United States
Born in Jackson, Michigan, educated at Dartmouth College. Former book editor; bookseller; reviews and essays in Washington Post, many more. Jersey City, NJ.
My painting doesn't look much like the painting in the book, but it's ... not awful?
Consider the Fender Stratocaster.
Even if you don't recognize the name Arthur Fellig, you know his work.
This book about card catalogues sent me into a week-long depression.
In the beginning, there was Chuck. Forget Elvis Presley; everyone knew who the real king was.
Adams was like a 19th-century Kylo Ren: hangdog in affect, haunted by a distinguished ancestry.
This spring's double-barreled canonization at last allows us finally to pose the question: Was Cheever great?
In a famous episode of "The Sopranos," Tony takes his teenage daughter on a college trip to an idyllic New England hamlet.
"A rude and brainless subculture of fascist drunks," Hunter S. Thompson wrote of sportswriters.
Some adults may find it mysterious, but abstract art is often enchanting, even coherent, to kids.
The poems in Kay Ryan's astonishing collection "The Best of It" are so crisp and immediate that they seem effortless.