Mouthwatering recipes, gorgeous photography and enlightening social context make Our South, Breaking Bao and more cookbooks worthy of a spot on your kitchen shelf.
Mouthwatering recipes, gorgeous photography and enlightening social context make Our South, Breaking Bao and more cookbooks worthy of a spot on your kitchen shelf.
In her plucky, intimate memoir, Glory Edim, the creator of the Well-Read Black Girl book club, tethers the books and authors she has found and loved to her own rocky journey of self-discovery—it’s reader catnip.
In her plucky, intimate memoir, Glory Edim, the creator of the Well-Read Black Girl book club, tethers the books and authors she has found and loved to her own rocky journey of self-discovery—it’s reader catnip.
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You may not have heard of Geoff Dyer, but this novelist, critic and essayist has been called "one of our most original writers," and indeed his writing is unique, with titles ranging from Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It and Another Great Day at Sea: Life Aboard the USS George H.W. Bush. Born in Great Britain and currently living and teaching in Los Angeles, Dyer takes readers on a tour of both the world and his intriguing mind in White Sands: Experiences from the Outside World.
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At the beginning of Hamilton: The Revolution, theater critic and co-author Jeremy McCarter describes the moment he first heard Lin-Manuel Miranda’s pitch for what was, at the time, a concept album about the life and times of Founding Father Alexander Hamilton. The book ends (spoiler alert for those of you who don’t read the news) with President Barack Obama addressing an audience at the end of a performance. If you’ve watched Hamilton’s rise from improbable idea to impossible hit, this progression will not be surprising. What’s great about Hamilton: The Revolution isn’t its destination. It’s the way it chronicles a distinctive creative journey.

Hamilton: The Revolution is, in itself, a beautiful object. Miranda himself christened it the “Hamiltome,” and it is the kind of gorgeous book you can proudly display in your living room. Musical theater is a combination of song, dance and story, and this book fittingly mirrors that with its combination of memoir, journalism and gorgeous still photography. Designers Paul Kepple and Max Vandenberg do a masterful job blending McCarter’s journalism and Miranda’s musical annotations with artful cast photographs by Josh Lehrer, who contributed images taken with one of the oldest camera lenses in existence.

With a pop culture phenomenon as big as Hamilton, it would be easy for the authors to give in to navel-gazing, and while the book does contain its fair share of creative reflection, Miranda—who just won a Pulitzer Prize for his work on the play—never gives in to making it all about himself. He happily reminisces about the moments when particular songs were conceived (he dreamed up “Wait For It,” one of the show’s centerpieces, while on a train on his way to a birthday party) and reveals what was in his head during certain lyrical cornerstones, but it’s not about Miranda. It’s about the show. The book details with great love the contributions of everyone from director Thomas Kail and musical director Alex Lacamoire to Miranda’s co-stars like Leslie Odom Jr. (Aaron Burr), Christopher Jackson (George Washington), Phillipa Soo (Eliza Schuyler Hamilton), and the list goes on.

The end result is a book that presents a full-throated celebration of the collaborative process. Hamilton: The Revolution provides insight into not only the logistical side of such an achievement, but also the emotional side. It’s no accident that this book is subtitled “The Revolution.” Sure, it’s an amusing American history pun, but it’s also a declaration of intent from Miranda and McCarter. They want to tell you the story of how something that’s changed musical theater also changed them. At its heart, the book is about how everyone who participated in this story was personally revolutionized, and that makes it something more than fascinating. It makes it moving. 

This beautifully illustrated companion to Broadway's smash of the century will leave Hamilton fans completely satisfied.
In her closely observed memoir, A Series of Catastrophes & Miracles: A True Story of Love, Science, and Cancer, journalist Mary Elizabeth Williams reports on two years in her family’s life, during which she was treated for stage 4 melanoma. Williams first wrote about her disease in a New York Times Modern Love essay, in which she detailed her split from her husband Jeff and their journey back to coupledom. This book expands on that essay, focusing on the small ups and grueling downs of these two years.

