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The True Meaning of Liberty for All

Her Right Foot

by Dave Eggers, Shawn Harris (artist)

Chronicle Books, ISBN 9781452162812, September 2017, Hardcover, 104 pp., ages 5-8

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“A friendly reminder of how America can be at its best.” – Entertainment Weekly

If you had to name a statue, 
any statue, 
odds are good you'd mention 
the Statue of Liberty.

Have you seen her?
She's in New York.
She's holding a torch.
And she's in mid-stride, 
moving forward.

But why?

In this fascinating and fun take on nonfiction, Dave Eggers and Shawn Harris investigate a seemingly small trait of America’s most emblematic statue. What they find is about more than history, more than art. What they find in the Statue of Liberty’s right foot is the powerful message of acceptance that is essential to the entire country’s creation.

A Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year

A School Library Journal Best Picture Book of the Year

A 2018 Orbis Pictus Award Honor Book

A Junior Library Guild selection

“In a time when immigration is a hot-button issue, it’s good to be reminded that Lady Liberty continues to lift her lamp beside the golden door.” – Booklist, starred review

“Thought-provoking.” Bulletin for the Center for Children’s Books, starred review

“A timely immigrant’s tale.” ShelfAwareness, starred review

“Crucial.” Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Heartfelt throughout and indisputable timely.” Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“Unique and important.” School Library Journal, starred review

“Vital.” School Library Connection, starred review

“As enlightening as it is charming.” The New York Times

“Witty, moving.” The Wall Street Journal


Review by Nell Beram freelance writer and YA author via Shelf-Awareness

Early on in Her Right Foot, the omniscient narrator says, “Did you know that the Statue of Liberty comes from France? This is true. This is a factual book.” The defensiveness is the tip-off to readers that this is not a typical biography of an iconic national monument — and hallelujah for that.

Her Right Foot‘s first half adopts something of the customary “fun facts” approach to children’s biography. But toward the book’s middle, the narrator cuts to the chase. The point is the great green lady’s little-discussed mid-stride right foot. Its significance consumes the narrator until the book’s “idea,” “theory,” breathless epiphany:

If the Statue of Liberty, an immigrant herself, has welcomed millions of immigrants to the United States, then how can she stand still?

In welcoming the poor, the tired, the struggling to breathe free,
She is not content to wait.

Readers needn’t be versed in today’s headlines to leave Her Right Foot with an arm in the air, raising not a torch but a fist. Dave Eggers’s (This Bridge Will Not Be Gray) energetic, fourth-wall-breaking narrative is paired with Shawn Harris’s invitingly chunky construction paper tableaux illustrations, whose earthbound scenes are nevertheless transcendent.

About the Author

Dave Eggers is the author of many books, including This Bridge Will Not Be Gray, A Hologram for the King and The Circle. He is a cofounder of Voice of Witness, an oral-history series focused on human-rights crises; 826 National, a network of writing and tutoring centers; and ScholarMatch, which connects donors and under-resourced students to make college possible.

About the Artist

Shawn Harris is an artist and musician who lives and works in Morongo Valley, California. Her Right Foot marks the first publication of his illustrations in a book.

The Poetic Persistence of Sharon OldsWhy critics can’t handle the poet’s honest depictions of life, death, and women.BY JONATHAN RUSSELL CLARK • 2 MONTHS AGO

I have done what you wanted to do, Walt Whitman,
Allen Ginsberg, I have done this thing,
I and the other women this exceptional
act with the exceptional heroic body,
this giving birth, this glistening verb,
and I am putting my proud American boast
right here with the others.               —Sharon Olds, “The Language of the Brag,” Satan Says (1980)

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One of my favorite activities as a critic—upon reviewing a book or writing about an author—is to rummage through my substantial collection of literary criticism for sources to reference or contend with. As I sifted through the books (by Updike, Oates, Dirda, Epstein, Krystal, Hardwicke, Vendler, Haas, Ozick, Dyer, Mendelsohn, Aykroyd, Booth, Sontag, Ginsberg, Hughes, etc. etc. etc.), I found only two volumes in which Olds appears. The first is A Jury of Her Peers by historian and critic Elaine Showalter, where Olds is mentioned once, and the second is poet Tony Hoagland’s nonfiction collection Twenty Poems That Could Save America, which actually features a full essay on Olds. Hoagland, too, quickly gets to the heart of the response to Olds’s work in the poetry community with this series of questions that open the piece:

What do you get as a reward for being a poet like Sharon Olds? For having written five-hundred-plus poems that plumb the range of family dynamics and intimate physicality with a precision and metaphorical resourcefulness greater than ever before applied to those subjects? For having permanently extended and transformed the tradition of the domestic poem?

His answer is, in part, success. But there are other things that come along with popularity and a wide readership:

You are run down by envious peers and overlooked by academics. Your name is invoked like a brand name to denote the obviousness of confessional poetry. You are accused of repetition, narcissism and exhibitionism.

