarriage. Commonwealth begins in the 1960s, in California, and moves to Virginia and beyond, spanning many decades. Publishers Weekly gives it a starred review, remarking, “Patchett elegantly manages a varied cast of characters as alliances and animosities ebb and flow, cross-country and over time.” (Edan)
Deceit and Other Possibilities by Vanessa Hua: A one-time staff writer for the San Francisco Chronicle who filed stories from around the world while winning prizes for her fiction (including The Atlantic’s student fiction prize), Hua makes her publishing debut with this collection of short stories. Featuring characters ranging from a Hong Kong movie star fleeing scandal to a Korean-American pastor who isn’t all he seems, these 10 stories follow immigrants to a new America who straddle the uncomfortable line between past and present, allegiances old and new. (Kaulie)
The Last Wolf & Herman by László Krasznahorkai: To get a sense of what Booker Prize-winning author Krasznahorkai is all about, all you need to do is look at the hero image his publishers are using on his author page. Now consider the fact that The Last Wolf & Herman, his latest short fictions to be translated into English, is being described by that same publisher as “maddeningly complex.” The former, about a bar patron recounting his life story, is written as a single, incredibly long sentence. The latter is a two-part novella about a game warden tasked with clearing “noxious beasts” from a forest -- a forest frequented by “hyper-sexualized aristocratic officers.” All hope abandon ye who enter here. Beach readers beware; gloom lies ahead. (Nick M.)
Intimations by Alexandra Kleeman: Kleeman’s first novel, You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine, earned her comparisons to such postmodern paranoiacs as Don DeLillo and Thomas Pynchon. Her second book, Intimations, is a collection of 12 stories sure to please any reader who reveled in the heady strangeness of her novel. These stories examine the course life in stages, from the initial shock of birth into a pre-formed world on through to the existential confusion of the life in the middle and ending with the hesitant resignation of a death that we barely understand. With this collection, Kleeman continues to establish herself as one of the most brilliant chroniclers of our 21st-century anxieties. (Brian)
Dear Mr. M by Herman Koch: The author of the international bestseller The Dinner, will publish Dear Mr. M -- his eighth novel to date, but just the third to be translated into English. A writer, M, has had much critical success, but only one bestseller, and his career seems to be fading. When a mysterious letter writer moves into the apartment below, he seems to be stalking M. Through shifting perspectives, we slowly learn how a troubled teacher, a pair of young lovers, their classmates, and M himself are intertwined. With a classic whodunit as its spine, the novel is elevated by Koch's elegant handling of structure, willingness to cross-examine the Dutch liberal sensibility, and skewering of the writer's life. This is a page turner with a smart head on its shoulders and a mouth that's willing to ask uncomfortable questions. (Claire)
The Wonder by Emma Donoghue: Set in 1850s rural Ireland, The Wonder tells the story of Anna, a girl who claims to have stopped eating, and Lib, a nurse who must determine whether or not Anna is a fraud. Having sold over two million copies, Donoghue is known for her bestselling novel, Room, which she also adapted for the screen to critical acclaim. But as a read of her previous work, and her recent novel Frog Music shows, she is also well versed in historical fiction. The Wonder brings together the best of all, combining a gracefully tense, young voice with a richly detailed historical setting. (Claire)
Black Wave by Michelle Tea: Expanding her diverse body of work -- including five memoirs, a young adult fantasy series, and a novel -- Tea now offers her audience a “dystopic memoir-fiction hybrid.” Black Wave follows Tea’s 1999 trek from San Francisco to L.A. in what Kirkus calls “a biting, sagacious, and delightfully dark metaliterary novel about finding your way in a world on fire.” The piece has received rave reviews from the likes of Eileen Myles and Maggie Nelson, which promise something for readers to look forward to this September. (Cara)
The Black Notebook by Patrick Modiano: Modiano, a Nobel Prize winner, used a setting that shows up often in his work to give atmosphere to his 2012 novel L'herbe du nuit (appearing in English for the first time as The Black Notebook): the underdeveloped, unkempt suburbs of Paris in the 1960s. The book follows a man named Jean as he begins an affair with Dannie, a woman who may or may not be implicated in a local murder. As their relationship progresses, Jean begins to keep a diary, which he then uses decades later in a quest to piece together her story. (Thom)
Sleeping on Jupiter by Anuradha Roy: Released last year in the U.K., Sleeping on Jupiter will hit the shelves in the U.S. this October. Longlisted for the 2015 Man Booker Prize and winner of the 2016 DSC Prize for South Asian Literature, Roy’s latest novel follows the story of Nomita, a filmmaker’s assistant who experiences great trauma as young girl. When Nomita returns to her temple town, Jarmuli, after growing up in Norway, she finds that Jarmuli has “a long, dark past that transforms all who encounter it.” (Cara)
Reputations by Juan Gabriel Vásquez: Discussing The Sound of Things Falling, his atmospheric meditation on violence and trauma, with The Washington Post several years back, the Columbian writer Vásquez described turning away from Gabriel García Márquez and toward Joseph Conrad, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Philip Roth and Don DeLillo: “All these people do what I like to do, which is try to explore the crossroads between the public world -- history and politics -- and the private individual.” That exploration continues in Reputations, which features an influential cartoonist reassessing his life and work as a political scourge. (Matt)
Umami by Laia Jufresa: A shared courtyard between five homes in Mexico City is frequently visited by a 12-year-old girl, Ana. In the summer, she passes time reading mystery novels, trying to forget the mysterious death of her sister several years earlier. As it turns out, Ana’s not the only neighbor haunted by the past. In Umami, Jufresa, an extremely talented young writer, deploys multiple narrators, giving each a chance to recount their personal histories, and the questions they’re still asking. Panoramic, affecting, and funny, these narratives entwine to weave a unique portrait of present-day Mexico. (Nick M.)
The Fortunes by Peter Ho Davies: Davies, the author of The Welsh Girl and a professor at University of Michigan’s esteemed MFA program, returns with a big book about American history seen through the lens of four stories about Chinese Americans. Publishers Weekly gave it a starred review, calling it “a brilliant, absorbing masterpiece,” and said it can be read as four novellas: the first is about a 19th-century organizer of railroad workers, for instance, and the last is about a modern-day writer going to China with his white wife to adopt a child. Celeste Ng says, "Panoramic in scope yet intimate in detail, The Fortunes might be the most honest, unflinching, cathartically biting novel I've read about the Chinese American experience. It asks the big questions about identity and history that every American needs to ask in the 21st century.” (Edan)
Loner by Teddy Wayne: David Federman, a nebbishy kid from the New Jersey suburbs, gets into Harvard where he meets a beautiful, glamorous girl from New York City and falls in love. What could go wrong? Quite a bit, apparently. Wayne, himself a Harvardian, scored a success channeling his inner Justin Bieber in his 2013 novel The Love Song of Jonny Valentine. This book, too, has its ripped-from-the-headlines plot elements, which caused an early reviewer at Kirkus to call Loner “a startlingly sharp study of not just collegiate culture, but of social forces at large.” (Michael)
Little Nothing by Marisa Silver: From its description, Little Nothing sounds like a departure for Silver, the author of the novels The God of War and Mary Coin. The book, which takes place at the turn of the 20th century in an unnamed country, centers on a girl named Pavla, a dwarf who is rejected by her family. Silver also weaves in the story of Danilo, a young man in love with Pavla. According to the jacket copy, Little Nothing is, “Part allegory about the shifting nature of being, part subversive fairy tale of love in all its uncanny guise.” To whet your appetite, read Silver’s short story “Creatures” from this 2012 issue of The New Yorker, or check out my Millions interview with her about Mary Coin. (Edan)
After Disasters by Viet Dinh: Four protagonists, one natural disaster: Ted and Piotr are disaster relief workers, Andy is a firefighter, and Dev is a doctor -- all of them do-gooders navigating the after-effects of a major earthquake in India. Their journeys begin as outward ones -- saving others in a ravaged and dangerous place -- but inevitably become internal and self-transforming more than anything. Dinh’s stories have been widely published, and he’s won an O. Henry Prize; his novel debut marks, according to Amber Dermont, “the debut of a brilliant career.” (Sonya)
The Revolutionaries Try Again by Mauro Javier Cardenas: Cardenas’s first novel The Revolutionaries Try Again has the trappings of a ravishing debut: smart blurbs, a brilliant cover, a modernist narrative set amongst political turmoil in South America, and a flurry of pre-pub excitement on Twitter. Trappings don’t always deliver, but further research confirms Cardenas’s novel promises to deliver. Having garnered comparisons to works by Roberto Bolaño and Julio Cortázar, The Revolutionaries Try Again has been called “fiercely subversive” while pulling off feats of “double-black-diamond high modernism.” (Anne)
Perfume River by Robert Olen Butler: Butler, who won the Pulitzer in 1993, is still most well-known for the book that won him the prize, the Vietnam War-inspired A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain. In his latest, a novel, he goes back to that collection's fertile territory, exploring the relationship of a couple -- both tenured professors at Florida State -- who can trace their history to the days of anti-war protests. When the husband, Robert, finds out that his father is dying, he gets a chance to confront the mistakes of his past. (Thom)
The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride: McBride’s first novel, A Girl Is a Half-Formed Thing, unleashed a torrent of language and transgression in the mode of high modernism -- think William Faulkner, think James Joyce, think Samuel Beckett. James Wood described its prose as a “visceral throb” whose “sentences run meanings together to produce a kind of compression in which words...seem to want to merge with one another.” McBride’s follow-up, The Lesser Bohemians, is similar in voice, though softer, more playful, “an evolution,” according to McBride. Again the novel concerns a young woman, an actress who moves to London to launch her career, and who falls in with an older, troubled actor. (Anne)
Every Kind of Wanting by Gina Frangello: Each unhappy family is unhappy in it’s own way, but the families in Frangello’s latest novel are truly in a category all their own. Every Kind of Wanting maps the intersection of four Chicago couples as they fall into an impressively ambitious fertility scheme in the hopes of raising a “community baby.” But first there are family secrets to reveal, abusive pasts to decipher, and dangerous decisions to make. If it sounds complicated, well, it is, but behind all the potential melodrama is a story that takes a serious look at race, class, sexuality, and loyalty -- in short, at the new American family. (Kaulie)
October
A Gambler’s Anatomy by Jonathan Lethem: Lethem’s first novel since 2013’s Dissident Gardens has the everything-in-the-stewpot quality that his readers have come to expect: the plot follows a telepathic backgammon hustler through various international intrigues before forcing him to confront a deadly tumor -- as well as his patchouli-scented Berkeley past. Though it remains to be seen if A Gambler’s Anatomy can hit the emotional heights of Motherless Brooklyn and The Fortress of Solitude, it will be, if nothing else, unmistakably Lethem. (Jacob)
The Mothers by Brit Bennett: The Mothers begins when a grief-stricken 17-year-old girl becomes pregnant with the local pastor’s son, and shows how their ensuing decisions affect the life of a tight-knit black community in Southern California for years to come. The church’s devoted matriarchs -- “the mothers” -- act as a Greek chorus to this story of friendship, secrets, guilt, and hope. (Janet)
Nicotine by Nell Zink: Zink now enters the post-New Yorker profile, post-Jonathan-Franzen-pen-pal phase of her career with Nicotine, a novel that seems as idiosyncratic and -- the term has probably already been coined -- Zinkian as Mislaid and The Wallcreeper. Nicotine follows the struggle between the ordinary Penny Baker and her aging hippie parents -- a family drama that crescendos when Penny inherits her father’s squatter-infested childhood home and must choose “between her old family and her new one.” Few writers have experienced Zink’s remarkable arc, and by all appearances, Nicotine seems unlikely to slow her winning streak. (Jacob)
The Angel of History by Rabih Alameddine: I love a novel the plot of which dares to take place over the course of one night: in The Angel of History, it’s the height of the AIDS epidemic in San Francisco, and Yemeni-born poet Jacob, who is gay, sits in the waiting room of a psych clinic in San Francisco. He waits actively, as they say -- recalling his varied past in Cairo, Beirut, Sana’a, and Stockholm. Other present-time characters include Satan and Death, and herein perhaps lies what Michael Chabon described as Alameddine’s “daring” sensibility...“not in the cheap sense of lurid or racy, but as a surgeon, a philosopher, an explorer, or a dancer.” (Sonya)
The Loved Ones by Sonya Chung: Her second novel, this ambitious story is a multigenerational saga about family, race, difference, and what it means to be a lost child in a big world. Charles Lee, the African-American patriarch of a biracial family, searches for meaning after a fatherless childhood. His connection with a caregiver, Hannah, uncovers her Korean immigrant family's past flight from tradition and war. Chung is a staff writer at The Millions and founding editor of Bloom, and her work has appeared in Tin House, The Threepenny Review, and BOMB. Early praise from Nayomi Munaweera compares Chung’s prose to Elena Ferrante or Clarice Lispector, “elegant, sparse, and heartbreaking.” (Claire)
The Red Car by Marcy Dermansky: Dermansky’s Bad Marie featured an ex-con nanny obsessed with her employer and with a tendency to tipple on the job. The protagonist of her latest is a less colorful type: a struggling novelist suffocated by her husband, also a struggling novelist. When her former boss dies in a crash, Leah is willed the red sports car in which her nurturing friend met her end: “I knew when I bought that car that I might die in it. I have never really loved anything as much as that red car.” What is the idling heroine to make of the inheritance and the ambiguous message it contains? (Matt)
Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood: Margaret Atwood joins authors Jeanette Winterson, Howard Jacobson, and Anne Tyler in the Hogarth Shakespeare series -- crafting modern spins on William Shakespeare’s classics. Hag-Seed, a prose adaptation of The Tempest, follows the story of Felix, a stage director who puts on a production of The Tempest in a prison. If Felix finds success in his show, he will get his job back as artistic director of the Makeshiweg Festival. The Tempest is one of Atwood’s favorites (and mine, too), and Hag-Seed should be an exciting addition to the Hogarth Shakespeare series. (Cara)
The Mortifications by Derek Palacio: Palacio’s debut novel follows his excellent, tense novella, How to Shake the Other Man. Palacio shifts from boxing and New York City to the aftermath of the Mariel boatlift, set in Miami and Hartford, Conn. Here Palacio’s examination of the Cuban immigrant experience and family strife gets full breadth in a work reminiscent of H.G. Carrillo’s Loosing My Espanish. (Nick R.)
The Fall Guy by James Lasdun: Lasdun is a writer’s writer (James Wood called him “one of the secret gardens of English writing;” Porochista Khakpour called him “one of those remarkably flexible little-bit-of-everything renaissance men of letters”). Now, the British writer adds to his published novels, stories, poems, travelogue, memoir, and film (!) with a new novel, a spicy thriller about a troubled houseguest at a married couple’s country home. (Lydia)
The Boat Rocker by Ha Jin: It’s not without good reason that Jin has won practically every literary prize the United States has to offer, despite his being a non-native English speaker -- he is something of a technical wizard who, according to the novelist Gish Jen, “has chosen mastery over genius.” Steeped in the terse, exact prose tradition of such writers as Nikolai Gogol and Leo Tolstoy, Jin’s work is immediately recognizable. His newest novel, The Boat Rocker, follows in the same vein. It finds Chinese expatriate Feng Danlin, a fiercely principled reporter whose exposés of governmental corruption have made him well-known in certain circles, wrestling with his newest assignment: an investigation into the affairs of his ex-wife, an unscrupulous novelist, and unwitting pawn of the Chinese government. (Brian)
Today Will Be Different by Maria Semple: Semple, formerly a writer for Arrested Development and Mad About You, broke into the less glamorous, less lucrative literary world with 2013’s Where’d You Go, Bernadette? (her second novel), which this reviewer called “funny.” In this novel she sets her bittersweet, hilarious, perceptive gaze on Eleanor, a woman who vows that for just one day she will be the ideal wife, mother, and career woman she’s always known she could be. And it goes great! Just kidding. (Janet)
No Knives in the Kitchens of This City by Khaled Khalifa: This novel, Khalifa’s fourth, illuminates the prelude to Syria’s civil war, and humanizes a conflict too often met with an international shrug. Tracking a single family’s journey from the 1960s through the present day, No Knives in the Kitchens of This City closely examines the myriad traumas -- both instantaneous and slow-burning -- accompanying a society’s collapse. As of this year, the U.N. Refugee Agency estimates there to be 65.3 million refugees or internally displaced persons around the world, and more than 4.9 million of those are Syrian. For those hoping to understand how this came to pass, Khalifa’s book should be required reading. (Nick M.)
Mister Monkey by Francine Prose: Widely known and respected for her best-selling fiction, Prose has had novels adapted for the stage and the screen. It’s impossible to say (but fun to imagine) that these experiences informed her latest novel, Mister Monkey, about an off-off-off-off Broadway children’s play in crisis. Told from the perspective of the actress who plays the monkey’s lawyer, the adolescent who plays the monkey himself, and a variety of others attached to the production in one way or another, this novel promises to be madcap and profound in equal measure. (Kaulie)
The German Girl by Armando Lucas Correa: This debut novel, set in the 1930s, follows a young Jewish family as it tries to flee Germany for Cuba. When they manage to get a place on the ocean liner St. Louis, the Rosenthals prepare themselves for a comfortable life in the New World, but then word comes in of a change to Cuba's immigration policy. The passengers, who are now a liability, get their visas revoked by the government, which forces the Rosenthals to quickly abandon ship. For those of you who thought the boat's name sounded familiar, it's based on a real-life tragedy. (Thom)
The Explosion Chronicles by Yan Lianke: A decade ago, The Guardian described Lianke as “one of China's greatest living authors and fiercest satirists.” His most recent novel, The Four Books, was shortlisted for this year’s Man Booker International Prize. The Explosion Chronicles was first published in 2013, and will be published in translation (by Duke professor Carlos Rojas) this fall. The novel centers on a town’s “excessive” expansion from small village to an “urban superpower,” with a focus on members of the town’s three major families. (Elizabeth)
The Trespasser by Tana French: In her five previous novels about the squabbling detectives of the Dublin Murder Squad, French has classed up the old-school police procedural with smart, lush prose and a willingness to explore the darkest recesses of her characters’ emotional lives. In The Trespasser, tough-minded detective Antoinette Conway battles scabrous office politics as she tries to close the case of a beautiful young woman murdered as she sat down to a table set for a romantic dinner. On Goodreads, the Tanamaniacs are doing backflips for French’s latest venture into murder Dublin-style. (Michael)
The Wangs vs. the World by Jade Chang: Entertainment Weekly has already expressed excitement about former journalist Chang’s novel, calling it “uproarious,” and in her blurb, Jami Attenberg deemed The Wangs vs. the World her “favorite debut of the year.” Charles Wang, patriarch and business man, has lost his money in the financial crisis and wants to return to China to reclaim family land. Before that, he takes his adult son and daughter and their stepmother on a journey across America to his eldest daughter’s upstate New York hideout. Charles Yu says the book is, “Funny, brash, honest, full of wit and heart and smarts,” and Library Journal named it one of the fall’s 5 Big Debuts. (Edan)
Martutene by Ramón Saizarbitoria: A new English translation of a work that the journal El Cultural has suggested “could well be considered the highest summit of Basque-language novels.” The novel follows the interlinked lives of a group of friends in the contemporary Basque country, and the young American sociologist who’s recently arrived in their midst. (Emily)
Him, Me, Muhammad Ali by Randa Jarrar: Jarrar, whose novel A Map of Home won a Hopwood Award in 2008, comes out with her first collection of short stories old and new. In the title story (originally published in Guernica in 2010), a woman whose father has recently died goes to Cairo to scatter his ashes. In accompanying stories, we meet an ibex-human hybrid named Zelwa, as well as an Egyptian feminist and the women of a matriarchal society. In keeping with the collection's broad focus on "accidental transients," most of the stories take place all over the world. (Thom)
The Terranauts by T.C. Boyle: In 1994, a group of eight scientists move into EC2, a bio-dome-like enclosure meant to serve as a prototype for a space colony. Not much time passes before things begin to go wrong, which forces the crew to ask themselves a difficult, all-important question -- can they really survive without help from the outside world? Part environmental allegory, part thriller, The Terranauts reinforces Boyle's reputation for tight plotlines, bringing his talents to bear on the existential problem of climate change. For those who are counting, this is the author's 16th (!) novel. (Thom)
November
Swing Time by Zadie Smith: The Orange Prize-winning author of White Teeth and On Beauty returns with a masterful new novel. Set in North West London and West Africa, the book is about two girls who dream of being dancers, the meaning of talent, and blackness. (Bruna)
Moonglow by Michael Chabon: We've all had that relative who spills their secrets on their deathbed, yet most of us don't think to write them down. Chabon was 26 years old, already author of The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, when he went to see his grandfather for the last time only to hear the dying man reveal buried family stories. Twenty-six years later and the Pulitzer Prize winner's eighth novel is inspired by his grandfather's revelations. A nearly 500-page epic, Moonglow explores the war, sex, and technology of mid-century America in all its glory and folly. It's simultaneously Chabon's most imaginative and personal work to date. (Tess)
Fish in Exile by Vi Khi Nao: A staggering tale of the death of a child, this novel is a poetic meditation on loss, the fluidity of boundaries, and feeling like a fish out of water. Viet Thanh Nguyen has described it as a “jagged and unforgettable work [that] takes on a domestic story of losing one’s children and elevates it to Greek tragedy.” (Bruna)
Virgin and Other Stories by April Ayers Lawson: Lawson’s magazine debut was in the Paris Review with the title story of the collection. Other stories like “Three Friends in a Hammock” have appeared in the Oxford American. Fans of Jamie Quatro’s I Want to Show You More will be drawn to Lawson’s lyric, expansive dramatizations of Southern evangelical Christians, as she straddles the intersection of sexuality and faith. Her sentences, so sharp, are meant to linger: “The problem with marrying a virgin, he realized now, was that you were marrying a girl who would become a woman only after the marriage.” (Nick R.)