The role of codes and codebreakers in World War II has captured public attention recently in The Imitation Game, the biopic about Alan Turing, and the BBC’s miniseries, “The Bletchley Circle.” Bestselling author Max Hastings notes in his introduction to The Secret War: Spies, Ciphers, and Guerrillas, 1939-1945 that his book doesn’t aspire to be a comprehensive narrative of intelligence efforts throughout World War II. Yet he manages to create something even more interesting—a fast-paced narrative that provides rich historical context and leaves readers with a thorough appreciation of the complexities of this mesmerizing subject matter.

Hastings begins by setting the stage for the exploration of the elements of this secret war, reminding readers that many of the conflict’s outcomes were “profoundly influenced by a host of men and women who never fired a shot.” This “struggle for knowledge” was, Hastings tells us, unceasing. Taking a chronological approach, Hastings explores not only the context of the major intelligence efforts, both Allied and Axis, but also brings to life some of the fascinating human stories of those who engaged in spying, information gathering, and code-breaking.

In addition to historical figures like Turing, who has become more widely known in recent years, Hastings introduces a host of characters nearly unknown today, including Ronald Seth, one of the few British agents “turned” by the Germans. He also describes German intelligence efforts, providing a cogent analysis for the Nazis’ failure to match Allied successes in code-making and in code-breaking.

This impeccably researched account will be eagerly embraced by those familiar with WWII history. But readers new to the topic shouldn’t be put off by the size of this hefty volume. Hastings understands that we’re all thrilled by a good spy story, and in this masterful, gripping narrative, he delivers just that.

The role of codes and codebreakers in World War II has captured public attention recently in The Imitation Game, the biopic about Alan Turing, and the BBC’s miniseries, “The Bletchley Circle.” Bestselling author Max Hastings notes in his introduction to The Secret War: Spies, Ciphers, and Guerrillas, 1939-1945 that his book doesn’t aspire to be a comprehensive narrative of intelligence efforts throughout World War II. Yet he manages to create something even more interesting—a fast-paced narrative that provides rich historical context and leaves readers with a thorough appreciation of the complexities of this mesmerizing subject matter.
Just as his 1981 book, Shout!, is considered by many to be the definitive history of the Beatles, so biographer Philip Norman’s Paul McCartney: The Life will be the once-for-all-time record of the lad from Liverpool whose song lyrics and boyish good looks broke hearts and whose career after the Beatles was almost as successful as his time with them.
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Grit seems to have been written for those who find the maxim “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” too pithy to be useful—thus the 352-page elaboration. A professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania and recipient of a MacArthur “genius” grant, author Angela Duckworth begins by exploring the distinction between “grit,” which she defines as a combination of passion and perseverance directed toward a goal, and natural talent, the ability to achieve a goal without excessive or prolonged effort. Grit will get you farther than talent alone, she maintains, adding that “talent is no guarantee of grit.”

Perhaps the fact that Duckworth’s Chinese immigrant father regularly told his children, “You’re no genius,” made the concept of grit more remarkable to her than it is to American kids who are routinely assured they can be anything they want to be if they work hard enough.  Whatever her inspiration, she anatomizes grit in great detail—how it can be grown from the inside out by reflective and persistent individual effort and from the outside in by parental and cultural nourishment. She clearly takes it as a given that right-thinking people will want to seek their personal best rather than settle for their personal adequate. To her, reaching and extending a goal is valuable in its own right, whether it’s something useful, such as becoming a more effective teacher, or something socially useless, such as swimming farther or faster than anyone did before. Achievement is her polestar.

In fairness, she might have noted that every day spent in grueling practice or apprenticeship—of exercising and perfecting grit—is a day lost to the exquisite pleasures of wool-gathering and cloud-gazing.  But that is not her world.