Worse still are the reviews Olds receives from male critics, who seem to revel in first describing and then deriding her choice of subject matter and the ways in which she approaches them. Here’s a real astute piece of criticism from William Logan, in which he can barely contain his misogynistic glee:

If you want to know what it’s like for Sharon Olds to menstruate, or squeeze her oil-filled pores, or discover her naked father shitting, Blood, Tin, Straw will tell you. If you want to know what her sex life is like (it’s wonderful, trust her!), she’ll tell you, and tell you in prurient, anatomical detail the Greek philosophers would have killed for.

This is a disgusting excuse for criticism. The implicit argument is clear: the private life of a woman (the real, nitty-gritty details) should stay just that: private. Throughout her career, Olds has been criticized for “oversharing,” which is basically a euphemism for that woman is being honest about her body. To deny Olds her self as subject (including every aspect of that self) is to deny her personal autonomy, and to posit that the concerns of a woman cannot be inherently profound or insightful as literature.

Adam Kirsch, author of Rocket and Lightship, goes even further to suggest that Olds’s subjects—that is, her life, her body, and her experiences—somehow undercut their literary efficacy:

Her poems are written directly out of the trivia of her life and can be directly assimilated by the reader; there is no abstraction and no surprise, only the videotape of life played back at full volume … The reader of Olds is never made to question himself, only to congratulate himself on his fine sensitivity.

First of all, how appropriate that Kirsch falls back on the so-called general male pronoun at the end. Kirsch seems to think that anything you can literally understand is dubious in art, and that if he doesn’t relate to the “trivia” of Olds’s life, her poems must—must, for how can a male critic fail to recognize the complexity of Olds’s portrait of female sexuality?—be surface-level only. He also offers some simplistic derision of Olds’s direct takes on sex and sexuality:

It is only when sex is made to serve as a metaphorical focus for more elaborate and entangled feelings that it rings true, and becomes poetically alive. And since Olds has one simple and finally unsurprising feeling about sex—that its bodily goodness refutes its social or religious badness—the varied descriptions of sex in her poetry are monotonous.

One might quibble with a few points here (after all, is the argument that sex’s “bodily goodness refutes its social or religious badness” such a “simple” idea to express in poetry?), but the most shockingly short-sighted is that sex must serve some larger, metaphorical meaning in order to become “poetically alive.” Has Kirsch ever hadsex? A frank and direct depiction of the sexual act that isn’t exploitive or cloying or riddled with nearly unavoidable clichés—what, I ask you, could be more poetically alive than that?

Anis Shivani (a writer I’ll just go ahead and admit I loathe) named Olds as one of “The 15 Most Overrated Contemporary American Writers” in an article for Huffington Post in 2011. Other writers on the list include William T. Vollmann, Mary Oliver, John Ashberry, Antonya Nelson, Helen Vendler, Jhumpa Lahiri, Junot Díaz, Michael Cunningham, and Louise Gluck. Here are, in part, his reasons for Olds’s overblown reputation:

Female poets in workshops around the country idolize her, collaborate in the masochism, because they say she freed them to talk about taboo subjects, she “empowered” them. Likes to pile on gratuitously, well after she’s made the point about whatever bodily dysfunction is bothering her.

What a load of chauvinist bullshit. Here again, some dude views her poetry as “gratuitous,” which is basically a euphemism for gross. But even worse is the condescension toward “female poets” who feel “empowered” by Olds—who is he to tell them they’re wrong to feel free to write about “taboo subjects”? And, moreover, who the hell asked him, anyway?

Hoagland’s essay is entitled “The Poetic Development of Sharon Olds,” but in thinking about Olds’ “poetic development” during the 36-year span between her first collection Satan Says, from 1980, and Odes, her wonderful and vibrant latest, it becomes clear that there isn’t much “development” at all, inasmuch as Olds’ style, her structure, and her rigorous dedication to brutal honesty have remained the same. I would argue that in the face of such harsh and sexist criticism, in the face of “envious peers” and accusations of exhibitionism, Olds has continued, unabated, doing what she does, unapologetically and without compromise. Rather than condemning her for staying the course (why, after all, does “development” or “artistic progress” necessarily equal improvement?), I want to celebrate her stylistic persistence and her ever-deepening self-scrutiny as almost heroic, brave, admirable—and a big “fuck you” to inane male critics for whom the reality of women is simply too much to handle.

As if to establish this theme, Odes opens with three poems that demonstrate the subtle depth of those poems about which men like Kirsch get to congratulate themselves for understanding (but also criticize the poet for being understood). Here is a sample from “Ode to the Hymen”:

…I don’t know who
invented you—to keep a girl’s inwards
clean and well-cupboarded. Dear wall,
dear gate, dear stile, dear Dutch door, not a
cat-flap nor a swinging door
but a one-time piñata. How many places in the
body were made to be destroyed
once? You were very sturdy, weren’t you,
you took your job seriously—I’d never
felt such pain—you were the hourglass lady
the magician saws in two. I was proud of you,
turning to a cupful of the bright arterial
ingredient. And how lucky we were,
you and I, that we got to choose
when, and with whom, and where, and why—plush
pincushion, somehow related
to statues that wept.

