March 21, 2011
The Second Son A Novel Jonathan Rabb Farrar, Straus & Giroux/Sarah Crichton Books: 295 pp., $26
September 30, 2010
The Tenth Parallel Dispatches from the Fault Line Between Christianity and Islam Eliza Griswold Farrar, Straus & Giroux: 336 pp., $27
November 23, 2010
Franklin and Eleanor: An Extraordinary Marriage Hazel Rowley Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 416 pp., $27
July 14, 2011
The Hypnotist A Novel Lars Kepler Sarah Crichton / Farrar, Straus & Giroux: 503 pp., $27
April 9, 1989
For a collected edition of the poet Elizabeth Bishop's correspondence, now in preparation, I would appreciate copies of her letters. ROBERT GIROUX FARRAR, STRAUS & GIROUX 19 Union Square West New York, N.Y. 10003
April 23, 1989 |
SEE UNDER:LOVE David Grossman; translated from the Hebrew by Betsy Rosenberg (Farrar, Straus & Giroux: $19.95; 458 pp.) "David Grossman, a gifted young Israeli writer, has found some startling new light in his massive and complex novel about the Holocaust. He has tacked up a dazzling circuitry between nightmare and hope."
January 13, 2014 |
The board of the National Book Critics Circle announced the finalists for its 2013 awards Monday. There are five finalists each in six categories: autobiography, biography, criticism, fiction, nonfiction and poetry. The NBCC announced the recipients of three additional awards. The John Leonard Prize for First book, awarded for the first time, goes to Antony Marra for his novel "A Constellation of Vital Phenomena. " The winner of the 2013 Nona Balakian Citation for Excellence in Reviewing goes to critic Katherine A. Powers.
July 9, 1989 |
Because the ones I work for do not love me, because I have said too much and I haven't been sure of what is right and I've hated the people I've trusted, because I work in an office and we are lost and when I come home I say their lives are theirs and they don't know what they apologize for and none of it mended, because I let them beat me and I remember something of mine which not everyone has, and because I lie to keep my self and my hands my voice on the phone what I swallow what hurts
April 15, 2007
On the path to the water, I found an ugly weed growing between rocks. The wind was stroking it, saying, "My weed, my weed." Its solid, hairy body rose up, with big silver leaves that rubbed off on me, like sex. At first, I thought it was a lamb's ear, but it wasn't. I'm not a member of the ugly school, but I circled around it and looked a lot, which is to say, I was just being, and it seemed to me -- in a higher sense -- to represent the sanity of living. It was twilight. Planets were gathering.