Night Rides at the Fair, 2011

You don't look back along time, but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away. (p. 1)It is the "sometimes nothing" that is particularly problematic for Elaine. Throughout her life, she is periodically startled by a gap in her memory, a time period that seems lost. What she learns, long after her life has settled into comfort, is that she was the victim of childhood bullies who sometimes acted as friends, confusing the young Elaine who wasn't prepared for how cruel girls can be.
The "Tartine Bread" approach follows a loose set of concepts that we introduce in a single "basic recipe" and then build on throughout the book. As you gain an understanding of how bread "works," you will be able to make adjustments in timing and technique to achieve a broad range of results. The goal of making bread with a satisfying depth of flavor, a good crust, and a moist, supple crumb is a constant. (p. 13)I usually bake with yeast, but Robertson's method begins with a starter (similar to sourdough) and relies on a slow rise. From his basic country bread, a whole world of baking opens up, from simple round loaves to pizza, semolina bread, baguettes, and even English muffins.
The author of the award-winning The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit—hailed by the New York Times book review as a “crushing, brilliant book”—returns with this, the extraordinary follow-up memoirOne of the strongest reactions I had to Lagnado's memoir was that she is only a year younger than I am, but her American experience of 1964 (when she came to the States) to 1973 (when she went to college) was worlds away from mine. Although I was perfectly aware of Orthodox Jewish communities in New York and in my own Ohio hometown, I was far removed from that life. I had to keep reminding myself that Lagnado and I grew up during the same time period.
In The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit, Lucette Lagnado offered a heartbreaking portrait of her father, Leon, a successful Cairo boulevardier who was forced to take flight with his family during the rise of the Nasser dictatorship, and of her family’s struggle to rebuild a new life in a new land.
In this much-anticipated new memoir, Lagnado tells the story of her mother, Edith, coming of age in a magical old Cairo of dusty alleyways and grand villas inhabited by pashas and their wives. Then Lagnado revisits her own early years in America—first, as a schoolgirl in Brooklyn’s immigrant enclaves, where she dreams of becoming the fearless Mrs. Emma Peel of The Avengers, and later, as an “avenging” reporter for some of America’s most prestigious newspapers. A stranger growing up in a strange land, when she turns sixteen Lagnado’s adolescence is further complicated by cancer. Its devastating consequences would rob her of her “arrogant years”—the years defined by an overwhelming sense of possibility, invincibility, and confidence. Lagnado looks to the women sequestered behind the wooden screen at her childhood synagogue, to the young coeds at Vassar and Columbia in the 1970s, to her own mother and the women of their past in Cairo, and reflects on their stories as she struggles to make sense of her own choices.
In the two years or so we'd been on the road, I did miss my mom. When I was really homesick in those first lonely, bumpy days at a new place, I wasn't lonely for my old house or friends, or anything else specific, as much as just the comfort she represented. It was the little things, like her smell, the way she always hugged too tight, how she looked just enough like me to make me feel safe at a single glance. Then, though, I'd remember it wasn't her that I was really yearning for as much as a mirage, who I'd thought she was. The person who cared enough about our family to never want to split us all into pieces. (p. 18)—From What Happened to Goodbye by Sarah Dessen (Penguin USA / Viking, 2011)
What can't a good cookie do? It staves off hunger, it's perfectly portable, and, crumbs be damned, you can even sneak one or two into your pocket. Put out a plate of cookies in any room, and it will demonstrate a gravitational pull that rivals celestial bodies. (p. 160)I plan on baking later in the weekend; I'll let you know how they turned out.
Tom Violet always thought that by the time he turned thirty-five, he’d have everything going for him. Fame. Fortune. A beautiful wife. A satisfying career as a successful novelist. A happy dog to greet him at the end of the day.Yes, I can assure you that Tom's adventures will have you laughing and cringing. Everyone—man or woman—will be able to relate to Tom and his family because each character seems so real; it's as if you knew them or had one of two of them in your own family. I particularly love that Tom has a book in manuscript while both his parents have been published, although his mother's collection of short stories has gone out of print.