An ode is a seemingly simple and direct form, fitting for Olds, but again she does much more work than mere celebration. Weaving through the above passage are numerous threads of a woman’s sexual identity: subtle jabs at the invention of the hymen and its subsequent representative virginity, the tragic commonness of sexual assault, and a contemplation of what the hymen represents for Olds as a living body filled with “the bright arterial ingredient.”

The next poem, “Ode to the Clitoris” begins with a series of evocative synonyms for the clit:

Little eagerness;
flower-girl basket of soft thorn
and petal, near the entry of the satin
column of the inner aisle;
scout in the wilderness; wild ear
which perks up; tender dowser, which points;
imp; shape-shifter; bench-pressing biceps of a
teeny goddess who is buff; lotus
for grief; weentsy Minerva who springs
full-armored, molten…

Have you ever read a more loving and lovely description of the clitoris or vagina? Within these various metaphors are subtle suggestions of Olds’s relationship with her sexuality, the self-possession of sensual agency. In these odes, Olds tackles her subjects just as much as she praises them.

Next up is “Ode to the Penis,” in which Olds writes that she finds the male organ “lovely and brave, and so interesting,” but notes her separateness from it:

I cannot imagine you, from within—but as a
sage said of a god, I do not want
to be sugar, I want to taste sugar!
But that’s just my heteromania talking,
and you’re not homo or hetero—or visible
or manifest, you do not exist
except as an imaginary quorum
of all your instances.

Olds crashes from a deity to a hint of fellatio to the political implications of the penis’s inherent sexuality. These are not, Mr. Kirsch, simplistic feelings or reductive ideas, at least not in their formulation. Olds shows herself in Odes, as in all of her work, as a virtuoso at sneaking modes of nuance into ostensibly straightforward poetry.

Now that we’ve seen some of Olds’s new poems in Odes, let’s take a look at some of her previous collections in order to trace this persistence and contrast it with Hoagland’s notion of development. Let’s take The Father from 1992 and Stag’s Leap from 2012.

Twenty years separate these collections, but there is so much to connect them in terms of style and delivery, they could almost have been published back to back. It should be noted, though, that Olds wrote many of the poems in Stag’s Leap around the time of her divorce in 1997, only five years after The Father. In an interview with The Wall Street Journal, Olds explained the time gap:

One thing about being grown children [during a divorce] is, thank god they’re not little children. At the same time, if it’s one of those marriages that looks really lasting, it’s a possibility they have never considered, and they’re like 30 years old. So, I figured I could just reassure them that this would not be a work of art. It just seemed to me the right thing is to say, “By the way, this won’t be a book for 10 years.”

Even though much of Stag’s Leap was written close to The Father, this doesn’t discredit my thesis here. In fact, I think it confirms my argument. Olds put together this collection using poems from a 15-year period, yet the book is consistent stylistically. In 2013, Stag’s Leap was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. And just recently, it was announced that Olds is this year’s recipient of the Wallace Stevens Award, which brings $100,000 with it. Her persistence has paid off.

Sharon Olds’s The Father tells the story of her father’s death—the build-up, the sickness, the logistics, the worry, the death, the ashes, the aftermath, and the ensuing years. Here we have an exhaustive account of sickness and mortality, filled with Olds’s characteristic bluntness. Take these lines from the poem “The Glass”:

…So my father has to gargle, cough,
spit a mouthful of thick stuff
into the glass every ten minutes or so,
scraping the rim up his lower lip
to get the last bit off his skin, then he
sets the glass down on the table and it
sits there, like a glass of beer foam,
shiny and faintly golden, he gargles and
coughs and reaches for it again
and gets the heavy sputum out,
full of bubbles and moving around like yeast—
he is like a god producing food from his own mouth.

This is undoubtedly a disgusting description, full of enough specificity to make one gag, but to consider this poem from only that point of view would be to completely miss the point. We’re early in the collection here, and Olds is establishing a tone of blunt directness that will run through the rest of the pages. “The Glass” in function can be compared to “Material Ode” from Stag’s Leap, in which Olds breaks the tenuous tone she’d set up in the opening poems. Stag’s Leap tells the story of Olds’s divorce from her husband of 32 years. The first few poems, which depict her husband telling her he’s going to leave, bristle with restrained emotion, like a person holding their breath before a decision is announced. In “Material Ode,” Olds moves into the hyper-personal:

O tulle, O taffeta, O grosgrain—
I call upon you now, girls,
of fabrics and the woman I sing. My husband
had said he was probably going to leave me—not
for sure, but likely, maybe—and no, it did not
have to do with her. O satin, O
sateen, O velvet, O fucking velveeta—
the day of the doctors’ dress-up dance,
the annual folderol, the lace,
the net, he said it would be hard for her
to see me there, dancing with him,
would I mind not going.

