In the personable Bodega Bakes, pastry chef Paola Velez presents just that: sweets that can be made solely from the ingredients found at a corner store.
In the personable Bodega Bakes, pastry chef Paola Velez presents just that: sweets that can be made solely from the ingredients found at a corner store.
Faithful Unto Death is a thoughtful investigation into the bonds of pets and their owners that chronicles the ways in which we grieve and remember the animals we love.
Faithful Unto Death is a thoughtful investigation into the bonds of pets and their owners that chronicles the ways in which we grieve and remember the animals we love.
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Southerners love a good meal as much as they love a good story, and sitting down with food historian John T. Edge’s The Potlikker Papers: A Food History of the Modern South is like sitting down to a bountiful Sunday Southern dinner.

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America has such a long history of military readiness (some would say dominance) that it’s hard to conceive of a time when the country had no standing army at all and little public or political will to create one. That’s the period William Hogeland examines in this account of two crucial battles between American and American Indian forces, both of which took place in what is now the state of Ohio. The first was the 1791 massacre of American troops, commonly known as St. Clair’s Defeat, by a confederacy of American Indians; the second was the Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794, during which a trained army under General “Mad” Anthony Wayne so soundly routed the Indians that it effectively opened up the Northwest Territory to untrammeled settlement.

Resistance to the idea of building a standing army under presidential control came from members of Congress who feared concentrating that much power at the top would sow the seeds of a new form of tyranny. Better, they argued, to divide that power among the individual state militias. Wayne’s victory essentially put an end to that argument.

The story bristles with larger-than-life characters, chief among them George Washington, not just as a general and politician but as a self-interested land speculator who needed his investments protected; the relentless American Indian military leaders Little Turtle and Blue Jacket; a scheming and power-hungry Alexander Hamilton; and Mad Anthony, who finally succeeded at war after having failed at virtually everything else.

Hogeland correctly points out that St. Clair’s Defeat had far more impact on America’s development—and three times more casualties—than Sitting Bull’s victory over General Custer at the Little Big Horn. History, it appears, belongs to the best publicist.

America has such a long history of military readiness (some would say dominance) that it’s hard to conceive of a time when the country had no standing army at all and little public or political will to create one. That’s the period William Hogeland examines in this account of two crucial battles between American and American Indian forces, both of which took place in what is now the state of Ohio.

The “first mission to the moon”? Wasn't that Apollo 11? Not quite, as Jeffrey Kluger reminds us in Apollo 8: The Thrilling Story of the First Mission to the Moon. Seven months before Neil Armstrong's historic footsteps in July 1969, NASA astronauts Frank Borman, Jim Lovell and Bill Anders had actually flown to the moon, circled it 10 times and made it back to Earth, figuratively paving the way for Armstrong's crew.

Written with the taut pacing of a novel, Kate Moore’s The Radium Girls tells the horrifying true story of the young women who worked in radium dial factories in the 1920s and ’30s. Using radium dusted paint to create glow-in-the-dark numbers on watch faces, the “shining girls” became luminous themselves, their clothing and hair dusted with a deadly mist of the toxic poison. Discovered in 1898 by the Curies, radium was seen in the early decades of the 20th century as a wonderful discovery. Radium was used to treat cancerous tumors, and people ingested radium pills for good health.

Hundreds of young women in New Jersey and Illinois found employment as watch dial painters in factories where they used boar bristle brushes, licked to a fine point, to coat the tiny numbers with radium paint: “Lip … Dip … Paint,” in Kate Moore’s haunting refrain. Radium’s half-life of 1600 years and its ability to mimic calcium and target bones meant that it took several years before horrific ailments snuck up on the employees. Many young women lost teeth, parts of their jawbones and their lives before anyone began to connect their illnesses with their employment.

Moore’s extensive research into the individual life stories of these doomed women brings their struggle to achieve justice heartbreakingly to life. Despite clear evidence that radium was the cause of their deaths, the corporations buried evidence and refused to pay compensation to their grieving families. It took 15 years, and the dramatic bedside testimony of a dying woman, for the “Society of the Living Dead” to win their court case and institute federal regulations for the safe handling of radium. Their incredible story, beautifully told by Kate Moore, is sure to incite equal parts compassion and horror in the reader.

