July 2009

Finally. My brain feels like mush at this point. To those of you heading out on vacation—enjoy it. To those staying put—hang in there. I'll be back in August.

If you love English lit, rugby, or whisky, Jean-Pierre Ohl wrote this one for you. Mary Guthrie grew up surrounded by books on Islay, off Scotland's western coast. But before she met Ebenezer Krook, life was just chapters waiting to happen. This novel mixes literary passion with Scottish grit in ways that surprised me.

Good news: Woody Allen's back in New York, dusting off an old script. And it works. Boris, the hyper-Allen protagonist here, is an old misanthrope—hypochondriac, neurotic, perpetually complaining. Self-proclaimed genius. You know the type. The film doesn't reinvent anything, but it reminded me why I used to watch his stuff obsessively.

I find the title of this Joyce Carol Oates novel remarkable. Four words that capture everything: the double plural announces certainty, strength—being a family, a clan, a tribe. But that past tense? It signals a world that's gone. The Mulvaneys had it all. Then they didn't. Oates writes devastation like nobody else.