Valiant Gentleman by Sabina Murray: PEN/Faulkner Award-winner (The Caprices) Murray returns with her latest novel Valiant Gentlemen. Murray’s first novel, Slow Burn, was published when she was just 20 years old. Currently the chair of the creative writing department at UMass Amherst, Murray has also received fellowships from the Radcliffe Institute, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Guggenheim Foundation. Her sixth book (seventh, including her screenplay), Valiant Gentlemen follows a friendship across four decades and four continents. Alexander Chee writes, "This novel is made out of history but is every bit a modern marvel." (Cara)
Collected Stories by E.L. Doctorow: Written between the 1960s to the early years of this century, the 15 stories in this collection were selected, revised, and placed in order by the masterly Doctorow shortly before he died in 2015 at age 84. The stories feature a mother whose plan for financial independence might include murder; a teenager who escapes home for Hollywood; a man who starts a cult using subterfuge and seduction; and the denizens of the underbelly of 1870s New York City, which grew into the novel The Waterworks. They are the geniuses, mystics, and charlatans who offer both false hope and glimpses of Doctorow’s abiding subject, that untouchable myth known as the American dream. (Bill)
Thus Bad Begins by Javier Marías: Marías, one of Spain’s contemporary greats, is nothing if not prolific. In this, his 14th novel, personal assistant Juan de Vere watches helplessly as his life becomes tangled in the affairs of his boss, a producer of B-movies and general sleaze. Set in a 1980’s Madrid in the throes of the post-Francisco Franco hedonism of La Movida, a period in which social conservatism began to crumble in the face of a wave of creativity and experiment, the novel calls to mind Christopher Isherwood’s The Berlin Stories and the paranoid decadence of Weimar Germany. Spying and the intersection of the domestic with the historical/political isn’t new territory for Marías, and fans of of his earlier work will be as pleased as Hari Kunzru at The Guardian, who called Thus Bad Begins a “demonstration of what fiction at its best can achieve.” (Brian)
December
Whatever Happened to Interracial Love? by Kathleen Collins: Collins is described as “a brilliant yet little known African American artist and filmmaker -- a contemporary of revered writers including Toni Cade Bambara, Laurie Colwin, Ann Beattie, Amy Hempel, and Grace Paley.” The stories in this collection, which center on race in the '60s, explore the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality in ways that “masterfully blend the quotidian and the profound.” (Elizabeth)
The Private Life of Mrs. Sharma by Ratika Kapur: Kapur’s first novel, Overwinter, was longlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize. This, her second, chronicles a changing India in which the titular Mrs. Sharma, a traditional wife and mother living in Delhi, has a conversation with a stranger that will shift her worldview. Described as a “sharp-eyed examination of the clashing of tradition and modernity,” Asian and European critics have described it as quietly powerful. The writer Mohammed Hanif wrote that it “really gets under your skin, a devastating little book.” (Elizabeth)
And Beyond
The Passenger by Cormac McCarthy: Recent reports of the author’s death have been greatly exaggerated, but unfortunately reports of delays for his forthcoming science fiction book have not. Longtime fans will need to wait even longer than they’d initially suspected, as The Passenger’s release date was bumped way past August 2016 -- as reported by Newsweek in 2015 -- and now looks more like December 2017. (Nick M.)
Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders: For Saunders fans, the prospect of a full-length novel from the short-story master has been something to speculate upon, if not actually expect. Yet Lincoln in the Bardo is a full 368-page blast of Saunders -- dealing in the 1862 death of Abraham Lincoln’s son, the escalating Civil War, and, of course, Buddhist philosophy. Saunders has compared the process of writing longer fiction to “building custom yurts and then somebody commissioned a mansion” -- and Saunders’s first novel is unlikely to resemble any other mansion on the block. (Jacob)
And So On by Kiese Laymon: Laymon is a Mississippi-born writer who has contributed to Esquire, ESPN, the Oxford American, Guernica, and writes a column for The Guardian. His first novel, Long Division, makes a lot of those “best books you’ve never heard of” lists, so feel free to prove them wrong by reading it right now. What we know about his second novel is that he said it’s “going to shock folks hopefully. Playing with comedy, Afro-futurist shit and horror.” (Janet)
Difficult Women by Roxane Gay: If this were Twitter, I’d use the little siren emoji and the words ALERT: NEW ROXANE GAY BOOK. Her new story collection was recently announced (along with an announcement about the delay on the memoir Hunger, which was slated to be her next title and will now be published after this one). The collection’s product description offers up comparisons to Merritt Tierce, Jamie Quatro, and Miranda July, with stories of “privilege and poverty,” from sisters who were abducted together as children, to a black engineer’s alienation upon moving to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, to a wealthy Florida subdivision “where neighbors conform, compete, and spy on each other.” (Elizabeth)
Transit by Rachel Cusk: In this second novel of the trilogy that began with Outline, a woman and her two sons move to London in search of a new reality. Taut and lucid, the book delves into the anxieties of responsibility, childhood, and fate. “There is nothing blurry or muted about Cusk's literary vision or her prose,” enthuses Heidi Julavits. (Bruna)
Homesick for Another World by Ottessa Moshfegh: This first collection of stories from Moshfegh, author of the noir novel Eileen, centers around unsteady characters who yearn for things they cannot have. Jeffrey Eugenides offers high praise: "What distinguishes Moshfegh’s writing is that unnamable quality that makes a new writer's voice, against all odds and the deadening surround of lyrical postures, sound unique." You can read her stories in The New Yorker and the Paris Review. (Bruna)
Selection Day by Aravind Adiga: The Booker Prize-winning author of The White Tiger returns with a coming-of-age tale of brothers and aspiring professional cricketers in Mumbai. (Lydia)
Woman No. 17 by Edan Lepucki: Long-time Millions writer and contributing editor Lepucki follows up her New York Times-bestselling novel California (you may have seen her talking about it on a little show called The Colbert Report) with Woman No. 17, a complicated, disturbing, sexy look at female friendship, motherhood, and art. (Lydia)
Enigma Variations by André Aciman: New York magazine called CUNY Professor and author of Harvard Square “the most exciting new fiction writer of the 21st century). Aciman follows up with Enigma Variations, a sort of sentimental education of a young man across time and borders. (Lydia)
A Year in Reading: Michael Bourne
I met Jonathan Lethem once. It was at the Brooklyn Book Festival some years ago and he was rocking a purple velvet sport coat and wide wale corduroy pants in a vibrant burnt-orange hue. Lethem has an unusually large head and a penetrating stare, and I recall thinking, “Huh, so this is what it would be like to meet one of my favorite authors while on acid.”
This may help explain why, though I’d read several of his novels, I could not for the life of me remember their titles.
“The Fortress of Solitude?” Lethem asked, trying to be helpful.
I shook my head, mortified. “Earlier, I think.”
He turned his enormous head, looking for an exit. “Um, maybe Motherless Brooklyn?”
I could have hugged him. “Yes, that’s it!” I said. “I loved that book.”
I wish this conversation had happened this year, after I had finally got around to reading The Fortress of Solitude, as it would have saved us both some embarrassment. I’m not sure why I took so long to read The Fortress of Solitude. Part of the answer, I suppose, lies in my loyalty to Lionel Essrog, the hero of Motherless Brooklyn, an amateur detective who battles hilariously with his Tourette’s outbursts as he struggles to solve a murder case. Like so many of Lethem’s characters, Lionel is a human being one misplaced brushstroke away from being a cartoon, and I was afraid that if the characterizations in Lethem’s other “big” novel were too cartoony, it might sully my affection for Lionel.
I should have known better. The Fortress of Solitude has its comic-book moments -- among other things, the main characters can fly -- but at its heart it is profoundly observed social novel about race and social class, set in gentrifying Brooklyn. In the early years of this century, I lived less than a mile from Boerum Hill, where the novel is set, but the Boerum Hill I knew of McLaren strollers and Smith Street boutiques was light years from the racial powder keg where Lethem’s central characters, Dylan Ebdus and Mingus Rude, grow up in the 1970s.
But what makes The Fortress of Solitude such a pleasurable, immersive read is that, while it is one of the smartest novels I know about race in America, it isn’t “about” race in America, any more than it’s “about” gentrification, or the cultural history of black music, or the War on Drugs. It’s a book about people living their lives in interesting times. Dylan, a white son of an avant-garde filmmaker, and Mingus, the black son of a semi-famous soul musician, forge a deep bond, but the world they live in fails them and they spend most of their lives apart. Even the ring that Dylan is given, which, under certain circumstances, confers magical powers onto its wearer, can’t exempt the two heroes from the very different tolls American society exacts on its black and white young men. The story of how each man tries to wriggle out of the too-small box the world has built for him makes the book impossible to put down.
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Motherless Brooklyn on Screen
Edward Norton has wanted to adapt Jonathan Lethem's Motherless Brooklyn since it came out, but finding financing was almost as difficult as solving Frank Minna's murder. Now, Brett Ratner has agreed to fund the film with Norton directing and starring as Lionel Essrog.
Hipster Noir: Sara Gran’s Claire DeWitt Novels
When it comes to detective novels, we all know the drill. One page one, a mysterious blonde turns up with a job offer the detective soon learns is a ruse for the job she really wants him to do. Or maybe the phone rings in the middle of the night with a whispered tip about a murder. Or maybe, just to keep things simple, the story can begin late at night on the rough side of town when a figure steps out from the fog, his face shrouded in shadow. There’s a shout, a cry for help, and then -- bang! bang! -- the victim falls into the gutter and we’re left with the sound of murderer’s footsteps echoing against the pavement.
Sara Gran, author of the gutsy new Claire DeWitt detective series, is too cool for such old-school detective novel stuff. Her latest book, the second in the series, Claire DeWitt and the Bohemian Highway, opens not with a murder or a mysterious blonde, but with this decidedly unnoirish sentence: “I met Paul when a friend of my friend Tabitha played at the Hotel Utah late one Thursday night.” From this start, for two short, action-filled chapters, Paul and Claire -- he a hipster musician, she a hipster private eye -- fall in love, find themselves separated by circumstances, and move on. Or rather, Paul moves on, meeting a beautiful fellow musician named Lydia, with whom he starts a band and eventually marries. Claire, on the other hand, a coke-snorting, fitfully bisexual, Zen-koan-spouting San Francisco detective, buries herself in her work and one night dreams of quietly smoking a cigarette while Lydia drowns.
This is a detective novel, so Paul turns up dead in chapter three, but by then Gran has staked out her territory. Claire DeWitt and the Bohemian Highway, with its snappy prose and San Francisco setting, is both an homage to hard-boiled detective novels in the tradition of Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon and at the same time a brash reboot of the genre for the 21st century. Like Hammett’s Sam Spade and Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe, Claire DeWitt is one cool customer, solitary and cynical, nursing an existential hurt only the ceaseless search for the truth can salve.
But Claire is funnier than her noir forebears, and a good deal funkier. She cannot, for instance, search a victim’s medicine cabinet without pocketing a few Vicodin for later use. She is also a disciple of a famous dead French detective named Jacques Silette, whose aphorism-rich how-to manual, Détection, she is forever quoting, and when she is stuck on a case she wanders deep into the Oakland Hills to seek the wisdom of a shaman-cum-homeless-guy she calls the Red Detective. If, at times, Gran leans a little too heavily on dream sequences and has a habit of letting quirk stand in for character trait, she is also capable of masterly gems like: “Maybe two people in love were like two trains, racing toward each other. With a whole town of saps in the middle, not hearing the whistle blow.”
Gran, who has written for the TNT series Southland, structures the Claire DeWitt books more like a cable series than a standard-issue mystery series. While mystery writers often allow their investigator to grow over time, letting him or her get married, have kids, go into rehab, get sober, and so on, the books themselves tend to reset to zero each time, with a new crime and a new set of facts for the detective to grapple with. In the Claire DeWitt series, each book focuses on a different crime, but the stories and characters overlap from book to book.
This can be confusing to a reader who begins, as I did, with The Bohemian Highway and finds himself trying to make sense of stray references to two kids from New Orleans, Andray and Terrell, who, it turns out, figure prominently in the first book in the series, Claire DeWitt and the City of the Dead, published in 2011. But the continuing story lines, along with a series of interlocking flashbacks to Claire’s teen years in Brooklyn and Manhattan's Lower East Side, give the books an overarching narrative scope and tone that, like with cable series like Breaking Bad or Mad Men, encourage binge-reading sessions. (Soon you may be able to binge-watch as well: Gran is developing a cable series based on her Claire DeWitt novels for TNT.)
Also like some cable series, the Claire DeWitt books have taken a little while to hit their stride. The City of the Dead, set in post-Katrina New Orleans, is several orders of magnitude better than your average police procedural, and Gran, to her credit, handles her black characters without condescending to them or romanticizing their often violent lives. Still, as smart as that first book is about New Orleans during and after the 2005 hurricane, neither the mystery nor the detective trying to solve it are original enough to qualify The City of the Dead as anything more than an unusually good detective novel.
But with The Bohemian Highway, set in San Francisco’s indie music scene, Gran finds her voice and Claire leaps off the page with quirky élan. Gran nails, better than anyone else I’ve read recently, the Bay Area's peculiar mix of hipper-than-thou smugness and genuine scruffy charm. Or, to be more precise, she nails the smugness and charm I remember from my years living there in the 1990s. At times, in fact, the book feels trapped in some fictive time warp before the dot-com zillionaires drove the artists and the poor people from San Francisco's Mission District and Chinatown neighborhoods, where much of the action takes place. Aside from a few mentions of Google and Facebook and some jokes about houses costing “about a billion dollars,” the book could easily be set in 1997 before I and thousands of other underpaid writers and artists fled the city ahead of the flood of cyber geeks cashing in on the dot-com bubble.
But perhaps this is part of Gran’s point. Hipsterism, with its veneration of all things vintage, grassroots, and artisanal, is almost by definition an aesthetic of nostalgia, the expression of a generational yearning for a pre-post-industrial era when the stuff of life -- food, work, clothing, facial hair -- was “authentic,” which is to say shaped by human hands. So far at least, two books into the series, the points on Claire DeWitt’s compass, Brooklyn, New Orleans, and San Francisco, are hotbeds of hipsterism, and Claire herself is an exemplar of hipster cool. She frequents vegan restaurants, sees a traditional Chinese medicine healer, spends a lot of time hanging out in small clubs watching indie bands play, and when she’s in trouble she seeks help from a former California surfer turned Buddhist lama.
Even her hero, the late French detective Jacques Silette, radiates cool. In the world of the novels, Silette and his book stand at the head of a global underground network of private eyes who follow Silette’s published dictums, which read like a cross between Albert Camus and Buddha. “Mysteries never end,” runs a typical Silettian riff:
And we solve them anyway, knowing we are both solving everything and nothing. We solve them knowing the world will surely be as poorly or even worse off as before. But this is the piece of life we have been given authority over, nothing else; and while we may ask why over and over, no one yet has been given an answer.
What saves all this from being hopelessly precious is Claire’s impatience with preciousness, which renders The Bohemian Highway at once a dead-on portrait of a self-consciously liberal-minded, multi-culti, uber-tolerant social universe and a very funny sendup of that world. At one point, as Claire is quizzing her delightfully nerdy assistant on his ethnic origins, he tells her: “My dad is Nigerian-French. My mother is Vietnamese-French by way of Oslo. They moved to Berkeley when I was a kid.”
Claire’s response? "'Wow,' I said. 'They should open a restaurant. I would eat there.'"
If the mysteries at the heart of both books are less than fully satisfying -- I saw the big reveal in The Bohemian Highway coming about 30 pages early -- that’s fine because the real subject of the books is not crime or detection, but the enigma of Claire herself. A survivor of a chaotic childhood in a pre-gentrification Brooklyn reminiscent of Jonathan Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn, Claire hungers for truth in a world riven by ambiguity. She solves crimes not because she particularly cares whodunit, but because she wants the world to reveal itself, to give up its secrets and shades of gray. When she can’t find the truth, she begins to unravel, to the point that much of the second half of The Bohemian Highway is a brutally honest portrait of an addict’s slow-motion swan dive toward bottom. “With each day that passed something ugly was growing in me,” Claire explains. “I watched it grow. I fed it cocaine. I loved it and held onto it, kept it alive.”
Claire DeWitt and the San Francisco of The Bohemian Highway are confections, no more real than Harry Potter and Hogwarts -- or for that matter, than Sam Spade and the 1930s-era San Francisco of The Maltese Falcon. But Claire DeWitt and the Bohemian Highway is so deliciously odd, and its fictional world works so well within its own skewed logic, that to complain that Claire DeWitt’s San Francisco doesn’t match the real city now overrun by software engineers and young finance types is like complaining that there is no Platform 9¾ at King’s Cross Station. Great fiction presents fantasies in the place of real people and then, like magic, makes you care about them. In Claire DeWitt, Sara Gran has given the hard-boiled detective a good, hard hipster twist, creating a character with a savagely vigilant mind and a black heart always on the verge of breaking.
Most Anticipated: The Great Second-Half 2013 Book Preview
The first half of 2013 delighted us with new books by the likes of George Saunders, Karen Russell, and Colum McCann, among many others. And if the last six months had many delights on offer for book lovers, the second half of the year can only be described as an invitation to gluttony. In the next six months, you'll see new books by Jhumpa Lahiri, Margaret Atwood, Donna Tartt, Marisha Pessl, Norman Rush, Jonathan Lethem, and none other than Thomas Pynchon. And beyond those headliners there are many other tantalizing titles in the wings, including some from overseas and others from intriguing newcomers.
The list that follows isn’t exhaustive – no book preview could be – but, at 9,000 words strong and encompassing 86 titles, this is the only second-half 2013 book preview you will ever need. Scroll down and get started.