Written with the taut pacing of a novel, Kate Moore’s The Radium Girls tells the horrifying true story of the young women who worked in radium dial factories in the 1920s and ’30s. Using radium dusted paint to create glow-in-the-dark numbers on watch faces, the “shining girls” became luminous themselves, their clothing and hair dusted with a deadly mist of the toxic poison.
“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again . . . ” That evocative first sentence of Daphne du Maurier’s suspenseful novel Rebecca captured millions of readers, including the young Tatiana de Rosnay. A lifelong fan, de Rosnay set out to write a biography of du Maurier, calling it a “novel of a life.”
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Without Theo, there likely would have been no Vincent van Gogh as we know him. While other books and movies have taken on these curious and impassioned brothers, Deborah Heiligman’s impeccably researched biography hits all the right marks. Vincent and Theo is primarily based on letters the troubled artist and his art-dealer brother regularly wrote one another over the course of their lives.

The chapters are structured as “galleries” that peer into the van Goghs’ experiences with unrequited love, financial and emotional depression and the intensity of their bond. Vincent, the troubled and mentally ill painter, often becomes unmoored, tethered to reality only by Theo’s financial and emotional support. The brothers’ love is evident, yet their tug-of-war relationship is made clear from their turbulent exchanges. Heiligman’s exhaustive details cover everything from Vincent’s art career to his disheveled clothes and poor hygiene. Complete with a family tree, timeline and detailed bibliography, it’s unlikely a more thorough biography of the artist and his family could be written, especially for this age group.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Without Theo, there likely would have been no Vincent van Gogh as we know him. While other books and movies have taken on these curious and impassioned brothers, Deborah Heiligman’s impeccably researched biography hits all the right marks. Vincent and Theo is primarily based on letters the troubled artist and his art-dealer brother regularly wrote one another over the course of their lives.

Soon to be a film by Martin Scorsese, this brilliant narrative is a chilling tale of unfettered greed, cruel prejudice and corrupted justice.
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During a summer internship in Louisiana in 2003, Harvard law student Alexandria Marzano-Les­nevich heard about a case involving a pedophile who murdered a 6-year-old boy in 1992. When she watched the recorded confession of Ricky Langley, she writes that it “brought me to reexamine everything I believed not only about the law but about my family and my past.”

Marzano-Lesnevich lays out that re-examination in her unusual and riveting book, The Fact of a Body: A Murder and a Memoir, in which she interweaves the story of Langley’s crime with her own personal trauma.

The author, the daughter of two lawyers, grew up in a New Jersey family that was loving but refused to look back at the past. Problems such as her father’s depression and the death of Alexandria’s triplet baby sister were rarely, if ever, discussed. Marzano-Lesnevich, however, couldn’t stop looking back. Her grandfather sexually abused her and her sisters, and her parents tried to bury this fact. Later, they tried to ignore her anger. Despite this and other challenges, including tumultuous years spent dealing with undiagnosed Lyme disease and an eating disorder, Marzano-Les­nevich made a “Hail Mary pass to the future” by enrolling in Harvard Law School.

Marzano-Lesnevich’s triumph is in the way she simultaneously tells her story and Langley’s, showing how in both cases the past haunts the present, and how facts, memories, guilt, responsibility and forgiveness can be impossibly hard to pinpoint or fully understand. Her recounting of her grandfather’s abuse is a haunting exposé of what it feels like to be a victim. And while Langley will spend his life in prison, her grandfather, she writes, “got away with it.”

The author tells Langley’s story by reconstructing scenes based on court documents, transcripts, media coverage and even a play based on the case. She also relies heavily on the “creative” part of creative nonfiction—a method some may question—layering her “imagination onto the bare-bones record of the past to bring Langley’s past to life.”

Both stories are gripping enough in their own right to fill a book; Marzano-Lesnevich’s artful entwining enriches them both.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

During a summer internship in Louisiana in 2003, Harvard law student Alexandria Marzano-Les­nevich heard about a case involving a pedophile who murdered a 6-year-old boy in 1992. When she watched the recorded confession of Ricky Langley, she writes that it “brought me to reexamine everything I believed not only about the law but about my family and my past.”

In a four-decade career that includes a Pulitzer Prize and an impressive body of critically acclaimed novels and short stories, Richard Ford has never produced a work of nonfiction. With Between Them, a tender, deeply appreciative memoir of his parents, he impeccably remedies that gap in his résumé. What’s most extraordinary about these concise reminiscences—his mother’s written after her death of cancer in 1981 and his father’s some 55 years after the heart attack that killed him in 1960—is how Ford transmutes the utterly ordinary lives they describe into art.

