I was late to my Tuesday evening class because I couldn’t put down this week’s book. This sounds hyperbolic, but my notes — missing coverage from the first 15 minutes of class — will attest to its truthfulness.
57 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Last week saw the celebration of National Library Week. To kick off the week, the American Library Association released its annual State of America’s Libraries Report on April 4, which recognized the essential role of libraries in our society and highlighted some of their key contemporary challenges.
In my first-ever creative writing workshop about five years ago, one of my friends offered me a piece of criticism that I think about roughly twice a week. My friend Lillian said, “Jenna, on average, your sentences feel longer than the Declaration of Independence.”
About three years ago, I started tracking all the books I read annually in an Excel spreadsheet. This endeavor, though admittedly contributing to my identity as a total nerd, started after I realized how much of my bookshelves focused on the work of 20th-century white men. I started to read more intentionally, choosing more diverse stories by more diverse authors.
Never have I ever met a book-lover who didn’t enjoy books written about books. Personally, right now as I write this column, I can see four such novels in stacks around my room without even moving from my desk. It’s a kind of meta endeavor — to wax poetic about the medium you are using. It offers a concentrated look into why literature matters.
“The world is falling to pieces and everything almost always goes to shit and we almost always hurt the people we love or they hurt us irreparably and there doesn’t seem to be a reason to harbor any kind of hope, but at least this story ends well, ends here, with the scene of those two Chilean poets who look each other in the eye and burst out laughing and don’t want to leave that bar for anything, so they order another round of beers.” — Alejandro Zambra
Paris is known as the City of Light, Chicago as the Windy City. Rome is known for its seven hills, Florence for its lilies. My favorite urban identity, though, belongs forever to Prague, the Czech Republic, the city known for its defenestrations.
The spine of Weike Wang’s latest novel has its title printed vertically down the cover. Each of the letters comprising “Joan is Okay” is set in type, except for the A in its last word. The A shows an upside down illustration of a woman with a wide stance, so her legs make the natural shape of a capital A.
When I was in elementary school, my carpool would take turns reading Nancy Drew mysteries aloud. My sister and I owned the full set, all 56 yellow-covered hardbacks, and whoever was reading would have to use their loudest narrator voice to drown out the rest of us swearing we knew the culprit by approximately the third chapter. Usually we were wrong.
My favorite part about opening a new book is the dedication page. Some people skip straight to the first chapter, but I’m always curious about what words the author found most important, the ones that precede the story itself.
COLUMN: Imbolo Mbue shows writing strength by emotionally wrecking readers in ‘How Beautiful We Were’
If you read fiction to escape from reality, Imbolo Mbue’s “How Beautiful We Were” is not for you. If you read fiction to better understand yourself, the world and your peers pushing their way through the suffering also known as the human condition, Mbue’s work should be high on your to-read list.
People always say not to judge a book by its cover, but I’ll be frank: I plucked Colson Whitehead’s “Harlem Shuffle” off its shelf because I figured if I was struck by the cover’s partial sketches, red, green and yellow blocks and a mixture of fonts, chances were high I’d be struck by the story enclosed inside.
I counted down the days to the release of Amor Towles’ “The Lincoln Highway” like a child impatiently counts down the days to Christmas, Edmond Dantés studiously counts down the days to his release from prison and Towles carefully counts down in his table of contents.
This is the fifth column in a weeklong series celebrating Banned Books Week, which celebrates the freedom to read. Each column will review a different frequently challenged book.
This is the fourth column in a weeklong series celebrating Banned Books Week, which celebrates the freedom to read. Each column will review a different frequently challenged book.
This is the third column in a weeklong series celebrating Banned Books Week, which celebrates the freedom to read. Each column will review a different frequently challenged book.
This is the second column in a weeklong series celebrating Banned Books Week, which celebrates the freedom to read. Each column will review a different frequently challenged book.
Banned Books Week, which celebrates the freedom to read, kicks off today. As a student journalist and nonstop reader, accessible information is my soapbox, so in celebration, I’ll be reviewing some of my favorite works frequently on banned books lists this week.
On page 96 of Omar El Akkad’s second novel, “What Strange Paradise,” he writes, “Some of these people, you have to hold their hand and show them how to be human.”
“When sorrows come, they come not single spies but battalions” (Shakespeare 4.5.83-84).