July:
Visitation Street by Ivy Pochoda: Crime writer Dennis Lehane chose Pochoda’s lyrical and atmospheric second novel for his eponymous imprint at Ecco/Harper, calling it “gritty and magical.” Pitched as a literary thriller about the diverse inhabitants of Red Hook, Brooklyn, Visitation Street has already received starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly, Kirkus Reviews, and Library Journal. Lionel Shriver says, “I loved it,” and Deborah Harkness calls it “marvelous.” (Edan)
Love, Dishonor, Marry, Die, Cherish, Perish by David Rakoff: Rakoff was the author of three books of essays, the winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor, and a beloved regular on This American Life who died last year shortly after finishing this book. A novel written entirely in verse (a form in which he was masterful, as evidenced here), its characters range across the 20th century, each connected to the next by an act of generosity or cruelty. (Janet)
The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. by Adelle Waldman: Waldman recently weighed in for us on the centuries-old Richardson vs. Fielding debate. Now, in her first novel, she expertly plays the former's psychological penetration off the latter's civic vision. The titular Nathaniel, one of Brooklyn's sad young literary men, seeks to navigate between his public ambitions and his private compulsions in a series of romantic encounters. Those without 718 area codes shouldn't let the milieu scare them off; questions of whether Nate can heed the difficult imperatives of the conscience—and of how Waldman will pull off a whole book from the man's point of view—keep the pages turning, while generating volumes of quotable insight, in the manner of The Marriage Plot. (Garth)
Fin & Lady by Cathleen Schine: A country mouse moves to the city in Cathleen Schine’s ninth novel. The mouse is Fin, an orphaned eleven-year old boy, and the city is Greenwich Village in the 1960s. Under the guardianship of his glamorous half-sister, Lady, Fin gets to know both the city and his wild sister, and encounters situations that are a far cry from his Connecticut dairy farm upbringing. As with many of Schine’s previous novels, Fin & Lady explores changing definitions of family. (Hannah)
My Education by Susan Choi: Reflect upon your sordid graduate school days with a novel of the perverse master-student relationship and adulterous sex triangle. Professor Brodeur is evidently the kind of man whose name is scrawled on restroom walls by vengeful English majors—rather than end up in the sack with him, Choi’s protagonist Regina instead starts up an affair with his wife. Later in the novel and in time, Regina reflects on this period in her life and the changes wrought by the intervening 15 years. Choi was a Pulitzer Prize finalist for her second novel, American Woman. (Lydia)
Five Star Billionaire by Tash Aw: The third novel from the winner of the 2005 Whitbread First Novel Award follows the lives and business ventures of five characters in Shanghai, each representing various—and at times dichotomous—social strata. There’s Phoebe, the poor and unsophisticated migrant worker from Malaysia; and there’s Yinghui, the rich and ambitious businesswoman. There’s Gary, the waylaid pop star; and there’s Justin, the scion of a wealthy real estate family. Lastly there’s Walter, the eponymous billionaire, who meddles behind the scenes with the lives of almost everybody. Altogether, their multi-layered, intersecting lives contribute to make “Shanghai itself [into] the book’s real main character,” writes Jill Baker in the Asian Review of Books. It’s a city “luring in people hoping for a second chance or … any chance at all.” (Nick)
Lotería by Mario Alberto Zambrano: It’s a rare first novel that can appeal to partisans of both S.E. Hinton and Julio Cortázar, but Lotería does just that. The story 11-year-old Luz Maria Castillo begins telling us from her room in a state institution is deceptively plainspoken: Here’s how I got here. But as the story proceeds in fragments, keyed not to chronology but to a deck of cards from Lotería (a kind of Mexican bingo), things get shiftier. Color reproductions of the cards introduce each chapter, making the book, if not exactly Kindle-proof, then at least uncommonly handsome. (Garth)
The Unknowns by Gabriel Roth: Gabriel Roth’s debut novel follows Eric Muller from his lonely high school days as a computer geek to his millionaire success in Silicon Valley as a computer geek. Slightly disoriented by his newfound abilities to make money and bed women, Muller wryly observes his life as if he is that same awkward teenager trapped in a dream life. When he falls in love with Maya, a beautiful woman with a mysterious past, he must choose between the desire to emotionally (and literally) hack into it, or to trust his good fortune. (Janet)
The Hare by César Aira: A recent bit of contrarianism in The New Republic blamed the exhaustive posthumous marketing of Roberto Bolaño for crowding other Latin American writers out of the U.S. marketplace. If anything, it seems to me, it’s the opposite: the success of The Savage Detectives helped publishers realize there was a market for Daniel Sada, Horacio Castellanos Moya, and the fascinating Argentine César Aira. The past few years have seen seven of Aira’s many novels translated into English. Some of them, like Ghosts, are transcendently good, but none has been a breakout hit. Maybe the reissue of The Hare, which appeared in the U.K. in 1998, will be it. At the very least, it’s the longest Aira to appear in English: a picaresque about a naturalist’s voyage into the Argentinean pampas. (Garth)
August:
Night Film by Marisha Pessl: Pessl’s first novel since Special Topics in Calamity Physics, her celebrated 2006 debut, concerns a David Lynchish filmmaker whose daughter has died in Lower Manhattan under suspicious circumstances. Soon, reporter Scott McGrath has launched an investigation that will take him to the heart of the auteur’s secretive empire: his cult following, his whacked-out body of work, and his near impenetrable upstate compound. With interpolated web pages and documents and Vanity Fair articles, the novel’s a hot pop mess, but in the special way of a latter-day Kanye West album or a movie co-directed by Charlie Kaufman and Michael Bay, and the climax alone—a 65-page haunted-house tour-de-force—is worth the price of admission. (Garth)
Cannonball by Joseph McElroy: McElroy was writing the lights out in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, and in the last few years has been rediscovered by a younger generation of readers, who justly class him with Thomas Pynchon—a writer of a wildly different sensibility, but a similar, world-devouring ambition. Hell, he even did a Year in Reading. If 2011’s Night Soul is any indication, McElroy’s can still intrigue, baffle, and stop the heart, often all at once. This, his first novel in many a moon, concerns the Iraq War, among other things, and it’s hard to think of an author more suited to reimagining the subject. (Garth)
Claire of the Sea Light by Edwidge Danticat: The author of a string of heartbreaking novels about the strife-torn Caribbean nation of Haiti, including The Farming of Bones and The Dew Breaker, Danticat here tells the story of a young motherless girl whose poverty-stricken father considers giving her away a wealthier family. Hailed by Publishers Weekly as “magical as a folk tale and as effective and devastating as a newsreel,” the novel paints a stark portrait of village life in Haiti. (Michael)
Remember How I Told You I Loved You? by Gillian Linden: Gillian Linden’s debut collection of linked stories follows a young woman through college, careers, love affairs and marriages— “from delayed adolescence to (delayed) adulthood.” The publisher, Little A (Amazon’s new literary fiction imprint), describes the collection as “a sharp and intimate take on romance and infidelity, trust and betrayal,” written in a “deadpan narrative, cool and precise.” Linden’s story “Pests” was recently published in The Paris Review. Linden will join the ranks of several talented literary writers that Little A has published since its launch in March — including A.L. Kennedy, Shawn Vestal, and Jenny Davidson. (Sonya)
The Infatuations by Javier Marias: Marias’s only competitor for the title of Spain’s Most Important Living Writer may be Enrique Vila-Matas. Each of his last few books with New Directions, translated by Margaret Jull Costa, set a new high-water mark—most recently, the mammoth trilogy Your Face Tomorrow. Now he’s made the jump to Knopf, which means you’re about to hear a lot about him. And deservedly so, it would seem: The Infatuations has already been called "great literature" in Spain and "perhaps his best novel" in the U.K. Is there any reason on earth you wouldn’t want to read the greatest novel of Spain’s greatest living writer? Of course there isn’t. Now get thee to a bookshop! (Garth)
The Color Master by Aimee Bender: Ogres, tiger-mending and playing at prostitution—yep, it’s time for Aimee Bender to once again enchant us with her whimsical and magical fiction. Her next story collection comes out just three years after the publication of her bestselling novel The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, and it looks like the book is a return to form for Bender. Publishers Weekly says that even the tales that resemble children’s storybooks “are haunted by a taut, sardonic melancholy,” noting that her “mood pieces” about female friendship are the strongest of the bunch. (Edan)
Elect H. Mouse State Judge by Nelly Reifler: To Kafka’s “Josephine, the Mouse-Singer” and Bolaño’s “Police Rat” and Mrs. Frisby and that one A.M. Homes story where the kid gets it on with a Barbie doll, we must now add Nelly Reifler’s first novel. It’s a fast-paced caper—politician’s kids get abducted, private eyes go searching—but with a major twist: H. Mouse is a mouse, and both perps and dicks are dolls. Shrewdly, Reifler serves this concoction neat; what could have been cheap thrills give way to weirder and more surprising effects. (Garth)
The Rathbones by Janice Clark: The Rathbones is the most sui generis debut you’re likely to encounter this year. Think Moby-Dick directed by David Lynch from a screenplay by Gabriel Garcia Marquez...with Charles Addams doing the set design and The Decembrists supplying the chanteys. Initially the story of the last surviving member of an eccentric 19th-Century whaling dynasty, it becomes the story of that dynasty itself. I should also say that this was the single most exciting thing I read in manuscript in graduate school, where the author and I studied together. Clark writes a beautiful prose line, and the story, like the ocean, get deeper, richer, and stranger the farther out you go. (Garth)
A Schoolboy’s Diary and Other Stories by Robert Walser: For a long time, Walser addicts—which is to say, pretty much anyone who has come into contact with this intoxicating writer—had to make do with the novel Jakob van Gunten (but what a novel!) and a slim edition of selected stories. But, half a century after his death, the Swiss master of smallness and obscurity is finally getting the treatment he deserves. Microscripts was one of the best books I read in 2012. The tireless Susan Bernofsky has also given us versions of The Tanners, The Assistant, and a collection of Berlin Stories. In this volume, Damion Searls translates a group of stories about school life—also the engine of much of Jakob van Gunten’s exquisite comedy. (Garth)
Necessary Errors by Caleb Crain: Lately, it's seemed that the “literary” first novel had become a genre unto itself: a certain page-limit, a certain definition of scope, a certain set of problems, modestly conceived and modestly transcended. If so, Crain’s stately, wry, and generous first novel breaks the mold. Certainly, there’s a classic coming-of-age narrative here. But as the back-cover blurbs attest, the adventures of American Jacob Putnam in Czechoslovakia right after the Iron Curtain’s fall recall Henry James as much as they do Ben Lerner. Crain’s broad social canvas and his deep interest in the lives of other people are marks of distinction. (Garth)
The Novel: An Alternative History (1600-1800) by Steven Moore: The first volume of Moore’s magisterial survey advanced a theory of the novel as inherently experimental and multicultural, and much older than is generally acknowledged. It’s not that Jane Austen moves to the margins and Gertrude Stein to the center, but that Austen and Stein become recognizably part of the same story. And though Moore hews closer, necessarily, to synopsis than to close-reading, his project is an invaluable desk reference for the catholic reader. In volume 2, he turns his sights to the era that inspired the argument in the first place, a period that begins with Don Quixote. (Garth)
The Sound of Things Falling by Juan Gabriel Vásquez: At The Age, Cameron Woodhead writes: “With The Sound of Things Falling, Colombian novelist Juan Gabriel Vásquez has created a story that can be appreciated purely for the dramatic way it dives into the black hole of his country's past—the drug cartels and paramilitaries that scarred a generation—although the supple thought-weave of the prose won't be lost on anyone with a taste for more reflective fiction.” Woodhead also compares Vasquez to Graham Greene, W.G. Sebald, and Robert Bolaño—all writers who give us an expansive sense of a country’s history and legacy through the lives of compelling individuals. The protagonist is a Colombian lawyer named Antonio whose memory takes him back to a long-ago acquaintance with the ex-pilot Ricardo LaVerde and a series of mysterious (and yes, violent) occurrences. Vásquez, who is 40, has published four previous novels, but prefers to not count the first two, which he wrote in his early 20s; so “officially,” Sound is his third novel. (Sonya)
The Virgins by Pamela Erens: This smart, unsettling novel is narrated by a middle-aged man obsessed by the star-crossed love affair of two classmates at his boarding school thirty years ago. Erens, author of one previous novel, The Understory, displays an uncanny gift for writing honestly about pot-toking, hormone-addled adolescents while granting them the full range of human emotion one expects from a novel for adults. The novel is from indie press Tin House Books, a spinoff of the well-known literary magazine that has quietly built a reputation as a home for first-rate literary fiction. (Michael)
The Wicked Girls by Alex Marwood: Alex Marwood is the pseudonym of British journalist Serena Mackesy, and The Wicked Girls is her dark and beautifully executed first novel. In the mid-eighties, two eleven-year-old girls meet for the first time and become friends. By the end of the day, a younger child has died at their hands. Twenty-five years later, with new lives and changed identities, the two women encounter one another in a seaside town where a serial killer is active. A haunting meditation on crime and punishment. (Emily)
The Affairs of Others by Amy Grace Loyd: Loyd, formerly the fiction editor at Playboy, moves to the other side of the desk with a first novel of elegant intensity. A young widow in Brooklyn has bought her apartment building, and so become an accidental landlord. Or do people still say landlady? At any rate, her straitened existence is challenged by the arrival of a fascinating new tenant, with emotional transformation the ultimate issue. Loyd’s burnished, spare sentences conceal hidden volumes of emotion, and in its different moods, the book may put readers in mind of Joseph O’Neill’s Netherland or of a more hopeful version of Claire Messud’s recent The Woman Upstairs. (Garth)
Brief Encounters with the Enemy by Saïd Sayrafiezadeh: Sayrafiezadeh’s acclaimed memoir, When Skateboards Will Be Free, chronicled a childhood being raised by an Iranian father and American Jewish mother united by an extreme devotion to the Socialist Workers Party. Three years later, Sayrafiezadeh, whose fiction has appeared in Granta, The New Yorker, and The Paris Review, among other places, publishes his first short story collection. The everyday trials of his characters, some of them grappling with the rippling effects of a nameless war (“this could be any war, or perhaps the next war,” Sayrafiezadeh told The New Yorker) “are transformed into storytelling that is both universally resonant and wonderfully strange.” (Elizabeth)
The Hypothetic Girl by Elizabeth Cohen: From Other Press, a collection of stories that “captures all the mystery, misery, and magic of the eternal search for human connection” via tales about the bizarre and inarguably ubiquitous world of online dating. Says Amazon: “With levity and high style, Cohen takes her readers into a world where screen and keyboard meet the heart, with consequences that range from wonderful to weird.” For anyone who’s been submerged in this wonderful weird search, these stories are likely to ring a therapeutic bell. Or, in some cases perhaps, a gong. Look out for an essay from Cohen in July, and an excerpt in early August, at Bloom. (Sonya)
September:
MaddAddam by Margaret Atwood: MaddAddam concludes the dystopian trilogy that Atwood began ten years ago with Oryx and Crake and continued in 2009 with The Year of the Flood. Booklist calls MaddAddam a “coruscating finale in an ingenious, cautionary trilogy of hubris, fortitude, wisdom, love, and life’s grand obstinacy.” (Emily)
Bleeding Edge by Thomas Pynchon: Since his 1997 comeback, Pynchon’s been uncommonly productive...and, more characteristically, all over the map. I thought Mason & Dixon his best book; Against the Day vastly underrated; and Inherent Vice fun but disposable. Proximity to the present moment can be a telling index of the quality of a Pynchon project, so the setting here—New York’s Silicon Alley on the eve of the dot-com crash—gives one pause. But Pynchon’s ability to “think the present historically” in his last two books was the best thing about them, so maybe he still has much to tell us about the way we live now. (Garth)
Doctor Sleep by Stephen King: Thirty-six years later, it’s here: a sequel to The Shining. Dan Torrance, the tricycle peddling protagonist of the original horror classic, is now middle-age and working in a nursing home in New Hampshire where he uses his ebbing mental powers to comfort the dying. The story picks up when Dan tries to save Abra Stone, a twelve-year-old girl with gifts like the ones he used to have, who is in danger from a group called The True Knot, which travels the country consuming children with the gift of The Shining. (Kevin)
The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri: Lahiri’s second novel (and fourth book) comes heaped with expectations and describes the relationship between two formerly inseparable brothers born in mid-century Calcutta. The first, Udayan, is drawn into revolutionary politics; the second, Subash, leaves his native country to make a better life for himself as a scientist in the United States. But tragedy strikes Udayan and Subash returns home where he gets to know Udayan’s former wife and reconnects with childhood memories. (Kevin)
Someone by Alice McDermott: An excerpt of Alice McDermott’s new novel, Someone, appeared in the New Yorker as a story of the same name. The story is about Marie, who is seventeen years old in 1937, when a boy from her Brooklyn neighborhood turns her head, fondles her breast, promises marriage, and then spurns her for a better-looking girl. In the story, the titular Someone is the person who, Marie's brother promises, will one day love her. McDermott told The New Yorker's Deborah Treisman that the novel is the story of “one unremarkable woman,” because “novels about unremarkable women, especially those written by unremarkable women, seem a thing of the past.” Who you calling “unremarkable,” Alice McDermott? (Lydia)
Seiobo There Below by László Krasznahorkai: In the last few years, American readers have rapidly awakened to Krasznahorkai’s important place in the republic of world letters. He is one of few working novelists who still aspires to mastery, in the Modernist sense, and each of the three previous novels translated into English has been a masterpiece. Those books were set in Europe and New York. Seiobo, published in Hungarian in 2009, reveals a different side of the Krasznahorkai oeuvre: his decades-long engagement with East Asia. It’s a major feat of editing and translating, and the publication date been pushed back. Those who can’t wait should check out the excerpt in Music & Literature. (Garth)
Enon by Paul Harding: Harding’s 2009 debut, Tinkers, won him the Pulitzer Prize and instant acclaim as one of the most profound writers of our time. Enon follows Charlie Crosby, the grandson of Tinkers protagonist George Washington Crosby, through a year of his life after a devastating loss. Inhabiting the same New England landscape so intricately rendered in Tinkers (Enon is the town where George Crosby died), Enon is a story about small moment and big questions. (Janet)
John Updike: The Collected Stories by John Updike: This two-volume collection spans the arc of a life’s work. One hundred and eighty-six stories are presented in their final versions and in definitive order of composition, established for the first time by archival research: from “Ace in the Hole” (1953), written when Updike was still a student at Harvard, to “The Full Glass” from 2008, the final year of his life. In his poem “Spirit of ’76,” written during his final illness and published in The New Yorker three months after his death, Updike wrote:
I see clear through to the ultimate page,
the silence I dared break for my small time.
No piece was easy, but each fell finished,
in its shroud of print, into a book-shaped hole. (Emily)
Nine Inches by Tom Perrotta: American fiction’s favorite lighthearted chronicler of suburban angst delivers his first collection of short stories since Bad Haircut, his first book, nineteen years ago. In Nine Inches, Perrotta, the author of the Hollywood-friendly novels Little Children and The Leftovers (currently under development as a HBO series), returns to familiar themes of fractured families and the undercurrent of disappointment that lurks just below the placid surface of suburban life. Perrotta knows his way around a punch line, so expect some chuckles to go along with your quiet desperation. (Michael)
The Childhood of Jesus by J.M. Coetzee: When it came out in the UK and Ireland this Spring, Coetzee’s new novel was received with an even more potent combination of admiration and confusion than his work is normally met with. Reviewing the book in the Telegraph, Michael Preston asked whether it was “possible to be deeply affected by a book without really knowing what it’s about?” (The fairly obvious answer: yes.) A man and a five year old boy arrive in a sort of refugee camp, where they are assigned new names and ages. The boy speaks in riddles and claims to be able to perform miracles. Together, they search for the boy’s mother, and endure a series of odd bureaucratic encounters. The inscrutable spirit of Kafka has often flickered across Coetzee’s pages, and that spirit seems to loom large here. (Mark)
The Maid’s Version by Daniel Woodrell: Daniel Woodrell, a master of “country noir” fiction, makes rare use of autobiography in his new novel, The Maid’s Version. While growing up in West Plains, Missouri, Woodrell listened to stories his grandmother told about a mysterious dance hall explosion in town in 1928 that killed 39 people. In the novel, a grandmother tells her grandson about working as a maid for the family that was implicated in the blast but never held responsible. The novel is “very lyrical and not completely chronological,” Woodrell told an interviewer, “because it’s the story of a family and the after-effects on the family and the grandmother trying to get justice or revenge.” (Bill)
Levels of Life by Julian Barnes: Julian Barnes’s new book is not a novel, and not a memoir, and not a collection of essays, although it appears to contain elements of all three. The collection begins with a brief history of hot air ballooning and the characters involved in its development and lured by its attractions. Part two is an imagined romance between Sarah Bernhardt, who was in life one of the people from the latter category, and Colonel Frederick Burnaby, intrepid ballooner (who is, incidentally, documented on the delightful website “Great British Nutters”). In the third part of his new book, Barnes ties these curious introductory portions into a memoir of his profound grief following the loss of Pat Kavanagh, his wife of 30 years. (Lydia)
Traveling Sprinkler by Nicholson Baker: Last year, Nicholson Baker treated the Internet to a cluster of peculiar, melancholy protest songs about Bradley Manning and the Obama administration’s drone assassination program. The venture was out of character in a way that was, weirdly, entirely characteristic of Baker. The songs appear to have been, at least in part, an aspect of a method writing exercise for his new novel, Traveling Sprinkler—a sort of sequel to 2009’s The Anthologist, in which Paul Chowder sat around having a lot of thoughts about poetry while failing to write the introduction to a poetry anthology. In the new novel, Chowder sits around trying to write protest songs. Very few writers are as interesting as Baker on the theme of men sitting (or standing) around, so this looks promising. (Mark)
Dissident Gardens by Jonathan Lethem: Of the greats of his generation, Lethem is one of the few who’s gotten steadily better, novel by novel. Fortress of Solitude is a better book than Motherless Brooklyn, and in my read, Chronic City is even better than that—the highs less high, but the consistency more consistent. It’s also worth noting that Lethem’s always been a political writer (science-fiction being among other things a way of thinking about the possible) and has been more so lately. Expectations for Dissident Gardens, then—a generation-spanning saga centered around Leftists from Sunnyside Queens—should be very, very high. (Garth)
Mood Indigo by Boris Vian: Few of Vian’s novels have been translated, but L’Ecume des Jours is appearing in English for the third time, with a third title (Mood Indigo, Froth on the Daydream, Foam of the Daze, take your pick). Still, we should be grateful for what we are given—Le Monde named L’Ecume number 10 on the 100 best books of the century. Vian (d. 1959), published under his own name and the pseudonym Vernon Sullivan. He was a trumpeter in the Hot Club de France, devotee of Duke Ellington, ingester of peyote, consort of Sartre (until Sartre consorted with his wife). Written in 1947, L’Ecume is a sad, fanciful love story (which, the Harvard Crimson wrote in 1969, read like “perceptions at a stoned-soul picnic,” in a good way). Mood Indigo received the Michel Gondry film treatment last spring. (Lydia)
Subtle Bodies by Norman Rush: The decade-in-the-making follow-up to Mortals (one of our Best Novels of the Millennium) is also a departure. The first of Rush’s books not set in Botswana, it’s shorter by half than either of his previous novels, and when I got a galley in the mail, the jacket copy—comfortable fortysomethings at a Big Chill-style reunion near the start of the Iraq War—made me even more nervous. Was the Rush magic still there? Then my wife started reading it, then started putting it down to laugh, and finally began forcing me to listen to her read whole passages aloud for the sheer pleasure of the phrases. Note to Mr. Rush: You had me at “berserk industry.” (Garth)