Here are the anger and resentment finally announcing themselves. It’s the first time thus far that Olds has directly come out and said how she feels about the situation. The breakdown of the high diction of “O tulle, O taffeta” comes at the line “O fucking velveeta.” The speaker can no longer maintain this air of poetic distance and highbrow laments, so she drops the act and laments a gross, pasty cheese. Her life is no longer like the beautiful fabrics she began with; now it’s as gourmet as fucking Velveeta. Moreover, it marks the first time Olds admits something shameful:

…And when he came
home and shed his skin, Reader,
I slept with him, thinking it meant
he was back, his body was speaking for him,
and as it spoke, its familiar sang
from the floor, the old-boy tie.

The word “Reader” is vital here. The speaker addresses the reader personally—a habit people have when they’re revealing something embarrassing or hard to say—as she admits to having sex with her husband. Coming early in the book, “Material Ode” works well as a precursor to all that follows.

Similarly, “The Glass” prepares the reader for harsh and hard-to-hear truths by literalizing them. Her father’s dripping phlegm as he unsuccessfully expectorates into the glass stands as a signpost of things to come. Things are going to get bleak, it suggests, dark and disgusting and unyielding—so prepare yourself.

In The Father, Olds forms the narrative with a discursive but ultimately forward-moving thrust. One could almost read just the Contents page for a distilled version of the story: “The Last Day,” “The Exact Moment of His Death,” “His Smell,” “The Dead Body,” “Death,” “The Feelings,” “After Death,” and “What Shocked Me When My Father Died” taken together basically tell the same tale. But Olds isn’t interested in narrative complexity so much as she is in the complexity of events themselves. Stag’s Leap is no different. Both collections describe relatively mundane, nearly universal, events—a death and a divorce (to how many of our own lives could such a title be applied?). What makes The Father and Stag’s Leap so fascinating is watching Olds experience each moment and find unique insight that elevates the familiar stories into riveting, original works.

Take, for instance, the opening lines of “His Smell”:

In the last days of my father’s life
I tried to name his smell—like yeast,
ochre catalyst feeding in liquid,
eating malt, excreting mash—
sour ferment, intoxicant, exaltant, the
strong drink of my father’s sweat,
I bent down over the hospital bed
and smelled it.

Many writers have described the pain of losing someone, the confusion, the fright, the ambivalence, the flood of past memories, the magical thinking—but how many have described the smell? Olds herself is surprised at the thought:

I had thought the last thing between us
would be a word, a look, a pressure
of touch, not that he would be dead
and I would be bending over him
smelling him, breathing him in
as you would breathe the air, deeply, before going into exile.

Olds considers both the way she experienced the death and how she thought she would experience it, making a kind of meta-confession. She offers the insight and comments on the conventions.

She employs a similar technique in “Pain I Did Not” from Stag’s Leap, in which she contemplates pain she didn’t experience but she assumed she would: “I was not driven / against the grate of a mortal life, but / just the slowly shut gate / of preference.” Olds repeatedly reminds us that life is never predictable, and more importantly, that the shock of this—of not feeling what we think we should, or how we think others feel—affects us just as much as the event itself.

Throughout her career, Olds’s form has remained consistent. Even when she outright states that she’s going to use a different form, she doesn’t. There’s “Bruise Ghazal” in Stag’s Leap that tosses a handful of the form’s styles into Olds’s standard single-stanza structure. In The Father, there’s a poem called “Waste Sonata.” A sonata is an opaque term, sure, but at the very least it refers to music, and usually music on a big scale. Here “Waste Sonata” is less than fifty lines. One could read these as sly digs at her critics, who seem to so lament her insistence on writing the way she wants. But “Waste Sonata” typifies even more about Olds’s writing than this. Here are the clunky line endings, mixed in with effective ones, and also the abrasive honesty of her lyricism, like this:

Whatever he poured into my mother
she hated, her face rippled like a thin
wing, sometimes, when she happened to be near him,
and the liquor he knocked into his body
felled him, slew the living tree,
loops of its grain started to cube,
petrify, coprofy, he was a
shit, but I felt he hated being a shit,
he had never imagined it could happen, this drunken
sleep was a spell laid on him––
by my mother!

A poorly chosen line-ending like “he was a” must be suffered through in order to get the magic of the following “shit, but I felt he hated being a shit.” And for those concerned with what’s appropriate material for poetry, this poem flies in the face of expectations in that regard. Her investigation into the word shit—“He’s full of shit,” “he was a /shit,” and actual defecation—proves that Olds is as adept at language as any poet, but she focuses that skill on subjects some people—namely, men—have proprietary problems with.

Finally, this poem captures the ambivalence, the evenness, of Olds’s conclusion of her emotional arc in each book. Here are some of the final lines of “Waste Sonata”:

My father was not a shit. He was a man
failing at life. He had little shits
travelling through him while he lay unconscious––
sometimes I don’t let myself say
I loved him, anymore, but I feel
I almost love those little shits that move through him,
shapely, those waste fetuses,
my mother, my sister, my brother, and me
in that purgatory.