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When staring up at a starlit night, who doesn’t wonder how the universe began, how the stars were born or how we happen to be here on Earth? These questions have existed since the beginning of time, but only recently have we been able to find any of the answers. Yet the answers, which are being discovered with dizzying speed, are not easily accessible to the general public. Everyone has heard of the big bang and Einstein’s theory of general relativity, but precious few of us have the time to learn the science behind them. Happily, in Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, Neil deGrasse Tyson answers our questions about how the universe ticks—without the painful mathematics.

Perhaps no one has done more to educate the nonscientific community about the universe than Tyson. As director of the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History, an author and a popular television personality, Tyson is, for many, the face of astrophysics—and for good reason. He is passionate about astrophysics and wants everyone else to be, too. This book, a compilation of 12 essays he wrote for Natural History magazine, is infectiously enthusiastic, humorous and, above all, accessible. Tyson is able to convey complicated concepts with clarity.

Ultimately, reading Astrophysics for People in a Hurry is both a humbling and exhilarating experience. Compared to the vast and expanding universe, we are tiny, irrelevant specks. But at the same time, by encouraging us to take a cosmic perspective, Tyson also reminds us that everything around us and in us—the Earth, the elements, perhaps even life itself—originated in space. We truly are made out of stars.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When staring up at a starlit night, who doesn’t wonder how the universe began, how the stars were born or how we happen to be here on Earth? These questions have existed since the beginning of time, but only recently have we been able to find any of the answers. Yet the answers, which are being discovered with dizzying speed, are not easily accessible to the general public. Everyone has heard of the big bang and Einstein’s theory of general relativity, but precious few of us have the time to learn the science behind them. Happily, in Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, Neil deGrasse Tyson answers our questions about how the universe ticks—without the painful mathematics.

Some people are born to write, and one of those people is Patricia Lockwood, who knew at age 6 that she would be a poet. In the final chapter of Priestdaddy, her debut memoir, Lockwood—whose poem “Rape Joke” won her a Pushcart Prize in 2015—marvels at her own forcefulness: “On the page I am strong, because that is where I put my strength.” In this brilliant and heartbreakingly funny book, the poet returns to her childhood home and offers the story of her unconventional Catholic upbringing and her larger-than-life parents.

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On the day of Joseph Petrosino’s funeral, the New York City mayor declared a public holiday. Everything shut down; a quarter-million people lined the streets to mourn his passing, as six black horses pulled his hearse in a procession from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to the cemetery.

Many readers are now asking themselves: Who on earth was Petrosino? Little remembered today, he was a hero more than 100 years ago—the first Italian police detective sergeant in the U.S. and the face of the national crusade against an extortion-and-kidnapping crime wave perpetrated mostly by Italian criminals against law-abiding fellow immigrants. Author Stephan Talty focuses on that crisis, at its height from 1903 to 1914, in his exciting narrative The Black Hand.

The Black Hand, a loosely affiliated collection of criminal gangs, terrorized Italian immigrants by extorting businesses, kidnapping children for ransom, blowing up buildings and killing the uncooperative. Most victims were too frightened to seek help, and the police and politicians were largely uninterested until the problem spread into nonimmigrant neighborhoods. But Petrosino, an incorruptible, opera-loving tough guy, fought back with his “Italian Squad” of cops, who developed modern investigative techniques.

During this era, Italian Americans had to overcome vile discrimination by native-born Americans. Talty’s writing is wonderfully evocative in capturing the complex immigrant experience of hope, fear, pride and bewilderment. He doesn’t stray into current events, but the parallels with contemporary political concerns are unmistakable. The first law allowing the deportation of immigrants who have criminal records in their home countries was passed in 1907, in direct response to the Black Hand. The organization was finally stamped out—but Petrosino lost his life in the struggle.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

On the day of Joseph Petrosino’s funeral, the New York City mayor declared a public holiday. Everything shut down; a quarter-million people lined the streets to mourn his passing, as six black horses pulled his hearse in a procession from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to the cemetery.

In the early hours of April 9, 1940, King Haakon VII of Norway was awakened by an aide shouting, “Majesty, we are at war!” The frantic and desperate flight of the Norwegian king and his government into snow-clad mountains and eventually to London is just one of the spellbinding stories in Lynne Olson’s masterful account of England in World War II, Last Hope Island.

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