His Wife Leaves Him by Stephen Dixon: A 600-page depiction of a jilted lover’s interior thoughts might not be your idea of an enjoyable book, but in the hands of a writer as talented as Stephen Dixon, it’s certainly one worth reading. In his own description of the novel, he’s noted that it’s about “a bunch of nouns” such as “love, guilt, sickness, death, remorse, loss, family, matrimony, sex, children, parenting, aging, mistakes, incidents, minutiae, birth, music, writing, jobs, affairs, memory, remembering, reminiscences, forgetting, repression, dreams, reverie, nightmares, meeting, dating, conceiving, imagining, delaying, loving.” Indeed these words convey the complexity of a life rendered whole, of a relationship’s threads and effects laid bare, and of honest memories enlivened by an acute and unrelenting ache. When a relationship dies, all that remains are remembered details, and in the words of Jim Harrison, “death steals everything except our stories.” (Nick)
Local Souls by Allan Gurganus: For his first book in a decade, Allan Gurganus returns to the imagined town of Falls, N.C., where he set his first and best-known novel, Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All. His new book, Local Souls, which owes more to Flannery O’Connor than to Nikolai Gogol, is three linked novellas set in the contemporary New South, with its air-conditioning and improved telecommunications, its freer sexuality and looser family ties. However, some old habits prove hard to break—including adultery, incest and obsession—in these tales that unfold in a Dixiefied version of Winesburg, Ohio. (Bill)
Between Friends by Amos Oz: Born in Jerusalem in 1939, Amos Oz spent three decades living on a kibbutz because city life was not “radical” enough for him and, as he puts it in his new book of stories, Between Friends, he wanted to live among “people with patience and doubts and compassion.” These eight stories, set in the imaginary Kibbutz Yikhat during the 1950s of Oz’s youth, spin around the shortcomings of idealism and the fragility of all utopias. In the end, the stories affirm Oz’s long-held belief that both on the kibbutz and throughout the larger Middle East, the only hope lies not in conflict, but in compromise. (Bill)
The Brunist Day by Robert Coover: Aside from being a terrific year for first novels, 2013 may be remembered for its efflorescence of major work from the eminences grises of postmodernism. So far, we’ve gotten Gass’s Middle C, Pynchon’s Bleeding Edge, and McElroy’s Cannonball. Now Coover, author of a couple of the great postwar novels (e.g., The Public Burning), returns with a thousand-page sequel to his very first book, The Origin of the Brunists. I haven’t been this excited to read new Coover...well, since I started reading Coover. The folks at Dzanc Books should be commended. (Garth)
Hawthorn & Child by Keith Ridgway: This isn’t the story of a family business, à la Dombey & Son, but rather a buddy-cop detective vehicle—except the cops aren’t exactly buddies, and most of what gets detected is random violence and existential unease. Ridgway is a brilliant stylist from Ireland, and the early word from the U.K. is that he’s hit his stride here, in a kind of deadpan avant-pop tour of contemporary London. (Garth)
Duplex by Kathryn Davis: Davis’s earlier novel, The Thin Place, is set in a place where the membrane between the real world and the spirit world is extremely thin. Most of her work, which includes six previous novels, sits at this same juncture, combining real and imagined worlds. Duplex is the story of Mary and Eddie, two children growing up in a duplex outside time, while “adulthood”—a world of sorcerers, robots, and slaves—looms ahead. (Janet)
Goat Mountain by David Vann: In his writing across a variety of forms—short stories, novels, memoir, and reportage—David Vann has returned repeatedly to the same deep well of themes: nature, thwarted masculinity, family, and violence. In his third novel Goat Mountain, an eleven-year-old boy goes on a deer-hunt with his father and grandfather, and things, as they tend to do this writer’s work, take a devastating turn. There’s a rawness and obsessional urgency to Vann’s writing that makes this ongoing project of recasting and development among the most compelling in contemporary literature. (Mark)
At the Bottom of Everything by Ben Dolnick: Dolnick’s third novel is about a dark secret that tears apart a boyhood friendship and how the two are brought back together as adults to reckon with what happened long ago. The jacket copy calls it “a tale of spiritual reckoning, of search and escape, of longing and reaching for redemption—a tale of near hallucinatory power.” Dolnick, who writes for NPR and the New York Times, has also written a Kindle single called Shelf-Love, about his fanaticism for Alice Munro. (Edan)
The Traymore Rooms by Norm Sibum: Poet Norm Sibum’s 700-pager should be on the radar of all the maximalism-starved readers who landed A Naked Singularity on our Top 10 list in 2012—though the book might more rightly be likened to something by William Gass or Alexander Theroux. Plot isn’t Sibum’s thing, exactly, but his erudition (considerable), sense of character (eccentric), and mood (quietly splenetic) more than compensate. The novel concerns a group of aging friends who share haunts in downtown Montreal. They talk, fight, love, and try to make sense of a historical moment that has disappointed their youthful hopes. And apart from an overreliance on that contemporary workhorse, the absolute phrase, the prose is a consistent pleasure. (Garth)
October:
The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt: In a 2002 interview with The Guardian, Tartt said she couldn’t “think of anything worse than having to turn out a book every year. It would be hell.” She seems to have settled into a pattern of turning out a book every ten or eleven years instead. In her third novel, The Goldfinch, a young boy named Theo Decker survives an accident that kills his mother. In the years that follow, he finds himself drawn to things that remind him of her, including a painting that draws him eventually into the art underworld. (Emily)
Identical by Scott Turow: Every three years, with metronome-like regularity, bestselling lawyer-author Scott Turow comes out with another well-turned legal thriller set in corruption-rife Kindle County. Three years after 2010’s Innocent, Turow is right on schedule with a new thriller focusing on a pair of identical twins, one a candidate for mayor in Kindle County, the other a convicted murderer just released from prison after serving 25 years for killing his girlfriend. This is Turow country, so nothing is as it seems and the plot turns on a re-investigation of the decades-old murder that sent one of the brothers to prison. (Michael)
The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert: Elizabeth Gilbert’s return to fiction (she wrote that little-known memoir called Eat Pray Love) is a sprawling historical novel about Alma Whittaker, the daughter of a botanical explorer, and talented scientist in her own right, and her relationship with Utopian artist Ambrose Pike. As the jacket copy says, “Alma Whittaker is a witness to history, as well as maker of history herself.” The book spans the globe and two centuries, and it sounds like a big and exciting artistic departure for Gilbert. (Edan)
Solo (James Bond) by William Boyd: At this year’s London Book Fair, venerated author William Boyd announced the one-word title of his forthcoming James Bond novel, which reflects the spy’s solitary and unauthorized mission. The book is an authorized sequel to Jeffery Deaver’s novel, Carte Blanche, published in 2011. At the Book Fair, Boyd said that key action takes place in Africa, the US and Europe, and remarked that Bond “goes on a real mission to real countries and the world he’s in is absolutely 1969. There are no gimmicks, it’s a real spy story.” (Edan)
Dirty Love by Andre Dubus III: The four interlocking stories within Andre Dubus III’s sixth book explore the “bottomless needs and stubborn weaknesses of people seeking gratification in food and sex, work and love.” These highs and lows are depicted by Mark, a Massachusetts man who’s recently discovered his wife’s infidelity; by Marla, an overweight young woman who’s just found a lover; by Robert, who’s just betrayed his pregnant wife; and by Devon, a teenager terrorized by a dirty picture she’s posted online, and whose story comprises the collection’s titular novella. (Nick)
Cartwheel by Jennifer DuBois: Jennifer DuBois follows her decorated first novel, A Partial History of Lost Causes, with Cartwheel, a novel with loud echoes of the recent murder trial, conviction and eventual acquittal of Amanda Knox. Cartwheel’s protagonist, Lily Hayes, is an American arriving in Buenos Aires for a semester abroad. Five weeks later she’s the prime suspect in her roommate's brutal murder. Questions arise. Is Lily guilty? More importantly, exactly who is Lily Hayes? “Cartwheel will keep you guessing until the final page,” the publisher promises, “and its questions about how much we really know about ourselves will linger well beyond.” (Bill)
The Hired Man by Aminatta Forna: Aminatta Forna made her name with The Devil That Danced on the Water, her memoir about her father’s execution for treason in Sierra Leone. In her new novel, The Hired Man, a naive middle-class Englishwoman named Laura arrives with her two teenage children in the Croatian town of Gost, planning to renovate an old house. She enlists the help of an introspective handyman named Duro, and before long the haunted memories of the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s come bubbling up from the past. Ill-equipped to understand the dark local history, Laura will come to see that there is great power in overcoming the thirst for revenge. (Bill)
Heart of Darkness (Illustrated) by Matt Kish: In October 2011, Tin House books published Matt Kish’s Moby Dick in Pictures, with artwork for each page of text taken from the Signet Classic Paperback. Now, Heart of Darkness will get similar treatment, although this project has 100 illustrations to Moby Dick’s 552. The New York Post showcased some wonderful images from the upcoming publication. Matt Kish, a librarian by day, prefers “illustrator” to “artist,” he says, “There's a lot of artists out there, they’re real assholes, and if you haven’t gone to art school, if you haven’t had an MFA, if you haven’t had a gallery show, if you cant put together some rambling artist statement, you’re not worthy of that term.” Looks like art to me. (Lydia)
Quiet Dell by Jayne Anne Phillips: The creepy-sounding plot of Jayne Anne Phillips’s fifth novel is based on a true-life 1930s story of a con man who insinuated himself into the life of a young, impoverished widow only to murder her and her three children. Like Phillips’s previous novel, Lark & Termite (a 2009 National Book Award Finalist), parts of the story are set in rural West Virginia, where Phillips herself is from. With a reporter protagonist who sets out to investigate the crime after the fact, there are shades of In Cold Blood. (Hannah)
At Night We Walk in Circles by Daniel Alarcón: Peruvian native Daniel Alarcón’s stories thrive on equal parts revolution and spectacle, as evidenced in his first collection, War by Candlelight, as well as in his first novel, Lost City Radio, where the emcee of a popular radio show reunites loved ones separated during a recent civil war. In At Night We Walk in Circles, the Whiting Award-winning Best Young American Novelist draws inspiration from stories told to him by prisoners jailed in Lima’s largest prison. Alarcón again situates his novel in a South American state, where the protagonist flounders until he’s cast in a revival of touring play penned the leader of a guerilla theatre troupe. (Anne)
The Last Animal by Abby Geni: This debut collection of short stories is thematically linked by characters who “use the interface between the human and the natural world to contend with their modern challenges in love, loss and family life.” Geni, who is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and a winner of the Glimmer Train Fiction Open, has received early praise from Dan Chaon, who says, “These are sharp, incisive, thoughtful, and utterly original stories” and from Jim Gavin, who calls these stories “Haunting and beautiful.” (Edan)
Roth Unbound: A Writer and His Books by Claudia Roth Pierpont: Is it strange that an author many wouldn’t hesitate to call the greatest living American writer has yet to be the subject of a major critical work? Pierpont remedies this with a book described as “not a biography…but something more rewarding: an attempt to understand a great writer through his art.” The New Yorker staff writer should prove a fascinating non-biographer: her previous book was Passionate Minds: Women Rewriting the World, and while her current subject has been accused of sexism many times throughout his long career, David Remnick reported that at a celebration of Roth’s eightieth birthday in March, Pierpont “took it upon herself to survey the variety, depth, and complexity of Roth’s female characters — a strong, and convincing, rebuke to years of criticism that the books are misogynistic.” (Elizabeth)
How to Read a Novelist by John Freeman: Former Granta editor John Freeman’s first book, The Tyranny of Email, considered the ways that email collapsed great distances between us. In it he argues for a more nuanced and discerning form of communication through conversation—an art form that he showcases in his latest book, How to Read a Novelist. In more than fifty interviews and author profiles of literary titans such as Haruki Murakami, Philip Roth, David Foster Wallace, and Doris Lessing, Freeman’s conversations and observations uncover these authors’ obsessions, quirks, and nuances of character as if they’re characters themselves. According to Freeman, a novelist requires observational distance, something to be considered in light of the subject of his first book: “it’s the miraculous distance that I think makes the writers who they are.” (Anne)
The Karl Kraus Project by Jonathan Franzen: Karl Kraus, as immortalized in Walter Benjamin’s essay of the same name, was an incendiary aphorist and, in his one-man journal Die Fackel (The Torch), a critic who rivaled Nietzche for implacability. His influence on the culture of pre- and interwar Austria and Germany can’t be overstated; writers from Broch to Canetti are in his debt. Yet aphorisms are notoriously hard to translate, and to date, no really good volume of Kraus has been available to lay readers in English. Jonathan Franzen’s decision to attempt one is as likely to provoke grousing as most everything he does, but I, for one, salute his berserk industry. (Garth)
The Most of Nora Ephron by Nora Ephron: Ephron died a year ago and this fall Random House is bringing out a wide-ranging collection of her writing edited by Robert Gottlieb. The screenplay to When Harry Met Sally will be in there, as will her famous piece on being flat-chested, blog posts on politics and dying, and the screenplay to her last work, Lucky Guy. (Kevin)
The Pure Gold Baby by Margaret Drabble: Drabble’s eighteenth novel—her first since 2006—is set in 1960s London. It centers on Jessica, an anthropology student who, after becoming pregnant during an affair with a married professor, is forced to raise a daughter alone, her own life’s trajectory fracturing as a result. “One thing I have never been very good at is creating ‘good’ mothers,” Drabble said in a 1978 The Paris Review interview. “I’d written books and books before someone pointed out that I was perpetually producing these ‘bad’ mothers.” The “prismatic” novel is told from the perspectives of “the mothers who surround Jess,” examining “unexpected transformations at the heart of motherhood.” (Elizabeth)
Half the Kingdom by Lore Segal: Lore Segal is a treasure-house of wit and a power-house of style. Lucinella, reissued as part of Melville House’s Art of the Novella Series, was one of the best books I read in 2009. Now Melville House returns to the well for her first novel since the Pulitzer finalist Shakespeare’s Kitchen. The plot involves a suspicious surge in the incidence of Alzheimer’s Disease among patients (characters from previous Segal novels among them) at a Manhattan emergency room in the period after September 11. Even the catalog copy brims with insight: “terrorist paranoia and end-of-the-world hysteria masks deeper fears about mortality.” You’re welcome, America. (Garth)
The Night Guest by Fiona MacFarlane: Penguin Australia is calling Macfarlane “a new voice” and “a writer who comes to us fully formed.” It’s true that The Night Guest, which will be published in October, is Macfarlane’s debut novel; but she’s been publishing stories for some time now, and here you can read a Q&A about her story “Art Appreciation,” published in The New Yorker this past May. The Night Guest centers around the mysterious arrival of Frida at the isolated beach house of Ruth, a widow, but “soars above its own suspense to tell us, with exceptional grace and beauty, about ageing, love, trust, dependence, and fear; about processes of colonization; and about things (and people) in places they shouldn’t be.” (Sonya)
Every Short Story: 1951-2012 by Alasdair Gray: Exactly what it says on the tin: the comprehensive volume (nearly 1,000 pages!) offers up more than half a century of the Scottish fantasist’s short fiction, including sixteen stories published here for the first time. Known for his dark humor and wild imagination, the stories span the broad range of his fascinating career. Whimsical drawings are interspersed throughout, the stories as much visual works as literary ones. “Illustration and typography play a major part in his work,” says The Guardian. “He doesn’t just write books, he creates them.” It’s probably worth noting, too, that The Guardian has also described Gray as a “a glorious one-man band, the dirty old man of Scottish letters.” (Elizabeth)
Personae by Sergio de la Pava: In the wake of A Naked Singularity’s success, the University of Chicago Press is likewise reissuing de la Pava’s self-published second novel, Personae. In most ways, it’s as different from its predecessor as grits from greens—a Cloud Atlas-y series of nested genre pieces covering the whodunit, the interior monologue, and the theater of the absurd. But fans of the earlier book will recognize de la Pava’s fearlessness and wild ambition, along with the ventriloquistic range that made the Jalen Kingg letters so moving. An excerpt is available at The Quarterly Conversation. (Garth)
The Daylight Gate by Jeanette Winterson: Winterson’s new novella, published to critical acclaim in the UK last year, takes on the trial of the Lancashire Witches in 1612, when a group of destitute outcasts, mostly women, were put on trial for witchcraft. “What is clear amid the poverty and brutality here,” the critic Arifa Akbar wrote in The Independent, “is that other-worldy evil is far outweighed by the harm that human beings inflict.” (Emily)
The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton: The author of the critically acclaimed debut novel The Rehearsal returns with a literary mystery set in 19th century New Zealand. When Walter Moody arrives on the coast of New Zealand, hoping to strike it rich in the gold fields, he stumbles upon a gathering of men who have met in secret to discuss a number of apparently coincidental recent events: on the day when a prostitute was arrested, a rich man disappeared, a down-on-his-luck alcoholic died, and a ship’s captain canceled all of his appointments and fled. The prostitute is connected to all three men, and Moody finds himself drawn into their interlinked lives and fates. (Emily)
November:
A Prayer Journal by Flannery O’Connor: When Flannery O’Connor was in her early 20s and a student at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, she kept a journal which focused on her relationship with her faith. Recently discovered, this journal should be a fascinating prospect for anyone with an interest in O’Connor’s writing, inseparable as it is from her Catholic belief in sin and redemption. It dates from 1946-47, around the time she was writing the stories that would converge into her debut novel Wise Blood. It looks to have been an exercise in bringing herself closer to her God through the act of writing: “I do not mean to deny the traditional prayers I have said all my life; but I have been saying them and not feeling them. My attention is always fugitive. This way I have it every instant.” (Mark)
Death of the Black-Haired Girl by Robert Stone: Steven Brookman is a brilliant professor at an elite college in New England. Maud Stack is his promising and alluring young student. You know where this is going. Unfortunately, however, Professor Brookman is a married man, and Maud Stack’s passions are “not easily contained or curtailed.” In this tale of infidelity and its affects on human relationships—as well as on the institutions in which they reside—Robert Stone makes clear that almost nothing is black and white, and that when it comes to “the allure of youth” and “the promise of absolution,” all roads may lead to madness. (Nick)
A Permanent Member of the Family by Russell Banks: Russell Banks—the author of The Sweet Hereafter and The Darling (among many others) and an acknowledged master chronicler of the tragedies of American life—will publish his first collection of short stories in fifteen years. The book is composed of twelve stories, six of which appear for the first time. The two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist’s last novel, Lost Memory of Skin, documented the straitened lives of a group of sex offenders living under a Florida causeway. (Lydia)
Report from the Interior by Paul Auster: Last year Auster released Winter Journal, a personal history of the author’s own body. This fall he will publish a companion piece of sorts that depicts the world as he saw it as a child growing up in New Jersey in the 1950s. (Kevin)
The Isle of Youth by Laura van den Berg: Laura van den Berg brings her mystical touch to her second collection of short stories, following her highly praised first collection, What The World Will Look Like When All The Water Leaves Us, which was shortlisted for The Frank O’Connor International Award. From a writer who professes to “freaking love coming up with zany plots,” The Isle of Youth delivers with stories of magicians, private detectives, and identity-trading twins. (Hannah)
Hild by Nicola Griffith: Nicola Griffith, British novelist and former poster child for the woes of American immigration policy (in 1998, The Wall Street Journal called her “a lesbian science-fiction writer,” like it's a bad thing). Her newest novel Hild takes place in seventh-century Britain in the Synod of Whitby, where the people were deciding what kind of Christians to be. The name “Hild” refers to the person we now know as St. Hilda, who presided over the conference during which the Synod debated the relative merits of Celtic and Roman Christianity. In an interview with her editor, Griffith reported that the source material on St. Hilda is basically limited to five pages in the Venerable Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, so she was compelled to do a ferocious amount of research to recreate the world and customs, if not the life, of this early English figure. (Lydia)
Collected Stories by Stefan Zweig: Pushkin Press anointed 2013 as “The Year of Stefan Zweig,” in order to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the famed Austrian author’s death by a wartime suicide pact. Zweig’s fictions are oft fueled by seduction, desire, and affairs of the heart, mettle which helped make him an author of international renown during his tumultuous lifetime. Pushkin is singlehandedly attempting to reinvigorate Zweig’s reputation by issuing a series of rereleases and a handful of new translations of his works. An ideal introduction for the unacquainted comes in the form of Zweig’s Collected Stories, featuring twenty-three stories translated by Anthea Bell. (Anne)
Beyond:
Andrew’s Brain by E.L. Doctorow: Speaking of eminences grises... From The March to Homer & Langley to that cover version of Hawthorne’s “Wakefield” that ran in The New Yorker a few years back, Doctorow just keeps swinging. The product description on Amazon is sketchy, but the talk of a main character “speaking from an unknown place and to an unknown interlocutor [about] the circumstances that have led him to commit a mysterious act” sound downright Beckett-y, while the title makes me secretly hope Doctorow’s returning to science fiction (after suppressing his previous effort, Big as Life). (Garth)
A Place in the Country by W.G. Sebald: W.G. Sebald’s collection of six essays was originally published in German in 1998, three years before his untimely death. The collection is an homage to six writers and artists (“colleagues,” he calls them, and “Alemmanic”), all of whom meant something to Sebald: Johann Peter Hebel, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Eduard Mörike, Gottfried Keller, Robert Walser, and Jan Peter Tripp. Already out in the United Kingdom, the essays are apparently solidly in the Sebald tradition—which, as I understand it, defies attribution of stolid nouns like “criticism,” “fiction,” or “biography,” rejoicing instead in the patterns and echoes of what one critic called “half-reality.” (Lydia)
Silence Once Begun by Jesse Ball: Chronically saddled with the designation of “experimental author,” Jesse Ball has written three novels, including The Way Through Doors, a book of poems and flash fiction, and a co-written prose poem, each work demonstrating a gift for quiet, powerful prose and a loose relationship with realism. His first hardcover release, Silence Once Begun, tells the story of a man who confesses to a string of crimes in writing, then never speaks during his arrest or interrogation, and the journalist who becomes obsessed with his case. (Janet)
On Such a Full Sea by Chang-rae Lee: Best known for his haunting stories of Korean history and American immigrant life, Korean-American novelist Chang-rae Lee tries his hand at speculative fiction, setting his new novel in a dystopian future in which America is in steep decline and urban neighborhoods have been turned into walled labor colonies that provide fresh produce and fish for the surrounding villages where the elite live. In the novel, Fan, a woman laborer, sets out in search of a vanished lover and finds herself crossing the lawless Open Counties, where the government exerts little control and crime is rampant. (Michael)
Perfect by Rachel Joyce: Rachel Joyce’s first novel, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, was a national bestseller and was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize. Her highly anticipated second novel has two narratives, one about two boys in the early 1970s and their obsession with the two seconds added to clock time to balance with the movement of the earth, and one about a present-day man who is debilitated by his obsessive-compulsive routines. Blogger Kate Neilan loved it, saying, “Rachel Joyce should be praised from the rooftops for Perfect; there’s not a thing I’d change about it.”