Olds doesn’t let herself say it, but she does love her father in some way. She’s able to forgive many of his lesser qualities through the lens of his failings. In losing him, she finds much to gain in her relationship to with him.

Stag’s Leap comes to a similar conclusion about the loss of her husband. In “What Left?” Olds ends on a vague note of equivocality:

…We fulfilled something in each other—
I believed in him, he believed in me, then we
grew, and grew, I grieved him, he grieved me,
I completed him, he completed me, we
made whole cloth together, we succeeded,
we perfected what lay between him and me,
I did not deceive him, he did not deceive me,
I did not leave him, he did not leave me,
I freed him, he freed me.

Here is the same insistence on evening things out. She doesn’t hate her ex-husband, nor does she blame him, though he did blameworthy things. Her father too receives absolution, in a sense, from his daughter.

Critics write of Olds’s poetry as if the “repulsiveness” of it were somehow her invention. If her poetry is shocking, off-putting, or blunt, it’s because life is all of those things. Olds does not invent, she describes. The plainness of her language, the directness of her descriptions and depictions, and the domesticity of her topics combine together to elevate not only Olds’s experiences but ours, and underneath them lay oodles of complexity and nuance. There is less development between The Father and Odes than there is extension—of reach, of depth, of honesty—but not of style or approach. In her work, we see through her eyes the life of a singular human being, uncompromisingly woman, a scathing observer, a keen wit, and, crucially, a poet willing to explore the utter strangeness of existence. It reminds us that our private lives are all disgusting and strange and weird and difficult to share, and won’t let us forget how each moment—from a husband leaving his wife to a father leaving this earth—and how each thing—from fabrics and shit to the cock and the clit—can, with the right turn of phrase, the right kind of heart, kill you as much as it can heal you.

About Jonathan Russell Clark

Jonathan Russell Clark

JONATHAN RUSSELL CLARK is a literary critic. He is a staff writer for Literary Hub , and a regular contributor to The Georgia Review and The Millions. His work has appeared in The New York Times Book ReviewTin HouseThe AtlanticThe New RepublicLA Review of BooksThe RumpusChautauquaPANK, and numerous others. His essays have been mentioned in The Guardian, NPR.org, BBC.com, Bookforum.com, Electric LiteratureWord RiotPoets & Writers, and as one of Katie Couric’s Katie’s FYI. Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma and raised in Columbus, Ohio, Clark was educated at the University of Oxford, the University of Nevada in Las Vegas, UMass Boston, and the University of North Carolina Wilmington.

BOOK REVIEW:  The World Of Tomorrow | Brendan Mathews 

NPR | September 6, 2017

‘The World Of Tomorrow’ Is A Huge Story, Told Intimately

Brendan Mathew’s The World of Tomorrow follows three Irish brothers having the best (or the worst) week of their lives, in 1939 New York. It’s a serious literary novel, but full of madcap flourishes.

In Mathews’s world, tomorrow isn’t owned by any one viewpoint and it doesn’t offer only one promise. It looks different depending on who’s doing the looking.

tomorrow like a magic trick — unsure of what will come, but watching with equal amounts of skepticism and wonder

the past is a curse that must be borne only until tomorrow comes.

the weight of history and the promise of tomorrow made by America to all those who made it to her shores back in the day

Book Review | The Lost History of Stars by Dave Boling

From a forgotten moment in history comes an inspiring novel about finding strength and courage in the most unimaginable places.

In turn-of-the-century South Africa, fourteen-year-old Lettie, her younger brother, and her mother are Dutch Afrikaner settlers who have been taken from their farm by British soldiers and are being held in a concentration camp. It is early in the Boer War, and Lettie’s father, grandfather, and brother are off fighting the British as thousands of Afrikaner women and children are detained. The camps are cramped and disease ridden; the threat of illness and starvation are ever present. Determined to dictate their own fate, Lettie and her family give each other strength and hope as they fight to survive amid increasingly dire conditions.

Brave and defiant, Lettie finds comfort in memories of stargazing with her grandfather, her plan to be a writer, and surprising new friendships that will both nourish and challenge her. A beautiful testament to love, family, and sheer force of will, The Lost History of Stars was inspired by Dave Boling’s grandfather’s own experience as a soldier during the Boer War. Lettie is a figure of abiding grace, and her story is richly drawn and impossible to forget.

Link to an Excerpt (pdf) of The Lost History of Stars

Link to Author’s essay (pdf) A Young Girl in a Forgotten War which reveals

  •  why he was drawn to the Boers War

One of the original impetuses for The Lost History of Stars was that my grandfather had been some manner of camp guard in the British Army during the Boer War. I realized after just a little bit of research that this war has been largely forgotten by most of the world, even though it was a blueprint for the warfare and cruelty to come later in the twentieth century.  With the Boer men and boys (ages eight to eighty) in commandos out on the veld, the British burned the Boer farms and forced the displaced women and children into hastily constructed concentration camps. In the face of terrible sanitation, overcrowding, and lack of food and medical services, twenty-seven thousand women and children died in the camps, a total nearly ten times greater than the number of deaths of soldiers in combat on both sides. It was, truly, a war against children.