Grit seems to have been written for those who find the maxim “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” too pithy to be useful—thus the 352-page elaboration. A professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania and recipient of a MacArthur “genius” grant, author Angela Duckworth begins by exploring the distinction between “grit,” which she defines as a combination of passion and perseverance directed toward a goal, and natural talent, the ability to achieve a goal without excessive or prolonged effort. Grit will get you farther than talent alone, she maintains, adding that “talent is no guarantee of grit.”
In this turbulent election year, as issues like human rights for minorities intensify, The Apache Wars relates the attempted annihilation of a culture more than a century ago, supported by government policy and encouraged by popular prejudice. It is compelling—and a timely if distressing read.
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We can’t get enough of the Tudors. Despite the centuries that have passed, the clan that began with Henry VII and ended with Elizabeth I continues to command legions of loyal subjects, from BBC watchers and biography buffs to fans of historical fiction.

Those whose fealty lies with Elizabeth I (1533–1603) should procure John Guy’s new book anon. The first substantial narrative to deeply explore the latter decades of her reign, Elizabeth: The Forgotten Years zooms in on a critical period in Tudor history, providing a fascinating close-up of an aging queen taking her final turn upon the world stage. During this crucial, conclusive epoch in Elizabeth’s 44-year rule, many of her most trusted advisors died, and she faced a protracted war with Spain. She also reckoned uneasily with her own mortality, as her physical charms and health both waned.

In researching the book, Guy had access to a trove of largely unexplored archival material, and his narrative corrects a number of inaccuracies circulated by the queen’s previous chroniclers. The conception of Elizabeth as accessible and merciful—as “Good Queen Bess”—is one such fiction Guy deflates, noting that she lived in splendor while plague and a poor economy crippled her country, a state of affairs that aroused in her subjects resentment rather than adoration. Toward the end, Guy writes, to her people, Elizabeth was “a distant image or just a name.”

In her majesty’s orbit during these years were dashing, impetuous adventurers Walter Raleigh and Robert Devereux, who sought their fortunes at sea and in war. Their romanctic exploits during a time of political instability, when the question of Elizabeth’s successor was unresolved, make the book a bit of a nail-biter. 

Guy, winner of the Whitbread Award for Queen of Scots (2005), has produced a book in which Elizabeth’s royal presence is palpable. Tudorists, take heed: This fresh consideration of the queen—a woman by turns valiant and vulnerable, jealous and generous, unapproachable and compassionate—at the finis of her rule is a rousingly good read.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

We can’t get enough of the Tudors. Despite the centuries that have passed, the clan that began with Henry VII and ended with Elizabeth I continues to command legions of loyal subjects, from BBC watchers and biography buffs to fans of historical fiction.
The genesis of journalist William Geroux’s new book about U.S. Navy Merchant Marine sailors and their families in World War II is almost as fascinating as the book itself. Geroux first came upon the idea 25 years ago, while covering a forum in which men shared memories of watching merchant ships—targets of German U-boat attacks—explode off the coast of Virginia.
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Pit bulls used to be beloved family pets, movie stars and even war heroes. But over time, the dogs that had been America’s darlings developed a bad reputation. If you think that’s as it should be because pit bulls are bred to fight, or because their jaws exert more pressure than other dogs, or because they have aggressive temperaments, think again. Pit Bull: The Battle over an American Icon traces the breed’s current pariah status to some shameful and familiar sources.

Author Bronwen Dickey looks at pits throughout history. Their eagerness to learn made them ideal for acting roles, and they were brave companions to Civil War regiments. There’s no statistical support for the notion that pits harm more people than any other breed of dog, and they don’t actually have magical vise-grip jaws (a “fact” not supported by any real evidence). Media hysteria and scapegoating of the urban poor combined to make the pit bull an easy target. In fact, overblown reporting on the dog-fighting phenomenon not only led to an increase in this cruel sport but also gave the activity additional street cred. 