Leaving the Sea by Ben Marcus: “With Ben Marcus, as with Beckett, such disruptions are signs of literature itself being stretched and tensed, pressed to express the process of a writer testing his limits,” says David Winters in his Millions review of Marcus’s recent novel The Flame Alphabet. Marcus has long been a champion of experimental writing and innovative uses of language, as demonstrated by the stories he selected for the unmatched Anchor Book of New American Short Stories. His forthcoming Leaving the Sea is the first collection of Marcus’s short stories. Expect nothing except more boundary pushing and an exquisite sense of the unexpected. (Anne)
Robert Birnbaum and Darin Strauss
As is frequently the case, having met and yakked with young novelist and NYU writing mentor Darin Strauss back in 2002, on the occasion of the publication of his second novel The Real McCoy, he and I kept in touch and resumed our conversation for his 2010 memoir Half a Life.
Though, for a number of reasons, Strauss' tome is not my kind of story — the memoir recounts a profound event in his life when, as a teenager, he runs into and kills a bicyclist — as Strauss is a bright, thoughtful, and engaging conversationalist, I was pleased to talk with him again. In the course of the chat that follows, we talk about this event that has been central in his life, its aftermath, why he wrote the book, readers' responses, his own post-publication conclusions, and a wide swath of topics, literary and non-literary.
Robert Birnbaum: If I didn’t know you as a writer of three well-regarded novels, why would I want to read this book, a memoir?
Darin Strauss: Well, I think this book [Half a Life] has had more commercial appeal than my novels. I am not a fan of memoirs in general. I am a novelist and I will remain a novelist but I think this story — I should say what it’s about. I was in a car accident in high school — I was driving in the far left lane. A young girl on a bicycle on the shoulder swerved across two lanes of traffic into my car and she died.
RB: Does the sentence “I killed her” apply to this?
DS: Well, yeah. That was the thing I couldn’t say for a long time. The first sentence of the book is, ”Half of my life ago I killed a girl.” Which is something it took me 20 years to be able to say. I think she was at fault but I was driving a car and hit her and she died — it's linguistic cowardice to avoid that sentence.
RB: Saying you killed her doesn’t assess responsibility. Blame is a separate issue.
DS: Yes, I think I blamed myself in the past more than I do now. But to answer the first question, the reason I wrote the book is because of the response I got. I did something on This American Life about the accident. Which was the first time that I had done anything publicly about it. The first time I told anyone besides the people close to me was on National Public Radio. I thought I would just do a radio thing about it, but I got hundreds of emails asking me for the text saying they thought it would help them or someone they knew who was going through some sort of grief. And so I thought I should maybe do it as a book — I was always as a kid going through this wishing there was something I could read that would help me. There isn’t anything specifically for people who are survivors of these accidents. Which police call dart-out accidents. And there are 2,000 of those a year and people who are in these dart-outs, or no fault deaths as the insurance companies call them — people who are not at fault are more likely to suffer post-traumatic stress. And so, there was no book for me and so I thought I will write a book for the 18-year-old me who didn’t have the book. And the response has been amazing. Overwhelming. I got emails from people who were coming back from Iraq suffering PTS, or someone whose brother committed suicide. There’s something beneficial in reading a story about someone who is going through grief if the story is told honestly.
RB: What is the benefit?
DS: There are things that I hadn’t seen written about that I wanted to write about. The performative nature of grief — how people don’t feel sad 100% of the time but have to pretend that they do because society expects you to act a certain way. How also we have inappropriate thoughts at these moments, inappropriate actions. I hadn’t seen that written about or examined enough so I wanted to look at that. It's funny, my editor said I should cut something out of the book that was about that. The girl cut in front of my car. I hit her. She died. But as she is lying there in the street some pretty 18-year-old girls came over to me and asked me if I was okay. I can only explain it by saying I was in shock, but these girls were cute and I started flirting with them. As the bicyclist is dying in the street waiting for the ambulance. That’s something I was always embarrassed about but felt I should write about because it was one of those inappropriate moments that I think reveals something about the way we were designed not to deal with grief. But the book’s editor wanted to cut that out because it made me look too unsympathetic.
RB: Isn’t that the point?
DS: If the book is only about me trying to look sympathetic then there is no reason to write the book. I didn’t want to write an advertisement or a piece of propaganda for me. I wanted to write about the young me as I would write about a character in a novel. And look at all that person's flaws and hold them up to the light. Because I think that’s what we get out of good fiction, too. Good fiction teaches you how to live. What I turn to good fiction for is not the plot really — that’s what hooks you into the story. But it’s the observation of how people go through the world. And you learn by seeing people be imperfect and so that’s what I wanted to do. Hopefully — I didn’t set out to write a self-help book but if —
RB: Those tend not to hit their target. Are there stories that shouldn’t be told? Or needn’t be? Years ago Stephen Dixon wrote a book called Interstate, in which two infants are shot and killed in a drive-by and the father who is driving the car descends into a pit of despair. My son had just been born and I just couldn’t read past the first chapter.
DS: I remember the book — it’s the first chapter played out again and again, with different ways the father would handle it. Yeah I think there are some stories that are — but even that handled really well could be great.
RB: Even handling it well —
DS: I know what you are saying. That’s why memoirs for the most part turn me off. When memoir opens itself up to criticism it’s because it's prurient or self-aggrandizing or salacious in some way. So this was an attempt not to — I wanted to make it an anti-memoir. I was going to do the book with Penguin but I ended up doing the book with McSweeney’s —
RB: Why?
DS: I said, I don’t want to write a memoir, I just want to write about this accident and what I learned from it. And I want to do that because people responded really well to the This American Life thing. I wanted to examine it a little more deeply than I did on the radio. (I am actually embarrassed now — having written the book I think the early piece was kind of glib.) But I am not sure how long it’s going to be — it might just be 50 pages. It’s just going to be about the accident. My editor said, that’s great but it has to be 200 pages. We are happy to print it — we need for it to be a viable paperback. It’s got to be 200 pages. I said, what if the story is only 50 pages? He said, well you can pad it. I said, forget it, but then Dave Eggers contacted me or maybe it was Eli [Horowitz] — and McSweeney’s said they would publish it at 50 pages. I said, that’s great, and it ended up being 200 pages. It’s longer than I thought it would be but it's still a short book.
RB: Why are there no chapter headings or numbers or titles?
DS: I wanted it to have a disjointed feeling in the manner that you feel when you go through something like this that life comes at you in a disjointed way.
RB: Can you start anywhere in the book and move backward or forward?
DS: I don’t think so — I hope that there is an arc to it. The challenge was to — every book is a magic trick. Every realistic novel pretends to be realist but is actually a complete fabrication. The trick is to make it seem like it's not. [In] this book [it] was more difficult to do that because I wanted to remain truthful and to be respectful of the girl in the incident, but also I was very aware that I wanted it to be a good reading experience — not just to be a therapy exercise for myself. So I thought, I have to make an arc and a dramatic structure and all that but I wanted it to be less visible. And wanted it to be somewhat disjointed especially in the beginning because that’s the way we experience these things. So hopefully it was mirroring that.
RB: How firm is that border between fiction and non-fiction?
DS: Ah, I’m not a non-fiction writer for the most part, so my wife who is a journalist would laugh and say, “Are you sure you are not making things up? Are you being truthful?” So that was the real challenge — to remain absolutely faithful to the facts. I didn’t want to make anything up.
RB: Two of your novels were based on historical figures or characters —
DS: Chang and Eng, my first book, which was about two famous conjoined twins, I took a lot of liberties.
RB: I noticed you refrained from using “Siamese twins.” [laughs]
DS: Yeah, because I was corrected a lot. People from Thailand are sensitive about that. I sold the book to Thailand — it's not very often there’s an American book about Thailand. They were going to make a big deal of it and fly me out for a Thai book festival, and then they translated it [laughs] and I kept hearing from the translators that they were having a lot of problems: ”You’re making stuff up here. This is not what happened in Thailand back then.” And so I never got the invite. I took a lot of liberties with old Siam, too. I wrote that book when I was 26 and broke and couldn’t afford to fly there. So I bought a Let’s Go Thailand and used that as my research and invented stuff. Which is okay. A novelist doesn’t have to tell the truth. The beginning of Kafka’s Amerika is the Statue of Liberty holding up a big sword. There is a debate of whether he was trying to make a point or he didn’t know.
RB: Alan Furst, who rigorously researches his novels, says he doesn’t take any liberties because as he says, “a lot of blood was shed” in these stories. And beyond that readers still have unwarranted expectations —
DS: I think we talked about this four years ago [more like nine years]. There is a quote from [E.L.] Doctorow where he said, “that historical novelists should do the least amount of research they could get away with.” The key part of the sentence is what you can get away with. You don’t want to make ridiculous mistakes. You don’t want to embarrass yourself or take the reader out of the situation. But you can take liberties because it says “novel” on the book.
RB: More and more it says, “Such and Such, a novel.” And less and less do people pay attention.
DS: It’s true. Although writers go into a publisher and say “novel,” and the publisher kind of slides out into another room. I have a number of students trying to sell novels and they have been told to say it’s a memoir, it's easier to sell memoirs. But Doctorow once told me that he received a letter from someone saying, “In Arizona there aren’t X kind of cactuses which you had in your book.” He said, “There are in my Arizona, madam.” Which is a dashing way of saying he screwed up but he didn’t care.
RB: Tom Franklin [for Hell at the Breech] pointed out that readers would heckle him about armadillos and the shape of a cigarette tin.
DS: Yeah, yeah. Bellow said he was tired of being crucified on the cross of American Realism. Hopefully a novel gets to deeper truths than the shape of a Lucky Strike container. But you do want to be truthful enough — if it’s not plausible the reader will lose confidence and then the book is lost. I was just talking to someone about Zadie Smith’s On Beauty, where she apparently makes tons of mistakes about Boston geography, saying something like Harvard was in Porter Square and things like that. Which took Boston readers out of the book. I didn’t notice it because I am not from Boston. So I thought it was a great book.
RB: Who am I to say something is irresolvable. But I was reading an essay by Curtis White [The Middle Mind] and he refers to William Shawn as the publisher of the New Yorker. I didn’t think it made the rest of his remarks without value, but I wondered about what editors or fact checkers were doing.
DS: I know there are fewer and fewer fact checkers. My wife works at Newsweek and they hire younger and younger people and they have fewer and fewer people to catch mistakes at these magazines. There has been a loosening of standards across the board but that’s a different conversation.
RB: There is always Edward Jones — he spent 12 years writing The Known World, intending to research from a long list he had, and he never used that list. And he most definitely made stuff up. But I dare you to identify it.
DS: Exactly.
RB: [chuckles] Though a history professor from Texas was upset that in my various online citations of my chat with Jones I had no problem with his approach.
DS: I don’t know why people come to fiction with that expectation — that it’s going to be the same as a biography or something. And have the same standards of factualness when it’s a fairy tale — what Nabokov called his books. Peter Carey told me when he writes about his hometown he purposely puts in mistakes just to piss people off. That’s kind of funny.
RB: The other side of the coin is that you can get a certain kind of pleasure out of a book that is about a place with which you are familiar. I loved [the late lamented] Eugene Izzi, a Chicago crime story writer, or I suppose people in Boston like Robert Parker and they expect everything to be as they know it.
DS: A lot of Jon Lethem’s popularity came from taking Brooklyn as his literary subject before anyone else had, and people turned to Motherless Brooklyn — I’m from Brooklyn now so it feels his territory because he wrote about it. So there is a pleasure for natives in reading about their home turf.
RB: So we have variable valences of why we derive pleasure from reading — some are higher than others but when we talk about this stuff we are supposed to say smart things —
DS: Yeah hopefully we turn to books for the writing or the moral truths or whatever you get out of it but there is something nice about saying, “Oh I know that street.”
RB: I find I have learned more history from Gore Vidal, Edward Jones, Alan Furst, John le Carré, John Lawton, and Philip Kerr than as an undergraduate history student.
DS: I was talking to a writer friend David Lipsky. He wrote a book called Absolutely American about West Point and the book about David Foster Wallace where he traveled with him [Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself] — kind of a new way of doing biography. It got good reviews, but I am not sure reviewers understood how revolutionary it could be. Even when people say the novel is in trouble and there aren’t as many readers, which people have been saying as long as there has been a novel around, I am sure more people read about the French-Russian war than read War and Peace, but nobody goes back to read the newspapers. These made-up stories are the way future generations find out about these things. I am sure more people read Libra by Delillo about [Lee Harvey] Oswald than anything else.
RB: Than the Warren Commission Report [laughs].
DS: Exactly. Or anything. If you think about it like that then we have a certain responsibility to be honest.
RB: There is a mistake about the way history is taught — the emphasis is on minutiae and not narrative — not the juicy stories about human frailty and foibles. And what do you know after you know all the details?
DS: Look at the political discourse. It seems like people know nothing.
RB: I see signs calling for the impeachment of the president. And I am sure that the sign carriers know nothing about impeachment. The House decides there is to be a trial —
DS: — based on crimes and misdemeanors. It’s not like saying we don’t like the guy. It’s like if the president is unpopular he should be impeached. The memories are so short — the Clinton impeachment was 10 years ago or so. He was impeached but not forced to leave office. I don’t what it is — there is something narcotized about this country.
RB: I look at James Howard Kunstler’s website ClusterFuck Nation and he decries the public conversation, and he recently asked, “Where did all the sensible people go who used to stand up against the kind of radical silliness that is so prevalent now?”
DS: It’s very strange. Where are the country club Republicans who were fiscally conservative but didn’t want to get rid of public education or meddle in social issues? Didn’t want to overthrow the government?
RB: Sold out? Went to ride their horsies? They supported McCain.
DS: The thing about McCain that was so weird — there’s a great McCain piece by David Foster Wallace — he was honorable enough to do the right thing —
RB: — once in his life.
DS: But in the worst circumstances. To have his fingers broken and to refuse medication — after all this torture to say, “I’m not the first in line so [other] people should go home before me." Which is the most noble thing I can imagine. And then to totally sell out, which makes me think if you can stand up to Viet Cong torture but not attack ads, it says something interesting about power.
RB: And that we are more complicated. I think in some twisted way McCain feels entitled because of his war experience. He is convinced of his own nobility and that the rest of it is just politics. And in a way it is just politics.
DS: It is just politics although he did bring Palin onto the national stage. And so if she is the next president we have him to thank.
RB: My son brought home a chart from school in which he was asked to evaluate himself in ten categories and his teacher would also. The point of the exercise was whether the world was better off with you in it. His self-score was 96 and his teacher scored him 89. They were obviously close, but the class participation was scored a 5 by the teacher. I bring this up because how we see ourselves is a fluctuating thing. And I wonder about this when I try to assign a value to a book like yours. If I understand you correctly the people who benefit from this book are people who have had a similar experience.
DS: Most people have had a similar experience — it doesn’t have to be as spectacular. Everyone carries something that they are guilty about.
RB: You’re extending the franchise of this book.
DS: I’m telling the response I have gotten. People that carry something they are guilty about around or feel a grief they don’t know how to express. It’s been more universal than I thought. Which has been nice. It’s strange for a fiction writer. If you write a novel and people email you it’s generally, I liked it or didn’t like it. Not, here’s my terrible story please tell me what you think. I was doing Philadelphia NPR, and they took callers and each call was sadder than the one before. One woman called in saying her son was killed in a car accident and she had never seen grief written about in that way and she thanked me. That was weird since I wasn’t sure that people who lost kids in car accidents were a demographic for the book. And then a guy called in whose daughter was killed in a car accident and his wife was made quadriplegic and he is taking care of his wife now and his daughter is gone. I didn’t know what to say and he asked me if he should reach out to the driver. I said, “I am only a story teller, I don’t know. If it would make you feel better I think you should.” It sounds like Dr. Phil but I didn’t know how to respond.
RB: Well, you wrote the book – need you say anymore? Or what more is there to say?
DS: I don’t think so but these kinds of books open you up to that. Right before I published I heard from A.M. Homes, who wrote a really good memoir, and she said, ”Be prepared. It's exhausting.” And Dave Eggers who edited the book with me —
RB: He has his own story.
DS: He said you have to prepare yourself. People want to talk to you in a way that they don’t with novels. In a way, it's better if they don’t meet the novelist because the novel stands as its own thing and meeting the novelist can muddy the feeling you get from the book. But if you are writing about yourself, people want to meet you and talk to you to see if you compare to the you in the book or how you are now after you have written the book. So it’s much more intimate.
RB: With the expectation that you have some expertise.
DS: Surprisingly that’s happened a lot. Maybe I just choose subjects that are arcane. My first book about twins — anytime conjoined twins are separated around the world I would get a call from some reporter asking about conjoined twins. And I would say, I’m a novelist.
RB: The world’s foremost authority —
DS: — on Siamese twins. For my third book, a novel called More Than It Hurts You about Münchausen by proxy where a mother injures a child, I was on Good Morning America talking about Münchausen’s disease with an expert. I kept saying I’m happy to go on TV but I’m no expert on this. But maybe that’s not true — Roth said one of the jobs of the novelist is to be smarter on the page than he is in real life. So I had to become an expert — at least temporarily.
RB: It does also speak to the efficacy of the so-called talking cure.
DS: That’s been one of the moving things. I kept a file with hundreds of emails now and a number of them have said, I haven’t told anyone this. I’ve never met you but I haven’t told my husband or something like that. That’s a validation of the talking cure. I had terrible experiences with therapy. Another reason I wrote the book — to figure out what I think about this. That’s the way I do it. Since I’m a writer, to understand how I see something I write it down. It’s much more effective than therapy — sitting at the computer working my way through something.
RB: People certainly organize their perceptions of the world differently — some effortlessly. To me everyday is a new day, almost like starting over again.
DS: Maybe that’s why people look for help — they don’t know how to organize their lives into stories until they see someone else do it. With this book I stumbled into therapeutic cures that I didn’t know about. Not that the book should be therapy for me. If it’s just therapy for me then I should write it and not publish it. I hope it has value beyond being cathartic for me. In this disorder called complicated grief therapy, which is a fancy way of saying people are sad, the therapy for that is that you are to talk into a tape recorder and say what makes you sad and then play it every night for 16 weeks. It sounds like torture — it’s thought to be effective because you have a tape, a physical object that you can turn off and put away. I didn’t know about it until I was researching the book. But writing the story every day and turning the computer off at night was a version of that therapy. The book is like my tape. And then talking about it to you and on the radio and to crowds at readings is like A.A. — making a public confession. So to me it was a great therapy. You said something about organizing life; my friend David Lipsky was saying anyone who teaches writing by saying you should show and not tell is going to fail. As he put it, “life is showing all the time, what literature does is tell you what that show means.” Movies are a show, life is a show. What books can do is tell in a way the others can’t.
RB: Where do these clichés come from, like “write what you know”? What do you know?
DS: Exactly. It’s bad advice for other reasons too. If you only write what you know, you will never know anything new. That’s the weird thing about our education system — right now in the Army they force you to take classes all the time as an adult. Which makes sense — why only be taught for 16 years of your life and then never be taught anything again? That’s to last you for 70 years. Why is that the method? Why wouldn’t you want to keep learning?
RB: There is some science that holds if you continue to learn that is in fact a benefit to your brain.
DS: Yeah, I read about a study that said you should try to switch things up every week just to keep your mind active without taking a course. Open doors left-handed one week and right-handed the next — just to teach yourself even in the most minor way something new to keep your brain active.
RB: When I drive to places I try to take different routes each time. I leave enough time so I may get lost or just wander around. So when will you be done with this?
DS: I was taking to Dani Shapiro who was nice enough to review the book for the Times. I didn’t know her beforehand, but I thanked her for the review and we got to talking and she was saying memoirs kind of never end. A novel is over when your next novel comes out but people still talk to her about the memoir she wrote ten years ago. Because it’s personal, and you are opening up your closet. We’re a voyeuristic society. I find most memoirs distasteful — it’s strange I ended up writing this. I thought, I will never write about this, I am a novelist. Not only that but I don’t read non-fiction a lot so I would never want to write a memoir. Something about this story was very insistent, asking to be told. I realized in writing the book that I had been writing about this all along. The girl’s parents at her funeral told me, we will never blame you — don’t worry about that. But whatever you do in life you have to live it twice as well because you are living for two people. And then they sued me for millions of dollars after that. After they said they wouldn’t blame me. The important thing from that is I took that very seriously, living for two people. I think that’s why I wrote Chang and Eng. That book deals with how we are different people at once. The end of the book — “this is the end that I have feared since we were a child.” So the “I” and the “we” means they are both one and two people. My second book was about a guy who lives in NYC and becomes an imposter and doesn’t tell anyone about his past. I had this accident in high school, went to college, and then moved to NYC and never told anyone about this. My third book is about a family from the suburbs with a secret that no one knows — I was growing up in the suburbs and had this secret, so obviously this has been informing my writing, in a way I hadn’t realized, forever. I wonder how stark a line it will draw in my fiction.
RB: Have you started the next novel?
DS: I have — I wanted something light after this. We’ll see. Writers often have this one thing they obsess about. Roth seemed to be writing the same book for a time — now he is writing obsessive books about being older. I wonder if my obsessions will change — a lot of writers have their one subject and keep writing around it, circling it. Bellow, no matter where his books were set, wrote about what it means to be a thinking person in a society where thinking people are not valued. And Updike had his pet obsessions — they seemed to be about a good boy being naughty. What does that mean? Bellow also said he didn’t want to go there because he didn’t want to know why he was writing what he was writing. Now I know and I wasn’t Bellow to begin with.
RB: Have been teaching since we last spoke?
DS: I went to Columbia as an adjunct for a while and came back when this new director of the creative writing program [of NYU] Deborah Landau, who amazingly re-energized, not even re-, she energized NYU faculty and brought in a bunch of people. I was lucky to be hired by her. She brought in Junot Díaz and Zadie Smith and Jonathan Safran Foer — she brought in this amazing constellation of people. On the poetry side she brought Anne Carson and Charles Simić. It’s an amazing place to work. I have my office there because I can’t work at home — I have three-year-old twin boys. And I go to work and it’s almost stiflingly overwhelming because you know these incredible people are doing incredible work — that’s both energizing and terrifying.