  • the process that lead him to integrate fact-based research with Aletta’s personality to deftly narrate the novel in her voice, relating what she experienced and survived her imprisonment

At that point, I surrendered the narration of the book to the character who could breathe life into it: an adolescent girl named Aletta Venter. Over time, that’s left too few opportunities to celebrate the small, hard-won individual victories of brave characters like Aletta Venter.

  • how Aletta morphed into his heroine

Aging from twelve to fourteen in the book, Aletta has the audacity to believe she can carve out bits of normalcy while imprisoned in a British concentration camp in South Africa during the Anglo-Boer War (1899–1902). She grows, adapts, and takes joy in her small daily insurgencies. When facing a lack of paper for her journal, she steals every copy of the posted camp rules she can find. Because, as she reasons, among the many rules imposed by the Brits, none forbids the stealing of the rules. To Aletta, imprisonment is a state of mind, so she wages her tiny war against the British Empire with her only weapons: hope and imagination.

 The Lost History of Stars
Author: Dave Boling | Publisher: Algonquin Books | List Price: $25.95
Hardcover: ISBN 978-1-61620-417-4 | Sale Date 7 June 2017 | Pages 352
Purchase at  Amazon   IndieBound   Powell’s
Ebook: ISBN 978-1-61620-714-4 | Sale Date 11 July 2017
Purchase at  Amazon Kindle   Kobo

Meet the Author
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Born and raised in South Chicago, Dave Boling now lives and works as a sports columnist in the Seattle, Washington area. His first novel, Guernica, an extraordinary historical tale of love, family and war set in the Basque town of Guernica before, during, and after its destruction by the German Luftwaffe during the Spanish Civil War, became an international bestseller and has been translated into 13 languages. Prior to journalism, Boling played football at the University of Louisville and worked as an ironworker in Chicago, a logger in the Pacific Northwest, a bartender, a bouncer, and a laborer in a car factory and steel mills. Boling began writing fiction at age 53.


Algonquin Books |Books For A Well-Read Life

Short Story Collections that Touch on the Delicacy of Humanity, and All of the Love, Tragedy, and Recovery that comes with it

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The stories that frequently have the most impact are capable of diving deep to allow readers to explore, fully experience,  a range of emotional highs and lows within the span of only a few pages. Although stories of this nature may be brief in length, they are vast in meaning, and are nothing short of breathtaking.

In honor of Short Story Month, Signature compiled a list of excellent short story collections that span a variety of topics and facets of life. The collections compiled below are all newly released this year or forthcoming in the next few weeks.

  • The cover of the book Things We Lost in the Fire

    Things We Lost in the Fire
    by Mariana Enriquez

    Argentina provides the backdrop for this collection of sometimes disturbing and always provocative stories by Buenos Aires-based writer Mariana Enriquez. From an unlikely serial killer to a curious form of protest to a particularly strange instance of hikikomori, the stories in this collection will mesmerize you.

  • The cover of the book The World to Come

    The World to Come
    Stories by Jim Shepard

    Award-winning writer Jim Shepard is back with his fifth collection of stories, courtesy of The World to Come. The author takes us on adventures spanning geography and time -in these ten stories, which touch on war, family, grief, disillusionment, and beyond.

  • The cover of the book Bit Rot

    Bit Rot
    stories + essays by Douglas Coupland

    In his 1991 novel, Generation X, Douglas Coupland debuted his straightforward, edgy, intelligent style of writing while popularizing the phrase we needed to define the post-Boom generation. He’s hardly slowed down since and now presents his new collection, Bit Rot. Ever one to find inspiration in the changing times, this collection of essays and stories focuses on new-millennium life.

  • The cover of the book Hot Little Hands

    Hot Little Hands
    Fiction by Abigail Ulman

    Australian writer Abigail Ulman’s fiction debut, Hot Little Hands, was met with ample praise from critics when it landed in May 2016. In nine stories, Ulman introduces us to young women who are in various states of coming of age – and all the while entirely relatable – while imparting the perfect amount of humor and poignancy simultaneously.

  • The cover of the book What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

    What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours
    Stories by Helen Oyeyemi

    Award-winning British novelist Helen Oyeyemi had, until last year, stuck to novels and plays for her life in fiction. When her much-anticipated debut story collection, What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours, landed in March 2016, it was everything we wanted it to be and more. And we’re not alone in thinking so; the book has landed on some of the most respected Best Of lists out there. With the theme of keys at its center, Oyeyemi’s first collection is as playful as it is thoughtful and will keep you captivated until the very last page.

  • The cover of the book Cockfosters

    Cockfosters
    Stories by Helen Simpson

    Helen Simpson continues her legacy of being one of the finest internationally acclaimed short story writers with the release of this cynical, yet tender collection. These nine stories revolve around the ever-perplexing concepts of time and aging, and take us from today’s London and Berlin to the wild west of the USA and the wilder shores of Mother Russia.

