In Trust No One, Paul Cleave moves into interesting territory that involves unfair terrain for the reader, with contradictory versions of the protagonist's interior monologue.
Bradstreet Gate is a promising first novel, a book first about uncertainty, but also about the difference between even bright students’ fantasies and “actual, multifarious reality,” as well as the odd, formative nature of friendships made on the threshold of adulthood.
The second season of American Crime raises intelligent questions: Can a teenager struggling with his sexual orientation and rough sex fantasies actually be raped, and is there any hope of establishing that legally? Or is Taylor an odd variation of the Victorian heroine who dreams of being ravished, but then decides that wasn’t such a good idea after the fact?
John Updike surely would have approved of Ann Beattie's pitch-perfect dialogue and her descriptions of the things we all define our existences by in her first collection of short stories in a decade.
We have all become fairly sloppy about where we look for information to feed our minds and possibly act on. However, it is what it is, and in that spirit I am happy to announce that on December 18, I transformed my Twitter feed into a highly respected newsfeed.
A problem with romantic effusion regarding patriotism is that, poetry aside, patriotism has nothing to do with the rightness or wrongness of anything. In other words, Samuel Johnson was sometimes right and sometimes wrong when he called it the last refuge of a scoundrel.
Imagine your job involves arranging the end of your favorite lover ever; then, imagine you have to question that person first.
Obsession, even if recognized, is rarely controlled and often involves a blind spot.
George Pelecanos has the ability to make us care about people in the humblest walks of life, including those on criminal paths, through dialogue that sounds like real people talking.
Not all men of letters turning 40 buy sports cars.