RB: Yeah.
DS: In some ways it’s beneficial to the writing — it forces you to return to first principles all the time. You have to tell students why you think something works and why it doesn’t. It gives voice to your aesthetic in a way that helps you form it. Also, it keeps you open-minded because you are reading people who have a different aesthetic. And you try to help them not by saying how you would write it yourself but try to get them to figure out how to be more successful in what they wanted to do. It can also be stultifying. It’s like when you try to walk up the stairs if you spend the day telling people, ”Well you put one foot in front of the other, and then you lift up your knee and move it forward and put the other foot down.” When you walk the stairs next you will be pretty self-conscious about it. It’s a balancing act.
RB: You use novels in your courses.
DS: In the Crafts classes — I often use books that I think are flawed. I teach Marry Me by Updike which is a good book but not his best.
RB: Glorious failures?
DS: Yeah. I wouldn’t say the book is a failure — but when you see a great writer make mistakes it can be instructive. I teach some all-out masterpieces. I shouldn’t say this but with modern academia you are also expected to have from many different — from both genders and a lot of different ethnic groups. You have to fill those slots.
RB: You feel that is an obligation? Are you conscious of it?
DS: Yes, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing — you want students from all different backgrounds to feel you are not being exclusionary. But I wouldn’t teach an author I don’t like.
RB: Right, it’s not like the choices are limited.
DS: I teach Jhumpa Lahiri and Zadie Smith. I like Zadie’s work better.
RB: I wasn’t impressed by Lahiri’s stories. I liked the film of her novel, The Namesake.
DS: Her stories are well-constructed. They are ingenious but they aren’t exciting language-wise.
RB: How well-read are your students?
DS: It varies. A lot of undergrad students are well-read, but I am often shocked at how they are not. A lot of people want to be writers who don’t care about why or how to get there. So when you come across someone who is paying a lot of money to go to grad school and one assumes they are trying to make that their life, it’s very strange to see that they haven’t read that much.
RB: Assuming it is a prerequisite of being a decent writer?
DS: Yes. It’s kind of like saying I want to be a professional baseball player but I don’t watch or practice much baseball. I just want to put on the glove and play. It’s fine if you are doing it as a social activity. When you make a commitment to be a writer then it’s strange you wouldn’t want to learn about it.
RB: Despite the warnings and evidence, your students still aspire to become writers?
DS: Yes, that’s something I feel guilty about in teaching in these programs.
RB: How many students have you had over the last ten years or so?
DS: 30 a year for nine years. Whatever that is.
RB: 270. Of those, how many have published one book?
DS: Two so far. But a lot of them were undergrads and they are not 30 yet. I think more will do that. It’s a good grad class if two or three publish.
RB: And what are the rest doing?
DS: I don’t know. That’s what’s scary about these programs. They are expensive, although NYU is good about giving money and they are working on making it free for everyone. Then I would feel less guilty about it. You can get a lot out of learning how to write and learning to be a reader.
RB: That’s one self-justification of teachers — you get better readers.
DS: Michael Thomas [Man Gone Down] tells all his students that if they are taking these courses to be writers, it’s a bad idea. This will help you become a smarter reader and if you chose to become a writer, good luck.
RB: Being a smarter reader is a great benefit.
DS: It sure is. But the issue is, is it worth the money? NYU is very competitive to get into — 30 fiction students out of about 800 are accepted.
RB: Like the Writer’s Workshop.
DS: Yeah, and once you are in that circle of fire you are expected to get somewhere. Maybe two out of 30 will publish one book and one of those two will have a career. It’s very tough.
RB: To quote Fats Waller, “One never know, do one?”
DS: [laughs]
RB: Thomas hasn’t been heard from since he won the IMPAC award in 2007.
DS: That was recently. He teaches at Hunter.
RB: That’s an interesting place. They have —
DS: — Peter Carey —
RB: — Colum McCann.
DS: A small department [Tom Sleigh and Gabriel Packard]. McCann won the National Book Award last year and Peter was nominated this year and they are both really, really good.
RB: McCann is Mr. Exuberant.
DS: He really lives up to the image of the Irish raconteur, try to go out drinking with him and you won’t make it home. A great writer. Peter, too. He was a teacher of mine at NYU. It ended up working out for me, but when students ask if should they get an MFA I never give an unqualified yes.
RB: If someone asked me I’d ask, what are the choices? Go into plastic.
DS: I did a reading with Jennifer Egan and she hasn’t gotten her [MFA] and she wondered if she missed out. It hasn’t hurt her. She is having a good career. I tell students if they need the time to write and have people read their stuff then it’s great. I was talking to someone taking a course from Oscar Hijuelos, and he was considered the worst one in the class and the teacher was hard on him saying he shouldn’t be a writer and then something switched and one day he came in with the beginning of his first book and he was great all of a sudden. There shouldn’t be anyone who is an arbiter, saying you can’t write because sometimes it takes people a while.
RB: Isn’t it the same with editors and buying books? Think of all the stories about writers who have gotten 20 to 30 rejections and then one editor says, “Yeah” and they are off.
DS: Proust had to self-publish the first volume of Remembrances of Things Past. One of the things that’s great about him is that everyone said his sentences are too long, that’s why we can’t publish him, [both laugh] so at the beginning of the second book, the sentence is one of the longest in the entire book. What a great fuck you.
RB: It’s fascinating that these literary chats are an attempt to regularize an exploding array of characters and stories. It seems like an untameable beast. As we talk here, what are we explaining or clarifying? The best stuff is maybe what we can’t explain.
DS: That’s true. Writing can be taught to a degree. The best thing it can do is save you years of self-discovery — which may not be a good thing. Maybe you should learn on your own. You can teach people tricks you have learned from reading but obviously you can’t teach talent. Maybe you can help students achieve the maximum from their talent.
RB: Talent can be overrated. There’s something to be said for perseverance.
DS: Lethem who taught at NYU said this to me once: talent was kind of meaningless. Whether you publish or write good books it’s the people who keep trying, keep trying. There’s that Malcolm Gladwell theory — which sounds kind of glib — 10,000 hours at something will make you great at it. I don’t know where that number comes from but it’s probably true. If you sit in the chair for 10,000 hours and that translates over four or five hours a day for eight years, six, seven days a week —
RB: Well, that’s from the outside, from an external observer. Our sense of that time must be indescribably different.
DS: The first 7- or 8,000 hours are fumbling around being terrible — people who are talented might not progress because they are too embarrassed to do the apprentice period. They can’t allow themselves to be bad.
RB: Or someone tells them they are crap and they believe it.
DS: Or someone tells them they are great and they believe it. You really have to get in there in those hours whatever the magic number is, and force yourself to work hard. When I was a grad student it wasn’t the most talented people who moved on — it was the people who could take their first draft and make it a second draft. For example everyone at that level can do a pretty good first draft. It’s people who listen to criticism and say, “Fuck that, I’m good enough” who don’t go on to make a good first draft into a great second draft.
RB: Writing fiction must be about delayed satisfactions — writers take five, eight, twelve years to finish a novel.
DS: The problem with Foer and Zadie Smith being as good as they are – and I think they are both really good writers and I’ve heard they are good teachers – they are dangerous examples because of their early success.
RB: Don’t try this at home, kids.
DS: Exactly.
RB: There seems to be an attitude about Foer in the literary world. Have you noticed that? Jealousy?
DS: Yeah.
RB: In addition to the normal quotient of anti-Semitism? [laughs]
DS: I ran into Jonathan Wilson, a professor of mine, and he was planning on giving talks on new takes on anti-Semitism. I asked, what was he going say? He said, “It exists.” [laughs] If there is bad feeling toward Jonathan [Foer] it's because he has outsized success. That’s hard for people to take. I’m sure a lot of the anti-Franzen griping is the same thing. You make the cover of Time and people will grumble — that’s the way it is.
RB: I remember getting into it with a writer when they retracted a review of Foer’s second novel and came up with a negative one.
DS: I hate when people retract reviews. My first book was badly reviewed in the Washington Post for what I thought were silly reasons. The reviewer didn’t like three things about the book — I named certain characters after my friends (I thanked friends in the afterword) and very minor characters had similar names. The reviewer asked, “Is he playing games or writing a serious book?” I thought, well why are those things in opposition? Second, how am I as a white male in the 20th century qualified to write about Asians in the 19th century? And third, she claimed five words I used were not in currency in the 1800s. She was wrong about that. Those words were found in Shakespeare. I was really pissed off. I was doing an interview somewhere and this reviewer who is also a novelist was there also, doing an interview. And they said such and such is here, she wants to meet you. I said that’s okay and I sneaked out the back.
RB: [laughs]
DS: And she came around and ran into me in the parking lot. She said, “Hey I am so-and-so and I gave your book a bad review.” I said, “Yeah, I remember.” She said, “I’m really sorry I kind of liked the book. I was in a bad mood and my husband is Asian, and I thought I should say something about that.” I thought it was crappy she liked the book —she was entitled to her opinion but to apologize for it was even worse.
RB: Do you write reviews?
DS: I wrote a few that I regret — not that the book was good. It’s not good karma to write negative reviews. I am going to stop doing it. I wrote a good review of Aleksandar Hemon’s The Lazarus Project, which I thought was a good book — that was fun.
RB: As I have said many times, I think book reviewing, especially in newspapers, is a degraded enterprise.
DS: [Martin] Amis has a great quote about that. He said something like, “Reviews are the only forum where the practitioner is working in the exact same mode as the art itself but generally doing it less well.” You don’t have movie critics making a movie about the subject of their reviews. So yeah, I think it’s degraded. There was a recent review of Roth where the reviewer wrote, "I never read any Roth until this book was assigned. I dismissed him without thinking about it.” This is Philip Roth, maybe the greatest living American writer. Not having read Roth, having dismissed him, shouldn’t that disqualify the reviewer?
RB: I recently reviewed the new Cynthia Ozick and according to the dust jacket it was an homage and reworking of Henry James’ The Ambassadors. I hadn’t read that book. It bothered me that other than an epigram from The Ambassadors, I had no clue of anything Jamesian. I see that quite often, that certain stories are tied to an older work. Why tell the reader — if they are familiar with the referred-to book they should recognize it and if not they should not be distracted?
DS: On Beauty is supposed to be an homage to an E.M. Forster book, which I never read. But I liked Smith’s book. It might be a way to spark your imagination. Doctorow’s Ragtime’s plot was lifted from a 19th century novella by Kleist.
RB: And you know this, how?
DS: I took a class from him and he said so.
RB: But was it on the dust jacket?
DS: No.
RB: Does it improve your enjoyment of Ragtime? What does it do for the reader if he knows?
DS: It’s a way of coming clean. Lifting plots is as old as Shakespeare but now people are so afraid of even the whiff of plagiarism they feel if they are upfront about it it's okay. It’s okay whether you own up to it or not because there are only 36 stories out there anyway, and certainly Zadie and Doctorow made something new. But I don’t know why people feel that compunction to own up to stuff. This is something that I have noticed that’s new — even novels are listing all the books used for research. But why bother, it’s a novel.
RB: Over the weekend I read a book that very much resembles [Cormac] McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men — an unstoppable psychopathic killer searching for the protagonist — even when that came to mind I wasn’t put off because the writing was crisp and propulsive. But I could already imagine reviewers taking the author to task for lack of originality.
DS: When I said there were 36 plots, that’s based on this crazy French book called The 36 Dramatic Situations — the author, Georges Polti, spent his life doing a scientific study of writing and came up with the fact that there are only 36 possible stories and there is a wide berth within those. Number 1 is revenge and number 1A is revenge, father against son. You know there is a limited scope within which to work, so what? Why not do what Shakespeare did and use famous stories? There is something energizing about having every plot and format to work with.
RB: Do you ever think about what you would have done if your writing hadn’t panned out?
DS: Oh wow! Well, when I was a kid I thought I might be a lawyer —
RB: — and then you were sued —
DS: — and then I was so turned off by the lawsuit — I wasn’t angry with the parents, they had just lost their daughter and were very vulnerable. But I was certainly angry with the lawyer — he knew they had no case and he actually screwed them over because he told them they could make millions. But they ended up getting the most nominal sum from the insurance company just to make them go away. Which they could have gotten at the outset. And so they had to take five years of legal fees out of that. So they received almost nothing. It was just awful. The police said I wasn’t at fault, five witnesses said I wasn’t at fault. He tried to say I was drunk — 10 o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. Then he tried to say that the policeman who said I wasn’t drunk, was drunk.
RB: [laughs]
DS: It was just an awful experience, dragging me through the mud. And so I thought I am not going to be a lawyer, that’s an awful thing. But I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know that I could do anything else, so it’s hard to say.
RB: Sold insurance?
DS: I could have done something like that.
RB: A trader or speculator?
DS: That might have been more satisfying. Writing is great in so many ways — being your own boss —
RB: As Shaw said, you don’t have to dress up.
DS: Yeah, so in all the obvious ways it’s great. It is also a job where you are never not working. So I kind of envy those people who are 9 to 5.
RB: How much has your writer life changed now that you are a writer dad?
DS: A lot. The book is short —
RB: [laughs]
DS: The book is short. I started it when my kids were one — to have one-year-old twins in the house means all hands on deck.
RB: One of the challenges of journalism is to write within a word limit.
DS: Thank you so much for having me back.
RB: My pleasure.
Image credit: Robert Birnbaum
Accidents of Geography: Evan Hughes’ Literary Brooklyn
“I live in Brooklyn. By choice.”
The mid-sentence pause for effect in this opening line from Truman Capote’s 1959 essay “A House on the Heights” suggests just how unlikely that choice might sound to readers of the time. A little more than a half century later, so many writers have chosen to live in Brooklyn that it can be hard to get a cup of coffee in the borough without tripping over two or three would-be Colson Whiteheads or Jhumpa Lahiris, earbuds in, tapping away on their latest magnum opus.
Why Brooklyn? This is the question at the heart of Evan Hughes' new book, Literary Brooklyn, which traces the history of New York City’s most populous borough through its writers, from Walt Whitman to Park Slope’s own dynamic duo, the married literary wunderkinds, Nicole Krauss and Jonathan Safran Foer. In truth, Hughes doesn’t have a good answer to the question he has posed for himself. “We shouldn’t mistake a massive place for an aesthetic camp,” he writes.
One experience Brooklyn’s writers have shared, however, is living just outside the colossal, churning center of the metropolis – across the river from what is still often referred to as “the city.” Some have used all their might to make the escape from impoverished Brooklyn neighborhoods to the urbane quarters of Manhattan... but in their work they have often returned to the scene of their early Brooklyn struggles. Other writers have chosen Brooklyn as an escape from the commercial clamor of Manhattan, seeking a retreat where the rent is lower, the pulse runs slower, and the buildings don’t crowd out the sky.
Give Hughes points for honesty. This is as close as he comes to offering a unifying thesis or theme, and you don’t have to read that closely to see that he doesn’t really have one. A dozen or so of the writers in the book grew up in Brooklyn and wrote about it, directly or indirectly, the rest of their lives; others moved to Brooklyn at some point or else, in a number of cases, were simply passing through. In other words, what we have here is a grab bag of literary criticism and social analysis trying – albeit not very hard – to stand as a work of social history. Despite some deft writing and a G train full of literary gossip, the best that can be said for Hughes’ book is that it makes no grand promises that it can’t keep.
This is unfortunate because anyone who lives and writes in Brooklyn today has to feel the winds of literary history at his or her back. On my one street in Brooklyn Heights, I live half a block from the 1829 row house where Arthur Miller was living when he met Marilyn Monroe and a block and a half from the Greek Revival mansion where Truman Capote read the New York Times squib describing the brutal murder of a Kansas farming family that got him started on In Cold Blood. Another block or so to the east is the corner of Cranberry and Fulton streets where, in 1855, Walt Whitman helped hand set into type the first edition of Leaves of Grass. There is something about Brooklyn and writers, but I’ll be damned if I know much more now about why that might be than I did before I read Literary Brooklyn.
Hughes is best when his subjects know Brooklyn well and work that knowledge into the fabric of their books. In a chapter on Brooklyn’s rough pre-gentrification years in the 1960s and ’70s, for instance, Hughes nicely contrasts how the middle-aged novelist Paula Fox responded to the racial and class tensions in the neighborhood of Boerum Hill with how the much younger Jonathan Lethem, who grew up down the street from Fox, reveled in the grittiness of the same atmosphere. The white married couple at the center of Fox’s best-known novel Desperate Characters view the streets around them, in Hughes’ words, as “a landscape where they feel unwelcome and embattled, where they grimly contend with garbage dumped out on the streets, dogs tormented nearby, rocks thrown through friends’ windows.” To Lethem, whose autobiographical novel The Fortress of Solitude and his earlier breakout novel Motherless Brooklyn are set largely in Boerum Hill, the neighborhood and its denizens are frightening, but also fascinating – less dangerous antagonists, Hughes suggests, than “neighbors and potential allies in a new social order.”
Too often, though, Hughes builds chapters around writers like Thomas Wolfe, W.H. Auden, and Richard Wright, who spent most of their lives elsewhere and stopped off in Brooklyn only briefly to write about those other places. Hughes also gets sidetracked by oft-told tales like that of February House, a shared house in Brooklyn Heights that, at different times, hosted Auden, Wright, Jane and Paul Bowles, Carson McCullers, and the stripper Gypsy Rose Lee, who was writing a mystery called The G-String Murders. This menagerie is so odd it all but demands a book of its own – and of course, one has already been written by Sherill Tippins, whose February House Hughes admits plundering for his own version of the tale.
In the case of February House, Hughes is open about his debt to an earlier author, but in several instances when I knew something about the topic, such as Walt Whitman or the neighborhood of Brooklyn Heights, I found myself troubled by the thinness of Hughes’ scholarship. As I wrote in an essay in July for The Millions, I go way back with Whitman, so I was disappointed to find that in his chapter devoted to the poet, Hughes has essentially stitched together, sophomore-term-paper style, two of the better-known recent biographies of Whitman, David Reynolds' Walt Whitman’s America and Jerome Loving’s Walt Whitman: Song of Himself.
The stitching isn’t inartful, but it doesn’t add much to the conversation. Hughes gets off a good line about Whitman’s personally setting much of the type for the first edition of his poems – “the nineteenth century equivalent of self-publishing out of a Kinko’s” – but he has little new to say about Whitman or to add to the voluminous commentary on the poems. One senses that Whitman isn’t in the book because Hughes feels a deep connection to him as a poet, or because Hughes has something burning to say about him, but simply because Whitman happened to live in Brooklyn. Too much of this book is built around such accidents of geography.
So, then, what is it with writers and Brooklyn? Like Hughes, I’m not sure I know. Lower rent does have a lot to do with it, though as Hughes points out, New Yorkers looking for cheaper apartments in the five boroughs could just as well live in Queens or the Bronx. After reading Literary Brooklyn and living in the real literary Brooklyn for nearly eight years, my own sense is that the attraction of writers to Brooklyn is an accident of history that, over time, has become a full-blown phenomenon. From Whitman’s time onward, writers have flocked to Brooklyn because it was close to but cheaper than Manhattan, but now that gentrification has opened up whole neighborhoods to the creative classes, Brooklyn has blossomed into a genuine literary scene replete with its own literary gatherings (the Brooklyn Book Festival), top-quality literary magazines (One Story, Slice), indie publishing houses (Akashic, Melville House), and scads of literary stars (Lahiri, Whitehead, Jennifer Egan, etc.). Someday, some smart someone will write about how that happened, but as yet that book remains unwritten.
All Over Gravel: Kira Henehan’s Orion You Came and You Took All My Marbles
1.
I’ve found myself a bit concerned, lately, with questions of place. Specifically, will it be glaringly obvious to the casual reader of my as-yet-unfinished third novel, much of which is set in the Florida suburbs, that my entire experience of the state of Florida consists of two lightning-strike maneuvers in and out of Boca Raton for the purpose of attending Bat Mitzvahs?
I’ve never been in Florida, it occurs to me, for longer than 36 hours at a stretch. Several of those hours were spent in the airport. Several other of those hours were spent watching second-cousins-by-marriage (unless those were first cousins by marriage once removed? I’ll admit to a certain haziness on the topic of genealogical terminology) read their Torah selections in brutally modern synagogues and flowery rented halls in the outer suburbs. I think I’ve built in a little leeway by virtue of the fact that the town I’m setting the book in is entirely fictional, but still: what if there’s some obvious and huge part of the Florida experience that I’m missing? What if, for example, Floridians have a secret handshake? This is the kind of thing that I fret about.
Over these past few months I’ve been working my way through John Updike’s Rabbit series, which takes place mostly in the impeccably-rendered and entirely fictional town of Brewer, PA. His papers were full of notes on the town, photographs of houses and businesses that would serve as models for the homes and establishments in the books. The place is vividly real and wholly anchored to this earth. I often think that Brewer is what novelists should aspire to: a town so completely, boringly alive in all its mundane details and bus routes and neighborhoods, a place with such specificity that you’re startled to find out later that it doesn’t exist.
Regardless of whether or not a setting exists in the real world, establishing a novel’s physical landscape is difficult. In her debut novel Orion You Came And You Took All My Marbles, Kira Henehan handles this problem quite neatly by dispensing with place altogether. Where is Orion set? I have no idea. The action transpires on a landscape as blank as a bare stage. Chapter One, quoted below in its entirety, gives us the setting:
It was all over gravel, but better than the last place. There was all over swampland and crocodiles.