  • The cover of the book The Family Markowitz

    The Family Markowitz
    Fiction by Allegra Goodman

    These witty short stories are linked through three generations of Markowitzes: Rose, the irritable matriarch; Henry, her art-loving son living in London; Rose’s younger son Ed, a terrorism scholar at Georgetown; and Ed’s daughter Miriam, the medical student who, to her parents’ dismay, becomes an Orthodox Jew. Goodman follows the family’s everyday experiences in such a way that makes the whole family come alive between the pages.

  • The cover of the book These Heroic, Happy Dead

    These Heroic, Happy Dead
    Stories by Luke Mogelson

    Luke Mogelson’s debut collection provides a raw and intimate look at lives that have been transformed by war: soldiers, their families, government officials, and civilians. These ten stories showcase the unexpected cost of war, and the people who have paid the price.

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  • The cover of the book Homesick for Another World

    Homesick for Another World
    Stories by Ottessa Moshfegh

    Award-winning fiction writer Ottessa Moshfegh is known for her short stories for a reason. She has the unique ability to develop characters that represent the human condition in an unfiltered way—they’re lonely and dissatisfied, desperate for something more. These stories are for anyone that has ever felt a deep homesickness for a place they’ve never been before.

  • The cover of the book Signals

    Signals
    New and Selected Stories by Tim Gautreaux

    Widely celebrated novelist Tim Gautreaux proves that he is also a master of short stories with this timeless twelve-story collection about decision-making and morality. Gautreaux deviates from writing about history with this collection and instead focuses on the contemporary life of tight-knit, working class communities in Louisiana, North Carolina, and Minnesota.

  • The cover of the book Mexico

    Mexico
    Stories by Josh Barkan

    International Short Story Prize Winner Josh Barkan has, yet again, captured the essence of humanity by exploring the lives of different people striving for one common goal: peace. Cartel violence seems to make this goal impossible to achieve, with danger lurking around every corner. These stories are about overcoming fear and finding love in the midst of great loss.

  • The cover of the book Living in the Weather of the World

    Living in the Weather of the World
    Stories by Richard Bausch

    Award-winning novelist and universally acclaimed short story writer Richard Bausch showcases his talent in thirteen remarkable tales of human experience. He gives a voice to those that are suffering from troubles with family and marital woes, the tragedy of suicide, the divide between friends and lovers, and the delicate transience of love.

  • The cover of the book What It Means When a Man Falls from the Sky

    What It Means When a Man Falls from the Sky
    Stories by Lesley Nneka Arimah

    One of the most anticipated books of 2017, this debut collection explores the bonds between parents and children, husbands and wives, lovers and friends, and to the places they call home. Each character in this collection experiences something that changes their life forever, and must learn to cope with unexpected repercussions.

  • The cover of the book The Pier Falls

    The Pier Falls
    And Other Stories by Mark Haddon

    This collection from the beloved, bestselling author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time takes the reader on a journey from England to Mars, and from ancient Greece to deep in the Amazon. Largely based on history, myth, folklore, and modern life, The Pier Falls combines sci-fi and realism to form nine unforgettable stories.

  • The cover of the book Trajectory

    Trajectory
    Stories by Richard Russo

    Pulitzer Prize winner Richard Russo veers from his typical blue-collar profile of his characters in these four extensive stories. This time around, we look at the relationships between a professor and his plagiarizing student, a father and a son, two brothers, and a novelist and his sick wife. This collection reminds us that people are flawed, and inflict pain on those they love the most.

  • The cover of the book Wedding Stories

    Wedding Stories
    Edited by Diana Secker Tesdell

    A brilliant, romantic matrimony of a variety of works by famous writers from across the past two centuries. The stories collected here encompass the lives of all kinds of people– young and old, rich and poor, divorced and widowed, and single mothers and fathers– all seeking happiness and satisfaction in marriage, even when life doesn’t go as planned.

  • The cover of the book Men Without Women

    Men Without Women
    Stories by Haruki Murakami

    This collection of short stories centers on seven men dealing with emotional tragedy: be it a broken heart, a love triangle, or even death. All seven men seem to feel lost and alone, but soon become overwhelmed with passion as they cross paths with mysterious women.


Celebrate SHORT STORY MONTH by joining us in focusing on short stories throughout the month of May. Download Signature’s Compact Guide to Short Story Writing, an exclusive compilation of advice on short story writing by some of the best short story authors of today. Mary Gordon, Charles Yu, Nell Stevens, and many others impart meaningful advice, best practices, and valuable insight into the process of writing short stories.


What’s the secret to a great short story? How does a writer go about capturing a reader’s attention quickly and effectively? Can one inspire an emotional and intellectual investment in a cast of characters in just a small number of pages? And how does a writer know what’s essential to something so slim? We at Signature were wondering the same things, and decided to reach out to some of our favorite short story authors. In this exclusive guide, you’ll find:

  • What short story writers most often overlook;
  • How to get to the point;
  • What essential elements are required in a great story;
  • How to create quality characters with limited time;
  • A quick-and-dirty 3-step guide to writing a short story;
  • And more.
Sign up for the Signature and Penguin Random House newsletters to get the guide. And then get writing!

