How Fiction Works By James Wood (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 208 pp., $24)This admirable book is, among other things, a successful attempt to replace E.M. Forster's Aspects of the Novel as an accessible guide to the mechanics of fiction.
Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400-800 By Chris Wickham (Oxford University Press, 990 pp., $50) Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Commerce AD 300-900 By Michael McCormick (Cambridge University Press, 1,130 pp., $72) I. A few years ago, I hitchhiked from the Benedictine monastery of Monte Oliveto, southeast of Siena, across rolling, forested, and sometimes craggy hills to the medieval hamlet of Amorosa, near the railway spur of Sinalunga. Waiting for the few passing cars left ample time to read the landscape all around me.
Gorky's Tolstoy and Other Reminiscences: Key Writings By and About Maxim Gorky Translated by Donald Fanger (Yale University Press, 320 pp., $30) Aleksei Maksimovich Peshkov, the future Maxim Gorky, was born in 1868 in Nizhni Novgorod on the Volga River, and grew up in what he later described in his melancholy, violent autobiography as "that close-knit, suffocating little world of pain and suffering where the ordinary Russian man in the street used to live, and where he lives to this day." It was the world of the provincial petty-bourgeois--neighbors cut the tails off each other's cats and so
The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism By Naomi Klein (Metropolitan Books, 576 pp., $28) It seems like a very long time—though in truth only a few years have passed—since the most sinister force on the planet that the left could imagine was Nike. In 2001, Time proclaimed that the anti-globalization movement had become the “defining cause” of a new generation, and that the spokesperson for the cause was the Canadian writer and activist Naomi Klein.
I. I gave you back my claim on the mining townand the rich vein we once worked,the tumble-downfrom a sluice-box that irked you so much, the narrow-gaugethat opened up to one and allwhen it ran out at the landing-stagebeyond the Falls. I gave you back oak tiesbully-flitches, the hand-hewn cross-beamsfrom which hung hard tack in a burlap bag that, I'd surmise,had burst its seamsthe last night we lay by the old spur track. II. You gave me back your frownand the most recent responsibility you'd shirkedalong with something of your renownfor having jumped from a cage just before it jerked to a stand
How Fiction WorksBy James Wood(Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 208 pp., $24) This admirable book is, among other things, a successful attempt to replace E.M. Forster's Aspects of the Novel as an accessible guide to the mechanics of fiction.
One thought, from over the river: the mosquitoeslost the smell of blood in me half way across.Old Eden verity--I am no more to blame for my deaththan I was for the sleazy rendezvous of my birth.God alters selfish men--now that they have no face,he has them regard the face, he teaches them howthey should have lived in a universe whose every centre isa little pot of self-regard, a little like yours. * This is the end of money, though we have black fingers;this the seedy afterlife of things.
Beijing: From Imperial Capital to Olympic City By Lillian M. Li, Alison J.
Bury me with my books.Slip one under my head:a satin pillow's much too softfor such a rigid bed.Bury me with my books.Open some on my chest,their pages shadowing the heartbeginning its long rest.Bury me with my books,tossed in until the holeis filled with words instead of dirtand I am like a molehappy to stay hidden,not needing light to seethat paper heaven made by hands,the books that buried me.Michael McFee By Michael McFee
I live on the flank of Vesuvius, in Pompeii. Each day the sky fills with leaflets, smokelets, prayers to powers aglitter whether storming or still (the old ones mica, the new ones who-cares-what).Everyone knows there's more than one kind of consciousness. Everyone knows that in the snow-globe of Vesuvius, the "snow" is really ash-- each time, the volcano buries the town.Would you meet me in a world like that? If not there, where?Chase Twichell By Chase Twichell