There is gravel, then, apparently in great expanses, and golf carts are the chief mode of transport. Copious amounts of shrimp are consumed, which suggests that we perhaps might be somewhere near the sea or near another large body of water, but on the other hand, our narrator has traveled and there have been shrimp at all stops:I have been in swampland and gravel, sand, ocean, rain forest, and bog. Some places indescribable, having characteristics of neither swampland nor gravel, rain forest nor bog. Nor sand. Nor ocean. And so forth. Some places have been straight clean poured concrete, another entirely encased in liquid.
2.
Orion is a mysterious book. It’s exuberant, often funny, and very strange. Our narrator, Finley, is a member of what can only described as a cell of detectives. I’m tempted to describe them as secret agents—there’s something of the sleeper cell in the group’s organization—but they do after all wear fedoras. There are three of them—Finley, Murphy, and The Lamb—living and working together under the direction of Binelli. There are Investigations. They are given Assignments. Finley’s latest Assignment involves investigating an outfit by the name of Uppal Puppets, although puppets are, as she’s informed Binelli, among her Most Hated things. They travel between landscapes of sand, fog, and gravel, but they always live together in a restaurant/bookstore/surfing memorabilia museum/inn called Tiki Ty’s Tiki Barn: “Wherever we went, wherever the concerns in need of Investigation took us, we always stayed at Tiki Ty’s Tiki Barn. And unlikely seeming as it seems, it always seemed to be exactly the same place. One learns that certain questions are unanswerable.”
Finley’s an adult, but her memories begin only a few years before her Assignment to Puppets, when she woke after a great silence with no memory of her previous life. She’s a highly trained Investigator—although the objectives of the team’s Investigations are never remotely clear—and a devotee of California noir. Henehan’s writing style is a delight: the novel is Finley’s report, and it’s written in exactly the kind of voice one might expect from a socially inept young detective who reads a lot of noir and has no memory of most of her life. Finley is self-assured, frequently wrong, and a little off.
Finley retreats into California noir novels whenever things get complicated, which is often, because very little in this book makes sense at first glance. It’s a clever book, and the book’s cleverness is in some ways its downfall: there is a plot here, and there are clues, but the clues are so extremely missable and the finer details of the plot are touched upon so lightly that both have a way of disappearing into the prose. I’ll confess that when I finished the book for the first time—standing in an interminable Canada Customs line in an airport—I was actually mostly baffled.
I can’t remember the last time I didn't understand a novel, and there was some temptation to blame the disorienting effects of air travel and/or the inevitably Kafkaesque elements of going through Customs. There was, I’ll also confess, some comfort in turning the book over and discovering that at least one of the blurbers was somewhat baffled too—“Hilarious, severe, baffling, and sometimes so far over my head that I can see only a distant glow”—and it quickly became clear that I was going to have to read it again. Which I did, whereupon a few things fell into place and one or two other things didn’t—I may go to my grave without fully understanding what exactly happened to Kiki B. It was a pleasure to return to Henehan’s prose, but a person might reasonably wish for a more clearly-rendered plot.
But I found, in the end, after two readings and numerous spells of confusion, that I loved this book. Orion’s strangeness is mostly wonderful. Henehan is a writer of considerable grace and skill.
3.
I have a moderate Raymond Chandler obsession, which emerged a few years back when I encountered The Simple Art of Murder, his famous essay published in the December 1944 edition of The Atlantic Monthly. His description of the archetypical hero of detective fiction is unforgettable, and I sometimes catch myself repeating the words under my breath at odd moments. “But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean,” Chandler wrote, “who is neither tarnished nor afraid.”
What happens when a detective novel is lifted from the mean streets, or when the mean streets are part of an unrecognizable world? It’s not a new trick, but it’s a deeply appealing one. The prose styles are wildly different, but Orion reminds me a little of Jonathan Lethem's pre-Fortress of Solitude work. Lethem’s breakout novel, Motherless Brooklyn, was of course a detective story, and that novel’s Minna Men are only a few degrees removed from Orion’s traveling misfits. Motherless Brooklyn clung ever-so-tenuously to consensual reality—there was a menacing gang of Zen-trained doormen, yes, but they occupied a recognizable Manhattan—but it was preceded by a detective story that didn't. Before Motherless Brooklyn there was Gun, with Occasional Music, which incidentally is #2 on an informal Titles I Wish I'd Thought Of First list. (#1 is The Long Goodbye. There are others.)
I liked Motherless Brooklyn, but I loved Gun, with Occasional Music. It's a classic private-detective story, but the detective is a man born far too late. He dresses the part—fedora, trench coat, snarl—but he occupies a surrealist dystopia far from the mean streets walked by Philip Marlowe. No part of the world he moves through is conducive to being the man he wants to be. Most of the population is addicted to complicated bouquets of pharmaceuticals. There have been certain advances in genetic engineering, and now the detective’s mean streets are shared by talking animals. Dogs are employed as deliverymen. A self-conscious pig glances shyly at him from under her bonnet in an elevator. He meets a little kitten who's learning to read. His arch-nemesis is a kangaroo.
4.
Returning, for a moment, to the recognizable: Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, set solidly in the cities of New York and Los Angeles. “A relationship, I think, is like a shark, you know? It has to constantly move forward or it dies,” Woody Allen’s character said in that film, and I believe the same could be said of well-established genres.
I think it would be difficult at this point, although probably not impossible, to write a truly fresh detective story that is also entirely traditional. In other words, a detective story set in traditionally noir mean streets in a traditional era, an era when private eyes wore fedoras and trenchcoats without looking nostalgic in them. The innovations of experimenters like Henehan and Lethem are what keep our most beloved genres alive.
A Year in Reading: Carolyn Kellogg
Each time I talk about two of my favorite books this year, I find myself discussing what people wanted from them as much as the books themselves. I adored them both, but both seem to need positioning.
Take Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem. It's a novel of not-quite-real New York, in which a former child actor becomes friends with an obsessive fanatic/critic, threaded through with surrealism, a second-life-type game, esoteric cultural discussions, a romance or two and questions of identity and self. It is everything a novel can be: funny, smart, puzzling, engrossing, layered. It is very Lethem-ian, in that it is Philip K. Dick-ish, but it is more controlled and mature – more ambitious, even – than Dick. It works on several levels; it's the kind of book that's fun to talk about. What it isn't is a noir pastiche with a detective with Tourette's – there's no need for Lethem to write Motherless Brooklyn again, but some people are stuck on it. Re-read Motherless Brooklyn if that's what you want from Lethem -- but you'll be missing out.
And then there's Thomas Pynchon's Inherent Vice. A vocal Pynchon contingent loves big, perplexing Gravity's Rainbow - talk about layers! – and looks down on The Crying of Lot 49. The Pynchonmanes like the intellectual challenge of his massive books, and they tend to balk against the straightforward elements of Inherent Vice, which has a relatively clear plotline and a likeable, stoned main character. I would argue that comprehensibility is not a fault, that this book is as full of giddy joy with language and ephemeral ideas as his others. Those who don't see that are looking too close, but perhaps that's because they (we) are the target: when you step back, the book reads as an argument against the ambitious digging of his ardent fans. It's a 400-page case for living with mystery. Long may Pynchon's seclusion reign.
More from A Year in Reading
Neurocriticism
At N+1, Marco Roth autopsies "the neuronovel" - think Motherless Brooklyn (Tourette's), The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (autism), Lowboy (paranoid schizophrenia), The Echo Maker (Capgras syndrome), and Atmospheric Disturbances (Capgras again?) - and finds "sign[s] of the novel's diminishing purview."
#17: The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem
I think of Jonathan Lethem as the poet laureate of gentrification. This is true in the literal sense -- in the case of the subject of this piece, The Fortress of Solitude, and to a somewhat lesser extent with his follow up to it, You Don’t Love Me Yet -- in that he writes about neighborhoods in transition: Gowanus in Brooklyn and Echo Park in Los Angeles. But Lethem is also an author gentrifying genre fiction – noir thriller and sci-fi – as he did in his earlier novels Gun with Occasional Music and Girl in a Landscape. Perhaps it’s a kind of reverse gentrification, in that case.
The Fortress of Solitude is the tale of Dylan Ebdus and Mingus Rude, friends across the color line in the evolving neighborhood of Gowanus or Boerum Hill, as it would come to be called. Their racial difference hangs over every interaction in the book, despite their shared tastes in comic books and music. Split into multiple parts, divided by something that already seems incredibly ancient – a liner note – the book is shot through with pop culture, punk rock trivia and super powers. At its best moments, the book perfectly describes a time and a place in near constant transformation, and in realizing two great characters, in Dylan and Mingus. At its worst, it leaves itself open to charges of a kind of forced exotification, as the adult Dylan seems to have collected artifacts of African-American culture – most notably an African-American girlfriend – as one might the relics of a lost civilization.
You have to admire Lethem’s bravery -- he fearlessly addresses race in a way that most white writers wouldn’t dare. At the same time, he embraces his geek origins, blending together hip-hop, punk, graffiti art, avant guard film and comic book culture into a dazzling pastiche. While it will likely be his earlier book Motherless Brooklyn that solidifies his reputation, The Fortress of Solitude remains his “biggest” novel to date, a book that tries to stand next to the other greats of the decade. That it doesn’t entirely succeed does little to diminish Lethem’s stature as one of the decade's great writers.
Read an excerpt from Fortress of Solitude.
A Fortress of Solitude literary soundtrack.
More Best Fiction of the Millennium (So Far)
Best of the Millennium, Pros Versus Readers
Staff Picks: Morrison, Marcom, Lethem, Frankfurt, Binelli, Seidel
The "staff picks" shelf in any good independent bookstore is a treasure trove of book recommendations. Unmoored from media hype and even timeliness, these books are championed by trusted fellow readers. With many former (and current) booksellers in our ranks, we offer our own "Staff Picks" in a feature appearing irregularly.A Mercy by Toni Morrison recommended by EdanNow, Toni Morrison doesn't need my staff pick (I'm sure it pales in comparison to her Nobel Prize in Literature), but I thought it appropriate since she's a contender for this year's Tournament of Books. Also, one time I tried to hand-sell A Mercy at the bookstore where I work, and the customer said, "Oh I hated her other book, you know, that Caged Bird Singing one?" So, let me set the record straight: Toni Morrison is not Maya Angelou. Got that? Also, I must say this: Toni Morrison has written an incredible and mesmerizing new novel. The prose in A Mercy blew me away, it was so strange and beautiful. From start to finish this book's language put a charge through me - I actually felt the prose in my body, as a tingling in my wrists and up my arms. The language itself transported me to this historical era (the 1680s), and my mind had to shift to accommodate the language, and thus, this particular, brutal, past.The Mirror in the Well by Micheline Aharonian Marcom recommended by AnneLike a wanton lover, Micheline Aharonian Marcom's Mirror in the Well leads you sensuously and breathlessly into the throes of an affair between "she," the unnamed adulteress, and "you," the beloved. Lust yields to ecstasy that seesaws into despair as the married mother of two's web of trysts, lies, and longing grows larger. The blazing physicality of Marcom's language is like a feminine countersignature to Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer; the trapped wife's ennui and awakening shares its soul with Louis Malle's The Lovers.The Wall of the Sky, The Wall of the Eye by Jonathan Lethem recommended by AndrewJonathan Lethem pushes the unsuspecting reader into one troubling, convoluted short story after another, then, when he's good and ready, spits the reader out into the real world, leaving him twitching and scratching his head, barely able to catch his breath before luring him back into his alternate universe where futuristic horror butts heads with mystery and suspense.The genres aren't new to him - his novels Amnesia Moon and Motherless Brooklyn ventured into futuristic sci-fi and mystery, albeit taking routes into these genres that I hadn't taken before - but it's a different experience to get these flights of fancy and fear in seven short bursts. I was exhausted and sometimes unsettled after each, but I couldn't wait to get back into Jonathan Lethem's crazy world.On Bullshit by Harry G. Frankfurt recommended by EmilyA rare treat awaits those who missed On Bullshit when it came out in 2005. Professor Harry Frankfurt's unassuming little volume (four by six inches and a mere 67 pages long - somewhat physically reminiscent of the original binding of Maurice Sendak's Chicken Soup With Rice) is not only, to use its own words, a "crisp and perspicuous" account of what bullshit is, but also a lesson in clean, graceful prose and logical, orderly thought.And what is bullshit, you ask? Quoting a bit of Longfellow that Ludwig Wittgenstein considered a personal motto:In the elder days of artBuilders wrought with greatest careEach minute and unseen part,For the Gods are everywhere.Frankfurt explains the mentality that these lines express: "The point of these lines is clear. In the old days, craftsmen did not cut corners. They worked carefully, and they took care with every aspect of their work. Every part of the product was considered, and each was designed and made to be exactly as it should be. These craftsmen did not relax their thoughtful self-discipline even with respect to features of their work that would ordinarily not be visible. Although no one would notice if those features were not quite right, the craftsmen would be bothered by their consciences. So nothing was swept under the rug. Or, one might perhaps also say, there was no bullshit." And so beings an excellent explanation of the carelessly made and shoddy product we know as bullshit.For its clarity, gentle humor, conversational tone, and intelligence, On Bullshit is a delight. So charming is Frankfurt's book, that even those traumatized by encounters with philosophy's mind-wrecking titans (Hegel or Kant, say), might find themselves taken in.Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die by Mark Binelli recommended by MaxI'm not sure I have much fortitude for the mini-genre that has been termed "ahistorical fantasia" (coined by Matthew Sharpe author of Jamestown, perhaps the most widely recognized example of the form), but I do know that Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die, is undoubtedly ahistorical fantasia and undoubtedly a thoroughly entertaining book. Here's the ahistoria: Mark Binelli reimagines Sacco and Vanzetti not as suspected anarchist bombers but as a slapstick comedy duo from the golden age of cinema. And here's the fantasia: the pie and seltzer plot of Binelli's pair slowly melds with the death-row fate of their real-life counterparts. The book is incredibly inventive and manages a rare feat: It is both challenging and laugh-out-loud funny, sometimes simultaneously.Ooga-Booga by Frederick Seidel recommended by GarthGertrude Stein aside, Frederick Seidel's Ooga-Booga is the most excitingly strange book of poems I have ever read. In this case, the oddity lies not in the syntax, but in the author's peculiar persona, at once cool and fevered. The collision of the "debonair" voice, the hallucinatory imagery, and a prosody keenly (even innocently) interested in rhyme and wordplay shouldn't work, but it does: "And the old excellence one used to know / Of the chased-down fox bleeding its stink across the snow." Consumed steadily over the course of a couple of weeks, Ooga-Booga reveals itself as a cohesive, almost novelistic statement about death, sex, wealth, motorcycles, and geopolitics. (And doesn't that about sum it up?) I'm torn between the trenchant short poems and the long, visionary ones, like "Barbados" and "The Bush Administration." Against the latter, one might say that elegy gets done to death these days. But when has it ever been so savage, or so full of joy?
Ask a Book Question: #68 (Building a 21st Century Contemporary Fiction Syllabus)
Gene writes in with this question:I currently teach a high school English course called 21st Century Literature, and I've hit a bit of a block these last few weeks in trying to put together this year's syllabus. We currently read Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Lethem's The Fortress of Solitude, Zadie Smith's On Beauty, and Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao along with essays from the likes of David Foster Wallace ("E Unibus Pluram") to Chuck Klosterman ("The Real World"). We also look at some popular TV shows, music, and films in an attempt to get the students to examine the world in which they live with something of a more "critical" eye.So. I'm trying to replace Fortress for this year's class, partly because I update the syllabus every year and partly because it was the one last year's students voted out. My problem, though, is that I haven't read anything this year that has really blown me away. And so I turn to you, Millions, for some guidance. I'm currently considering Bock's Beautiful Children, Ferris' Then We Came To The End, Clarke's An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England, or possibly the new collection of essays State by State. My students are really intelligent, and so just about anything is fair game. What, then, would you add to the class to be read right after Eggers' Heartbreaking Work?Five of our contributors weighed in.Edan: What a terrific course! Can I take it? Your syllabus thus far sounds pretty damn spectacular as is, so I've tried my best to come up with texts that fulfill a role that the other books haven't. Of the four you're considering teaching, I think State by State is the best, since it showcases so many great writers. While I enjoyed Joshua Ferris's Then We Came to the End, I think a workplace narrative would be lost on most teenagers. Here are my suggestions:Willful Creatures: Stories by Aimee Bender or Magic for Beginners by Kelly Link: It might be fun to add some short fiction to the syllabus, and to improve the male-to-female author ratio. Of the many writers I introduced to my Oberlin students, Bender and Link were the biggest hits, perhaps for the magic and fantasy they inject into their odd and beautiful stories. Both writers provide excellent discussion fodder about the construction of reality, and about notions of genre in contemporary fiction.The Known World by Edward P. Jones: Still one of my favorite novels of all time, this is a historical novel about black slave owners in antebellum Virginia. It's told in a sprawling omniscient voice, not a common point of view in these fragmented, solipsistic times. It might be interesting to compare this perspective to the more intimate first person narratives on the syllabus. Also, since your other texts take place in the time they're written, it might be interesting to see how a contemporary writer depicts and manipulates the past.Look at Me by Jennifer Egan Published a few days before September 11th, this novel feels strangely prophetic. It also articulates, well before its time, the strange and complicated nature of online social networks like Facebook, certainly a topic of interest among high school students. The book tells two parallel narratives: one about a model whose face is unrecognizable after a car accident, and another about a teenage girl living in a long-dead industrial town in the Midwest. It's equal parts beautiful, entertaining, satirical, and sad. This novel could inspire many fruitful discussions about identity, media, beauty, and representations of self.Andrew: Rawi Hage's DeNiro's Game is a tightly-written haunting jagged rush through the streets of war-torn Beirut in the 1980s. Now calling Montreal his home, Rawi Hage lived through the endless Lebanese civil war and writes this tale as a survival story, not a political polemic. The protagonists are ordinary young Lebanese guys - where ordinary means bombed-out homes, militias, snipers and rubble. No longer children, but not quite adults, Bassam and George flex their muscles amid the smoke and dust of a city that has been prodded and beaten by any group with a big enough stick.Winner of the 2008 IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, and short-listed for countless major awards up here in Canada, Hage's debut novel throws the reader into a part of the world in the not-so-distant past that he likely has only seen from news images, and he gives these images human dimensions. This is a harrowing story of brutal youth.Emily: Although I wouldn't say it blew me away, I submit Keith Gessen's All The Sad Young Literary Men as a possible addition to your 21st century lit syllabus - not least because I think I would have found such a book personally useful had something like it been recommended it to me in high school. Its depiction of the social and intellectual chaos and disappointments of college and the post-college decade for three bright, ambitious, politically serious young men manages - oh, as I feared it might (for so many sad young literary men do) - not to take itself or its characters too seriously. Not that Gessen trivializes or denies the pains of his three protagonists, but he is exquisitely aware of the absurdities idealism and ambition sometimes fall into - particularly among the young. The character Sam is my favorite example of this: he aspires to write to great Zionist epic and has managed to get an advance from a publisher toward this end, but he does not speak Hebrew, has never been to Israel, and is a little bit fuzzy on Israeli history and politics. His best claim to the project is his extensive collection of fiery Jewish girlfriends. Like his fellow protagonists, Keith and Mark, Sam seems more delighted by the idea of literary accomplishment for himself than able to sit down and produce the stunning epic of the Jewish people that he imagines and more hungry for fame than to write his book ("Fame - fame was the anti-death. But it seemed to slither from his grasp, seemed to giggle and retreat, seemed to hide behind a huge oak tree and make fake farting sounds with its hands.").Gessen has a particularly deft touch with juxtaposition - almost zeugma perhaps? - in his plotting and narration. The personal and the political - the sublime and the ridiculous - are cheek by jowl and often confused: Keith's desire to sleep with the vice president's daughter (who is in his class at Harvard and dating his roommate) is bound up with his desire for the vice president himself (Gore) to win the presidential election; For Sam, his intellectual work and his personal life are strangely aligned such that "refreshed by his summation of the Holocaust, Sam decided to put the rest of his life in order" and instead of wrestling with his genuine artistic problem (his inability to write his epic), he becomes crazily obsessed, instead, with his shrinking Google. I suspect that we will see better work from Gessen in the years to come, but for its humor, its pathos, and its willness to depict (and deftness in depicting) the humiliations and vagueries of early adulthood, I think it's an excellent choice (particularly since among your students there are, I imagine, some present and future sad young literary men).Garth: This is sounds like a great class. I wish I'd had you as a teacher! One of the implicit challenges of answering the question is the tension between the need to appeal to high schoolers and the search for formal innovation. These two are not mutually exclusive; I vividly remember falling in love with Infinite Jest as a high-schooler. Still, some of the aesthetic strategies that separate contemporary writers from the hoary old 1900s (which are so last century) come at the cost of emotional immediacy. some of my favorite works of 21st Century fiction - Helen DeWitt's The Last Samurai; Kathryn Davis' The Thin Place; Lydia Davis' Varieties of Disturbance; Aleksandar Hemon's The Question of Bruno - may be a little too cerebral for high schoolers.I thought of several adventurous novels which are less formally pluperfect (in my opinion), but which might make a stronger appeal to this age group. Chief among them are Chris Adrian's The Children's Hospital, Uzodinma Iweala's Beasts of No Nation, David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, Yann Martel's Life of Pi, Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, and Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.Though I didn't care for Beautiful Children, and suspect teenagers would see through its outdated assessment of youth culture, Then We Came to the End has an appealing warmth and good humor, as well as a fascinating first-person-plural voice. Ultimately, though, the two "21st Century" books I can most imagine teaching to high-schoolers are George Saunders' Pastoralia (2000) and Paul Beatty's The White-Boy Shuffle (1996).Max: Sounds like putting together the syllabus is a fun job. It's interesting that the students didn't like Fortress as much. I think I would agree with them on that. Though it was certainly an ambitious and at times entertaining book, I think it falls apart in the second half. I haven't read Motherless Brooklyn, but I know it seems to have many more fans than Fortress.Thinking about short story collections, you could hardly go wrong with Edward P. Jones's two collections - Lost in the City and All Aunt Hagar's Children - Jones's stories are terrific and offer a perspective that is quite different from Chabon, Lethem, and the rest of the Brooklyn crowd. Also, Jones's The Known World is to my mind maybe the best novel of the last 20 years. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides and Atonement by Ian McEwan also strike me as solid candidates, with the latter offering a unique and satisfying "reveal" at the end that changes how the reader thinks about the books structure (assuming your students haven't already seen the film which, anyway, does the book a disservice in trying to render a purely literary twist via the language of Hollywood.)Gene, thanks for the question and please let us know what you select. Millions readers, please offer your suggestions in the comments below.