BOOKS@signature-reads.com

BOOK REVIEW: Elegy for April by Benjamin Black

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Elegy for April
by Benjamin Black

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

April Lavery has vanished. A junior doctor at a local hospital, she is something of a trail-blazer in the deeply conservative and highly patriarchal society of 1950s Dublin. Though her family is one of the most respected in the city, she is known for being independent-minded; her taste in men, for instance, is decidedly unconventional, as evidenced by her current boyfriend, a handsome and charismatic medical student from Nigeria.

Then April disappears, and Phoebe Griffin, her best friend, immediately suspects the worst. Frantic, Phoebe seeks out Quirke, her brilliant but erratic father, and asks him for help. Sober again after intensive treatment for alcoholism, Quirke soon learns that his old sparring partner, Detective Inspector Hackett, has been assigned to the high-profile case. This time, Hackett welcomes Quirke’s help—the pathologist’s knowledge of the darker byways of the city may allow him to uncover crucial information about April’s whereabouts. And as Quirke becomes deeply involved in April’s murky story, he encounters complicated and ugly truths about race-hatred, Catholic ruthlessness, and family savagery.

Both an absorbing crime novel and a brilliant portrait of the difficult and relentless love between a father and his daughter, this is Benjamin Black at his sparkling best.

View all my reviews

Rare World War II Propaganda Posters | Time.com

Though some wartime propaganda art has since become iconic, plenty of posters from the World War II era are rare, with few original examples having survived through the decades. World War II Posters, a new book, brings to light some of those artifacts. The book features highlights from the more than 10,000 posters collected over…

via See the Rare Propaganda Posters of World War II — TIME

Is It Too Soon for Deadpool Graphic Novel?

Check out the trade collection of the Deadpool mini-series.

via Marvel Weekly Graphic Novel Review: Deadpool: Too Soon? — Graphic Policy

BOOK REVIEW: All Joe Knight | Kevin Morris | Grove Atlantic Press

9780802125781- all joe knight-kevin morris
All Joe Knight by Kevin Morris
Grove Atlantic Press, December  2016
ISBN 978080212578, Fiction

I am Joe, sometimes Joey. Ordinary Joe. Average Joe. Joe Blow. Joseph Michael Knight, Jr. Joe Knight. All night long. All Knight Long. All Knight.

1961. Outside Philadelphia, a soon-to-be father runs into a telephone pole while driving drunk; nine months later, his widow dies in a smashed-up T-Bird. From the start, the orphaned Joe Knight is a blank slate. Taken in by a kindly aunt in a tough-skinned suburb, Joe finds his family in high school with the Fallcrest basketball team—the kind of team that comes around once in a lifetime. All these kids want is to make it to the Palestra, UPenn’s cathedral of college basketball.

Fast forward thirty years. Joe is newly divorced with one daughter and certain he is unfit for love. Ever since he sold the ad firm that he built from the ground up for millions of dollars, he spends his time at a local business school or going to strip clubs, the only place it seems he can quiet his mind. A former Fallcrest teammate, Chris Scully, who is now district attorney advises Joe of a Justice Department investigation into the deal that made Joe rich years ago. The deal that Joe brought all of his former Fallcrest basketball teammates in on, except for Scully. Details emerge about Joe’s alleged wrongdoing, forcing Joe to come to term with the secret that has tormented him for decades.

Excerpt from ALL JOE KNIGHT by Kevin Morris:

Truth is I’ve made enough money and cut off enough strings that I don’t have to do anything and I like it. Coming up the way I did, from where I did, I am not burdened by a sense of sympathy or the guilt of a free pass. Truth is the math is simple: I don’t care enough about changing the general state of things to do anything. If you tuck enough away and are just carrying yourself, there is really not much anyone can do to you, especially if you are not pushing into anyone else’s world. That’s the great thing about America—the freedom to succeed and the freedom to be let alone once you do.

I think about kids once in a while, like who is the kid out there who is me, just forty years later. That passes unanswered. My own kid, she’ll be okay, I have her fixed up, and she doesn’t really want much from me anyway. Truth is there’s nothing about the status quo that on balance makes me want to do anything differently than live life in this nice-ass apartment, above what’s left of the greene country towne that will never be burnt, always wholesome. Truth is I have ridden a wave generated by a miracle wind-machine born in this brick city five lifetimes ago. All this freedom. Truth is I will probably die like this, another American man who got what he wanted.

Kevin  Morris is the author of the acclaimed story collection White Man’s Problems. He previously wrote for Wall Street Journal, Los Angeles Times, and Filmmaker magazine, produced the well-regarded documentary Hands on a Hardbody and was co-producer of  The Book of Mormon, a Tony Award winning play.

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