Dickey, a contributing editor at the Oxford American, repeatedly draws parallels between treatment of poor and disenfranchised humans and their dogs, and it’s damning testimony. Animal advocates take pets away from owners they’ve deemed “unfit” when what the owners really need is access to services that many others take for granted. Breed-specific legislation has yet to lead to a decrease in dog bites, but it’s still widely supported. If you’re bitten by a poodle it’s unlikely to be news, but a pit bull “attack” still sells papers in much the same way shark attacks do (one paper called pits “sharks on paws”). As one observer tells Dickey, “As long as there are different classes of people, there will be different classes of dogs.” 

With Dickey’s thorough reporting on a provocative topic, Pit Bull shows how the human need for something to blame can put innocent victims in the crosshairs.

RELATED CONTENT: Read our interview with Dickey about Pit Bull

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Pit bulls used to be beloved family pets, movie stars and even war heroes. But over time, the dogs that had been America’s darlings developed a bad reputation. If you think that’s as it should be because pit bulls are bred to fight, or because their jaws exert more pressure than other dogs, or because they have aggressive temperaments, think again. Pit Bull: The Battle over an American Icon traces the breed’s current pariah status to some shameful and familiar sources.
Joe Gould—mysterious madman, darling of the modern poets and, perhaps, a genius—began writing a book in the late 1920s. Or rather, several books. His writing, he believed, would turn the field of history on its head. Rather than stories of great men, Gould had a vision of capturing the everyday speech of people on the streets of New York. And so, pencil in hand, he went out to listen. He scrawled overheard bits in composition notebooks, and the notebooks came to dominate his small apartment, or so it was said. But the towers of notebooks are missing. Jill Lepore, at once detective and historian, decides to find them.
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Kristen Beddard moved to Paris as a “trailing spouse,” relocating for her new husband’s job but sure she’d find work of her own soon enough. Her joy gave way to homesickness that cried out for comfort food, but zut alors! The French, they did not, how do you say, have any kale. Or rather, they thought they did, perkily handing over savoy cabbages at every market and farm stand Beddard visited. Undaunted, she continued her quest for leafy greens, a calling that’s documented with charming style in Bonjour Kale.

Beddard’s tales of growing up with a health-foodie mother (and the inclusion of some of her nourishing recipes) make it clear the author was not an entitled monster demanding smoothies from her new neighbors. Once she learned that kale had become a “lost and forgotten” vegetable in France, it was a short leap to realizing that the American focus on kale as a “superfood” wouldn’t fly with the French, who found such ideas ridiculous. Still, Beddard’s efforts persisted, and her dogged outreach led her to better fluency in the language and new friendships. 

This is a sweet story, and the included recipes follow a nice arc, from Entry-Level Vegetable Soup, a simple, low-cost belly-warmer, to recipes created by a chef who figured into her later success, creating an all-kale menu to help bring the message to the masses. Read closer, though, and you’ll see how many times Beddard was ready to give up, but managed to do one small thing to nudge the project along; her persistence is inspiring. Bonjour Kale reminds us not only to eat our greens but also to follow our dreams.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Kristen Beddard moved to Paris as a “trailing spouse,” relocating for her new husband’s job but sure she’d find work of her own soon enough. Her joy gave way to homesickness that cried out for comfort food, but zut alors! The French, they did not, how do you say, have any kale. Or rather, they thought they did, perkily handing over savoy cabbages at every market and farm stand Beddard visited. Undaunted, she continued her quest for leafy greens, a calling that’s documented with charming style in Bonjour Kale.
John Hay and Samuel Clemens were both rising writers when they met in the late 1860s. Hay, a poet, was one of two private secretaries to Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War. Clemens, under the pen name Mark Twain, was known for his short stories and comic lectures. Both had grown up in small towns on the Mississippi River, and they admired each other’s work. Although never close friends (Hay’s wife disapproved of Clemens), in the late 1890s, the changing role of the U.S. in the world brought them back toward each other, on opposing sides.

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