Obsession, Obsessively Told: A Review of Tom McCarthy’s Remainder
What if... What if you were an anonymous urbanite, going about your daily routine in, say, London, when some indescribable airborne object falls through the nothingness and crash-lands on your head, forever altering your somethingness...What if that happened, and then it's months later. You've doubled back from the abyss and there you are, at home, relearning everything. Physically you're fine, but there's a gaping hole where your sense of connection used to be. A piece of the puzzle is missing and with it your own sense of reality. You wish you could piece together some sense of your previous self because only then, you think, you'd be complete. Occasionally you brush up against that reality - a scrap of paper, a passing word - something to tease you, to trigger the connection with your past, with your self.And then the money. You learn that your bank balance has shot through the stratosphere, the result of a settlement from the perpetrators of your condition. And now, as they say, money is no object.You think long and hard and you decide that the best use for your magical millions is to attempt to regain your reality - to rebuild, in every way, and by any means necessary, your vaguely-remembered life. This is the ultra-high concept of Tom McCarthy's meticulously plotted and crafted Remainder.A rational search through memory doesn't work so our hero opts for the irrational. A memory shake-up. Everything in his past would have left a mark of some sort - some kind of footprint. So he sets out to trigger these marks randomly. Though consciously implementing a random search cancels out its randomness.Eventually, he plots the few vague or triggered memories that he has and tries to rebuild his surroundings around them so that every step within this recreated environment would trigger his sense of whole. So he buys an apartment building that resembles the one in his memory, and then the surrounding buildings, alters them to match the half-remembered images in his mind. Then he auditions actors to populate his new/old world. These players would be there for him around the clock to repeatedly enact the triggered memories.You'd think all of this would be implausible, but the rendering is so painstakingly detailed that every time you think, "but what about...?", you find that McCarthy is one step ahead of you. He's already worked out the logical leaps. And once you wrap your mind around the notion that money can buy any service, somehow the improbable becomes possible.Our hero isn't the most likable of heroes, and more than once I became frustrated with his obsessive, often cruel, perfectionism. But then I remember that every supporting character is on his payroll. Everyone - his long-suffering facilitators, his "actors" - they all knew what they were getting into, at first at least, and are handsomely compensated.And just how perfect does his recreated environment need to be? Partial success is abject failure. The point for him is to capture the connection, not merely an acceptable re-enactment. And once captured, it must be repeated. Realness is a state, not an isolated action. To experience it, our narrator must return to it again and again. It is only in the constant repetition of a remembered action that he finds the connection that he seeks.And until when? As the story progresses, you realize that our hero needs to do more than just re-enact his environment over and over again. He reaches a point in his obsession where he must merge with his action, slow down the motion and be one with his environment, with the increasingly hyper-real experiences that he's manufacturing. Only then will he feel complete.Along with memory gaps, words and concepts have disappeared from our narrator's verbal toolbox. And so we also get a complete sense of narrative process. Like the Tourette's-affected hero of Jonathan Lethem's Motherless Brooklyn, we're privy to the machinations and linguistic somersaults that our narrator goes through to make himself understood.A story of obsession, then, obsessively told. A meticulously rendered tale of meticulousness itself. It's hard not to feel simultaneously irritated at both the action and the narrator, and yet utterly compelled to see his obsession through.
The Most Anticipated Literary Adaptations of 2007
Since several others have covered the most anticipated books of 2007, I thought I'd fill everybody in on which of their favorite books are going to be ruined by Hollywood in the coming year. Since almost every movie made is based on some previously existing material (can we count Spider Man 3 as an adaptation?), I thought I'd separate the kids movies and the horror/comic adaptations from the "literary" adaptations. Feel free to point out the movies I missed.Kids flicks. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (IMDb) will dominate the box office in July. The latest installment of the juggernaut will feature a script by Michael Goldenberg (who is also penning the adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are (IMDb)) and direction by David Yates, who is best known for his HBO movie The Girl in the Cafe. I've never read a Harry Potter book, and I've never seen any of the movies either. It's safe to say the phenomenon has completely passed me by, so I leave it to you to decide whether this movie will be better than the ones that Chris Columbus directed.His Dark Materials: The Golden Compass (IMDb), which has been discussed before on this blog, will no doubt own the holiday season. After some turbulence during development and production, the first part of Phillip Pullman's trilogy will hit theaters on December 7.Finally, Bridge to Terabithia (IMDb) will get a new coat of paint, courtesy of Rugrats veteran Gabor Csupo. It's a live action version of the book, starring Zooey Deschanel, Robert Patrick, and a bunch of child actors with whom I am not familiar. No telling whether this will replace the vaunted 1985 TV adaptation as the definitive Terabithia for the screen.Gore filled fun-fests. Dominic West, better known as hard-drinking detective Jimmy McNulty on the greatest show ever to air on television, has a hand in two bloody adaptations this year. In Hannibal Rising (IMDb), he'll be playing Inspector. I can only assume that this Inspector is a hard-drinking Eastern European detective, but not having read the book, I can't say. The folks over at Slow Match are debating the merits of Thomas Harris' latest this month. Maybe they have the answer.In 300 (IMDb), adapted from a Frank Miller graphic novel, West will play Theron, the hard-drinking Spartan warrior. I wasn't that excited about either of these films before I found out West was in them. Now I'm planning on camping out, Star Wars-style for tickets.Mainstream Literary Adaptations. Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake (IMDb), directed by Mira Nair (Monsoon Wedding, Vanity Fair) will debut in March. Kal Penn, of Harold and Kumar go to White Castle fame, has the lead role. Here's hoping he has more lines than he did in Superman Returns.April will bring us showers, a new baseball season, and The Nanny Diaries (IMDb), starring Scarlett Johanson, Laura Linney, and Paul Giamatti. I'm sure the studio is hoping to hit the same market that made The Devil Wears Prada a huge success, but I'm skeptical. DWP had a tour de force performance from Meryl Streep (Don't you just get the feeling she's going to get snubbed for the Oscar, by the way?) and a generally likable cast. The Nanny Diaries has ScarJo, who I detest. Tough call.Also in April comes Atonement (IMDb). Directed by Joe Wright, whose version of Pride & Prejudice was almost universally lauded, Atonement features a bit of controversial casting. Yes, traditional English heavyweights Brenda Blethyn and Vanessa Redgrave have parts, but the lead role of Cecilia will be played by the skeletal remains of Keira Knightly. Fans of the book are less than pleased.In September, I will certainly be seeing Feast of Love (IMDb), adapted from the Charles Baxter novel. The cast features Selma Blair, Morgan Freeman, and Greg Kinnear (Tangent: Isn't Greg Kinnear having one of the most sneaky-successful careers of the last ten years? Who would've predicted it during his "Talk Soup" days?). It's an odd choice for an adaption. I've read the book, and while I thoroughly enjoyed it, it didn't strike me as terribly cinematic.November will see John Burnham Schwartz's novel Reservation Road (IMDb) adapted starring Joaquin Phoenix, Mark Ruffalo, and Jennifer Connelly. This is the prototypical small-ish novel adaptation, along the lines of The Ice Storm. It could go either way, turning into another In the Bedroom or another We Don't Live Here Anymore.Also in November comes the granddaddy of all literary adaptations, Beowolf (IMDb). Robert Zemeckis directs a script from Neil Gaiman and Roger Avery. Beowolf features my favorite bit of casting for the year - Crispin Glover as Grendel. How perfect is that?And finally, in late December, comes Charlie Wilson's War (IMDb), starring Tom Hanks as the eponymous Texas congressman. Julia Roberts, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Amy Adams are also aboard for this spy drama of which much is expected. Mike Nichols directs a rare film script from Aaron Sorkin, which means there will be lots of walking-and-talking scenes and probably too much pontificating, but hopefully no sketch comedy.Several literary adaptations of note, including the highly anticipated The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (IMDb), The Corrections (IMDb), and Motherless Brooklyn (IMDb) are all slated for release in 2007. My advice is don't hold your breath for any of them. Until I see an actual release date, I'm not buying it. 2008 sounds about right for all of those. Until then, you'll have to settle for Rush Hour 3, Fantastic Four: The Rise of the Silver Surfer, and Ocean's 13: The Baker's Dozen.
Brooklyn Book Festival Dispatch
An old friend sent in this report from the inaugural Brooklyn Book FestivalLeaving to the New York Times, for the moment, the question of whether Brooklyn circa 2006 can fairly be compared to Paris circa 1930, it would have been apparent to anyone attending Saturday's 1st Annual Brooklyn Book Festival that the borough has become at the very least a vital center in the republic of letters - a worthy rival to its sister across the river.After a week of rain, the weather was perfect. For our delectation, Borough President Marty Markowitz - almost single-handedly, if the font size on the flyer was any indication - had filled Borough Hall plaza in downtown Brooklyn with five reading stages and over sixty vendor tents from bookstores, literary nonprofits, and small presses. We're all accustomed, of course, to our beloved BP's inimitable brand of self-promotion... and this was not the only echt-Brooklyn aspect of the festival. Both the crowd and the participants were almost as laudably diverse as the borough, and that wonderful Brooklyn admixture of charm, originality, and public-mindedness tempered by self-satisfaction were palpable all around.The indoor readings and panels, featuring the likes of Jhumpa Lahiri and Jonathan Lethem, were so packed that I couldn't get in - which is good, I think. The Book Festival, if it is to take off as a viable successor to New York is Book Country, needs to generate this kind of excitement. For me, though (slathering, slobbering, fetishizing book-hound that I am), the vendor's booths were where the action was. Literary magazines were well-represented. Out-of-towners like Jubilat and Gulf Coast mingled with New York's own one-story and Open City. A Public Space proved particularly popular - the scintillating first issue of this Paris Review offshoot is now sold-out, and issue two was flying off the tables. I like that A Public Space is trying to bridge the divide between the traditional literary magazine - which these days appeals to a small, self-selecting audience - and that endangered species, the general interest magazine.Small presses, meanwhile, were showcasing their fall catalogues. Seven Stories, Soft Skull, and Akashic are bringing out a number of titles with mainstream appeal, and it's hard to compete with Joe Wenderoth's Letters To Wendy's (Verse Press). But for my money the most interesting house in Brooklyn is Archipelago. These guys, like Dalkey and NYRB are putting out translations of serious works of fiction from around the world, in beautiful editions. Elias Khoury's magisterial Gates of the Sun, a surprise success, has introduced readers across the country to Palestinian literature; this fall's offerings include works in Russian and Korean.And what would a Brooklyn Book Festival be without the McSweeney's table? Many of the authors represented in the festival - Jonathan Ames, Jonathan Lethem, Rick Moody, Colson Whitehead, Jennifer Egan - are less than a degree of separation away from Dave Eggers' merry band, aesthetically and/or professionally. Members of said band had flown in from San Francisco for the event, and were chatting with visitors about upcoming projects. Writers and readers have sometimes seemed divided on the question of a McSweeney's style - that kind of playful, knowing, "in-joke" humor and deep interest in childhood and adolescence. And we on the web love a backlash, don't we. But it is indisputable that McSweeney's has contributed greatly to the literary renaissance underway here. The 826 NYC learning center is a noble effort to extend the bounty of the literary boom to kids often ill-served by rapid gentrification. And the publishing operation is growing. Eggers' novel about Sudanese war refugees - due out in October, I think - sounds like a work of great reach and ambition. But if you're into that sort of thing, there's no need to wait - McSweeney's has also just put out Chris Adrian's monumental (600+ pages) novel, The Children's Hospital. This book strikes me as a bid to compete seriously with the big literary houses, albeit under a different financial model. At the book fair, the editors seemed to be waiting to see whether a book with a modest promotional budget and independent distribution can succeed in the way White Teeth and Motherless Brooklyn and Middlesex have. But if it is a just world, they don't need to worry. I started reading the book last week, and am pleased to report that it's everything I look for in a novel - richly imagined, wonderfully written, ample in scope, formally daring. In a word, serious. On the log-line alone - The Stand meets Cuckoo's Nest meets the Book of Revelations - it should take off.Or anyway, I'm hoping. Because if there's a flaw in the Brooklyn literary model, as opposed to the Parisian one, it may be that we're too damn comfortable here. Walking around on a gorgeous fall day, eating a burrito, reading about Wendy's, seeing kids listen to Dr. Seuss, it was hard to want anything more. And this, too, is so very Brooklyn (nouveau Brooklyn, that is), this feeling of, we've got it so good here, this is so great. Look at us, us smart and engaged and right-minded people! Look at how many wonderful writers live and work among us! It can be hard to stay hungry. But hunger, yearning, desire, insane and ravenous need, are the fuel for great and life-changing books. And with luck, the thing that's happening here, in Brooklyn, will produce (or continue to produce) those books. God knows we need them.
Diversions and Distractions Part 5: A Reading Journal
After Sakincali Piyade I embarked on my Chicago trip and returned to The Fortress of Solitude, which I finished during the journey. Next was In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, which I had been meaning to read for a long time. The release of Capote with Phillip Seymour Hoffman rekindled my desire to read In Cold Blood, as I did not want to see the movie prior to reading the book. So, I dove into the gruesome story of the Clutter family murder in Holcomb, Kansas, in 1959. Capote divided In Cold Blood to three sections and created two parallel storylines, both of which make his narrative very fluid, factual and captivating. Given that in our time we have been witnesses to more outbursts of seemingly aimless violence than previous generations (Red Lake High School, Columbine), In Cold Blood does not come across as shocking as it might have when the Clutter murders took place and when the book was published in 1965. The unfolding events also show that the Clutters were not murdered by a random psychopath, rather by two ex-cons, Perry Smith and Dick Hickock, who were motivated to rob the estate. The murders described in In Cold Blood may not surprise the modern reader but Capote's masterful chronicling of the events and extensive research that leads to the psyche of the Clutters, Perry Smith, Dick Hickock, investigator Alvin Dewey and the characters surrounding the murder arouses a sense of real familiarity with the events and leaves the reader wondering why the world works the way it does. I found myself wondering why the outstanding citizens, as exemplified in Herb Clutter's honesty and dedication to society and Nancy Clutter's impeccable record as a student and as a role model to all the young girls of Holcomb, always seem to be victim to society's ills. I also thought about delusional and broken men such as Hickock and Smith: two men who had troubled childhoods, had been in and out of jail, tried to - and succeeded at times - to make an honest living, but always relapsed and turned to wicked means, the most disturbing of which resulted in the Clutter murder. I enjoyed In Cold Blood immensely, not because the story is particularly interesting or fresh, but because of the insightful details that Capote presents and the issues it brings up with regards to society and life.After In Cold Blood I read nothing but The Economist and other news outlets for two months. I really enjoy reading The Economist and it is my favorite news publication, but two months of not reading any literature made me sad. When I last visited my friend John he asked me what I was reading and I told him nothing at the moment, implying that I was looking for a book that would drag me back to the wonderful world of literature. His suggestion was Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Lethem. Since I was so impressed by The Fortress of Solitude, another recommendation from John, I started the novel right away and, as had happened with Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections, could not put the book down, even at the expense of sleep. Lionel Essrog is the main character of Motherless Brooklyn and suffers from Tourette's syndrome (that's when you cannot control what your saying and your mouth/brain spurts out profanities or meaningless words at random, mostly when you are under stress/strain). The title works magnificently to describe Lionel and his three friends from St. Vincent's Orphanage in Brooklyn: Tony, Danny and Gilbert. The motley four work for Frank Minna, a shady small time mobster whose murder at the outset of the novel sets off the chain of events. The demise of Minna is dramatic for each individual as he was more than an employer to them: a father figure to Lionel and Gilbert, a role-model/rival for Tony and a comforting personage for Danny. Immediately after Minna's murder Lionel and Tony get on the case to find the killers, but it soon appears that whereas Lionel is sincere in his desire to find the suspects, Tony has other motives. Lethem takes you through a fast two days through Lionel's eyes, prompting Tourette's in you, embedding tics in your mind and causing you to read compulsively to reach a resolution. The mystery is intricate yet Lethem drops hints all along for the careful reader to decipher the plot. But if you get carried away with Lionel's Tourette's (as I did) chances are that you will be as oblivious, yet simultaneously, surprisingly and equally alert, to everything that unfolds. The ending will, nevertheless, put a smile on your face.If Motherless Brooklyn put a smile on my face in the end, Anneannem (My Grandmother) by Fethiye Cetin did the exact opposite. A good balance I might add. Lethem had me in 5th gear by the time I finished Motherless Brooklyn and I picked up Anneannem, which my friend Ela had brought me from Turkey and urged me to read, for a light read. The memoirs that Cetin relates are a mere 116 pages and I figured it would be a good transitional book between Lethem to Dostoyevsky. I started reading Anneannem on Sunday morning and Cetin's style, as well as the romantic light under which she presented her story, captivated me. I took a break a quarter of the way through and went outside to enjoy the day. I called one of my grandmas on my way to the movie theater, just to hear her voice and rejoice in her presence. When I went to bed at night I picked up Anneannem and it kept me up until 3, crying, thinking and feeling emotions that were left alone for a long time. Cetin's grandmother was an Armenian separated from her family during the Turkish deportation of Armenians in World War I. She was brought up by a Turkish family in Maden, Elazig in Eastern Turkey. She and the seven other girls that were separated from their families at the same time managed to preserve their heritage despite being converted to Islam and marrying Turks. Cetin grew up in her grandmother's house, when, after her father's unexpected and early death, her family moved in with the grandparents. It was, however, not until very late that Cetin learned about her grandmother's past and, in the process, became one of her sole confidantes regarding the hardships she lived through. As Cetin relates her grandmother's story, she also tells the reader of her own frustrations, embarrassment and disillusionment with the official Turkish line regarding the Armenian deportation. Horanus Gadarian's story is heart wrenching, it makes one wonder how people can cause such pain on their neighbors, their fellow countrymen or, simply, to each other. Horanus's wisdom and love for not only her family but towards all who sought her company is awe-inspiring. Cetin manages to trace Horanus's family in the United States and tells the story of a very touching reunion after her grandmother's death. Anneannem is a captivating little book that in the space of a 116 pages tickled my own pleasant memories and admiration of my grandparents, had me thinking about the cruelties that humans suffer in each others' hands and the beautiful Armenian culture that Turkish officials did their best to destroy. Finally, Anneannem impressed me for its candid and lovely storyline. Unfortunately, Anneannem too is only available in Turkish.I have just begun my first Russian novel, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Wish me luck, I probably won't be writing again for a while, especially because I intend to read David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest after this one. Of course, all of this planning is subject to change on impulse. Good luck and good reads everyone, cheers!(So, that's all from Emre for a little while. Thanks, Emre! -- Max)Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5Emre's previous reading journal
Motherless in Brooklyn
Jonathan Lethem's new book The Fortress of Solitude comes out today. Here is my review:Now it is Jonathan Lethem's turn to write a "big book." The breakout success of his last novel, Motherless Brooklyn, set the stage for an eagerly anticipated follow-up. As if borrowing from the title of his previous book, Lethem's two protagonists grow up motherless in Brooklyn. One is Dylan Ebdus, whose father is a morose and cloistered artist and whose mother is a frenetic but flaky hippy, who, before she is distracted away from their rugged corner of Brooklyn, is determined to blend her white family seamlessly into the black neighborhood. For Rachel Ebdus, gentrification is a dirty word. Next door lives young Mingus Rude, son of soul superstar Barrett Rude, Jr, a brooding musical genius who permits himself to slide into a sort of secluded decay. The two boys are ostensibly best friends, but as is perhaps more true to life, their adolescent lives intertwine, split apart, and become intimately joined as they make their way warily through a minefield of street-borne dangers. The dangers are different for each boy, more often than not according to skin color, but to say that this is a novel about race would be to simplify in a way that Lethem does not.In the second part of the novel, Dylan is all grown up, and still sorting things out. He doesn't know what it means to have had such a peculiar upbringing, but he knows that if he weren't white, he would probably be in prison like Mingus. His black girlfriend accuses him of collecting poor black people as she looks at his obsessive music collection and mementos from his youth.There is to this book, as there has been to Lethem's others, a supernatural element, a fantastical token that lifts the story from the realm of reality. With the chaos that surrounds them, it comes as no surprise that young Dylan might see a homeless man named Aaron X. Doily fall from the sky, or that, having found Doily's secret, Dylan and Mingus might become a couple of low rent super heroes. This fantasy realm never becomes the point of the story; if anything, it underscores the insurmountable mania of the world around them. Lethem's insistent devotion to music is perhaps a more dominant trope, and the timeframe of the novel allows him to delve into soul and rap and punk in an enjoyably voyeuristic sort of way.It is exciting to watch an author like Lethem put together a largely successful, career-changing type novel. This is a deserving book that a lot of people will read. Look for Lethem to join Jonathan Franzen and Michael Chabon at the top of the youngish American writers heap.















