Intended or not, in A Constellation of Vital Phenomena author Anthony Marra reminds us Americans that we are, indeed, exceptional—at least in one respect.
We Zany Irish!
UPDATE: This post was based on a daily online entry from Steve King’s Today in Literature. Alas–Steve’s excellent work is no longer available (at least, online). With props to Steve, I’ve tried my best to link to other sources that support this narrative.
From Paris to Provence: Where Food is Life
CapRadio Reads scores again with last Saturday’s book selection, From Paris to Provence: Childhood Memories of Food & France, by Ethel Brennan and Sara Remington.
Counsel Stedman Responds
To my fellow Goodreads members: Hope you followed my prompt and took the chance to ask M. L. Stedman, author of The Light Between Oceans–the Indie Book of the Year this year–a question last Friday.
Goodreads: M. L. Stedman Q & A
Earlier this year, I read, enjoyed, and reviewed M. L. Stedman‘s breakout novel, The Light Between Oceans. (It was a selection of the CapRadio Reads book club.)
Thank You, Capital Public Radio!
A heart-felt “Thank You!” to our CapRadio Reads book club monitor, Vicki Lorini, for the VIP treatment we members received at last night’s launch party in Davis for John Lescroart‘s latest offering, The Ophelia Cut.
The Man Who Rode the Comet
One Hundred thirteen years ago last Sunday, America’s Shakespeare—Samuel Langhorne Clemens, writing and lecturing as the more familiar “Mark Twain“–left this mortal coil as Halley’s Comet approached, just as he’d come in 77 years earlier.
The Night Circus–Hooptedoodle
The Night Circus is Erin Morgenstern’s first novel, published July 3, 2012. I’m reading and writing about it now because it’s the April selection for CapRadio Reads, Capital Public Radio’s book club.
M. L. Stedman: “The Light Between Oceans”
If I’ve read a more elegant and absorbing a tale of the danse macabre between morality and mortality than M. L. Stedman’s The Light Between Oceans, I don’t remember it.
George Saunders’ 10th of December: Warmly Exhausting
If this review seems languid, it’s because my brain and I are cuddling—having just concluded a taxing but gratifying bout of intellectual intercourse with George Saunders’ 10th of December.