The reality, though, is far different. He’s got a wife, but their problems are bigger than he can even imagine. And he’s written a novel, but the manuscript he’s slaved over for years is currently hidden in his desk drawer while his father, an actual famous writer, just won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. His career, such that it is, involves mind-numbing corporate buzzwords, his pretentious archnemesis Gregory, and a hopeless, completely inappropriate crush on his favorite co-worker. Oh . . . and his dog, according to the vet, is suffering from acute anxiety.
Tom’s life is crushing his soul, but he’s decided to do something about it. (Really.) Domestic Violets is the brilliant and beguiling story of a man finally taking control of his own happiness—even if it means making a complete idiot of himself along the way.
"I like the choice of flowers," I say. "Would a violet by any other name be so . . . purple? Shakespeare wrote that. You can look it up if you'd like."I can't leave Domestic Violets without one last note: I was particularly amused by Tom's life in the corporate world, and I closed the book thankful that I found a way to be my own boss, without having co-workers or endless meetings. I'm so glad I never had to contend with some of Tom's colleagues.
"They're prettier and more vivid in the wild, I suppose, but domestic violets are nice, too. The Greeks believed they symbolized fertility and potency, you know."
As I quietly let the irony of this knee me in the groin a few times, we settle into two of the three wicker chairs.
It would be a night of murder, they'd been told. And there'd be lemon squares, too.Joanna Briscoe
It's haunted, she thought.
They emerged from the lanes on to the upper reaches of the moor, and Cecilia understood that the baby girl was still there: there in the sodden cloud shadows, there in the bracken.
The sun had not even burned dew off the grass under the live oaks, but the air was thick and soupy already, air you could swim around in, and it was dead-summer hot.Jeff Hirsch
Inside the car she had not yet noticed parked on her street, a patient hunter dabbed at a trickle of perspiration and watched as Westmore Drive began a sleepy jog toward midweek.
I was sitting at the edge of clearing, trying not to stare at the body on the ground in front of me. Dad had said we'd be done before dark, but it had been hours since the sun had gone down and he was still only waist deep in the hole, throwing shovelfuls of dirt over his shoulder.
The air feels sweet and moist and just the slightest bit warm when you get off the 9 p.m. flight to Cali. It clings to your skin, but in the faintest, most tenuous way, like the sheerest of gauze blouses touching but not touching your arms as you breathe.Jacques Strauss
When I was eleven I was too old to cry in front of my friends, but not too old to fake a stomachache at a sleepover if I was suddenly overcome with homesickness because my friend's mother and made mutton stew and prayed before the meal and bought no-name-brand toothpaste that tasted funny.From the opening lines, which of these would you read first? I haven't yet decided.
Bakersfield, California, in the late 1950s is a dusty, quiet town too far from Los Angeles to share that city’s energy yet close enough to Hollywood to fill its citizens with the kinds of dreams they discover in the darkness of the movie theater. For Teresa, a young, aspiring singer who works at a shoe store, dreams lie in the music her mother shared with her, plaintive songs of love and longing. In Dan Watson, the most desirable young man in Bakersfield, she believes she has found someone to help her realize those dreams.There are several things that attracted me to Muñoz's novel, including the Psycho connection, the time period, and the contrasts and similarities between the script and small-town life. What I wasn't expecting was the intriguing noir style of the book, from the way the Hollywood people are referred to by their roles (the Director, the Actress) to the second-person narrative to the mystery of what people do when shrouded by darkness. Jealousy, desire, mothers and sons, and of course murder—both on screen and off—sit in the driver's seat, and you're thankful for the ride.
When a famous actress arrives from Hollywood with a great and already legendary director, local gossip about Teresa and Dan gives way to speculation about the celebrated visitors, there to work on what will become an iconic, groundbreaking film of madness and murder at a roadside motel. No one anticipates how the ill-fated love affair between Dan and Teresa will soon rival anything the director could ever put on the screen.
This thoroughly original work is intense and fascinating in its juxtapositions of tenderness and menace, violence and regret, played out in a town on the brink of change.