"Best. Movie. Year. Ever." According to this book, 1999 was the Hollywood year to end all Hollywood years. "The Insider." "The Sixth Sense." "Fight Club." The list goes on. Do you have it in you to read 400 pages on a serendipitous year for film-making? I think *I* do.
"Party of One." This is a memoir, a few years old, by a gay man, about his awkward coming-of-age. It's in the air now, simply because the author blurbed Andrew Rannells's memoir (which I recommend). In "Party of One," a gay man uses various pop songs (I imagine Celine and Mariah may be involved) to narrate the tale of his maturation, or semi-maturation. It's shocking to me that I haven't read this.
"Maybe You Should Talk to Someone." I did just finish this one--and though the earnestness is occasionally tiresome, and the editor could have been a bit more ruthless, several stories are breathtaking. I was especially fond of the seventy-year-old woman who had made a mess of her life, but who rallied in Act Three and became a sardonic visual artist. (Her top-seller is a print with the words "Old People Can Still F**k"--and with an image, illustrating the point.) Read this book with Kleenex on-hand.
"Ladies who Punch." It's likely I can't resist this perfectly-entitled book about the women front-and-center in "The View." We'll see.
"The Snakehead: An Epic Tale of the Chinatown Underworld." I'm not at all interested in the author's current, buzzy book, "Say Nothing," about the IRA. Gloomy books about Irish troubles--written by men--don't do much for me. (I'm looking at you, "Angela's Ashes.") Anyway, for whatever reason, I *am* interested in "The Snakehead." It was Patrick Radden Keefe's pre-IRA-book book. It's non-fiction, set in the present, set on the gritty streets of lower Manhattan, and featuring a real-world Madame Defarge-esque villainess. This book has had my name on it--for years. It's time!
"Party of One." This is a memoir, a few years old, by a gay man, about his awkward coming-of-age. It's in the air now, simply because the author blurbed Andrew Rannells's memoir (which I recommend). In "Party of One," a gay man uses various pop songs (I imagine Celine and Mariah may be involved) to narrate the tale of his maturation, or semi-maturation. It's shocking to me that I haven't read this.
"Maybe You Should Talk to Someone." I did just finish this one--and though the earnestness is occasionally tiresome, and the editor could have been a bit more ruthless, several stories are breathtaking. I was especially fond of the seventy-year-old woman who had made a mess of her life, but who rallied in Act Three and became a sardonic visual artist. (Her top-seller is a print with the words "Old People Can Still F**k"--and with an image, illustrating the point.) Read this book with Kleenex on-hand.
"Ladies who Punch." It's likely I can't resist this perfectly-entitled book about the women front-and-center in "The View." We'll see.
"The Snakehead: An Epic Tale of the Chinatown Underworld." I'm not at all interested in the author's current, buzzy book, "Say Nothing," about the IRA. Gloomy books about Irish troubles--written by men--don't do much for me. (I'm looking at you, "Angela's Ashes.") Anyway, for whatever reason, I *am* interested in "The Snakehead." It was Patrick Radden Keefe's pre-IRA-book book. It's non-fiction, set in the present, set on the gritty streets of lower Manhattan, and featuring a real-world Madame Defarge-esque villainess. This book has had my name on it--for years. It's time!
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