- Chicken pox outbreak puts illegal immigrant facility on lockdown
- Obama to Republicans: ‘Stop just hatin’ all the time’
- U.S. chemical sites vulnerable despite millions spent on security: Congress
- Driverless cars to hit the British streets by 2015
- GOP presses to scrap IRS commissioner position — but put in panel
- New bill would make sure women in military can get free birth control
- Trafficking bust reveals worries over missing kids; minors as young as 11 found
- Catholic League slams Obama: ‘Do Christian lives mean so little to you?’
- National laboratory cancels ‘Southern Accent Reduction’ classes after outcry
- U.S. woman with Ebola is stable, improving, son says
Topic - John Greenya
It's a good thing this book is short. If longer, instead of frightening it would be horrifying. On the cover, scaremeister extraordinaire Stephen King writes, "When Peter Straub turns on all his jets, no one in the scream factory can equal him."
If I were an art thief, I'd be glad Robert K. Wittman retired. A one-man band when it came to tracking and recovering priceless (hence the title) treasures, from paintings to eagle feathers to rare Civil War memorabilia, Mr. Wittman built the FBI art-crime team from virtually nothing to a small but world-respected unit.
How did Arthur Miller get so lucky, asked tens of millions of American men and boys back in 1956. Joe DiMaggio, the great baseball player, that we could understand, but a playwright? Sigh and double sigh.
One tends to trust a likable narrator. One shouldn't, not all the time anyway and certainly not in the case of Stephen Drew, whose first-person account opens this compelling novel. But, heck, he's a minister, a reverend, a clergyman. And he's definitely likable, at least at the beginning. Some days you just don't know whom to trust.
Many people think this is the best work of fiction ever written about Vietnam. Some even think it is the best work of fiction ever written about war. Both are right, and they were right 20 years ago when this book came out for the first time.
If you aren't a fan of Richard Bausch's fiction you should be. And if you have never read anything by him, and don't know where in his huge body of work - 11 novels and seven previous short story collections - to start, this book would be a fine place to jump in. Just don't read it late at night with killer winds howling outside and the power about to go.
Eight years ago, rather than stay home and stare at the rubble of her failed marriage and an equally disastrous rebound affair that ended in her depression, the talented American writer-journalist Elizabeth Gilbert took a hike. Well, a trip would be more accurate.
"Martin Gardner has an inquiring mind" would be the winning entry in an understatement-of-the-year contest.
"The She-Devil in the Mirror" may appear to be a traditional murder mystery but in fact it is one that faithfully reflects the extreme polarization and violence that author Horacio Castellanos Moya cited as his reason for seeking asylum from El Salvador.
A trip to France for 25 dollars? No, it's not a super-discount on Air France, it's a book, another Peter Mayle flight of fancy to his beloved adopted country.
This slim volume serves to remind us that the time William Styron spent in the Corps at the tail end of WWII and then again for some months during the Korean "Conflict," were an important part of the many-chambered crucible in which his large talent was forged.
Somewhere it is written (probably in stone) that first-time novelists should write about what they know. Although in his nonfiction writing, Michael Idov doesn't come across as the kind of person who gracefully accepts Advice From Others, in the case of his first novel, "Ground Up," he clearly did so, and the result is a most happy one for his readers.
The quintessentially irreverent John Waters, Baltimore's cinematic sage, attempts to nail this book in one sentence: "Tim Page's witty, intellectually stimulating memoir almost made me wish I had Asperger's Syndrome."
Stephen L. Carter's day job remains that of the William Nelson Cromwell Professor of Law at Yale. He can also write popular fiction. It's just not fiction that's popular with me. Sorry, but there it is.
In the book "That Old Cape Magic," Jack Griffin's parents are as thoroughly unlikable a fictional couple as I've had the misfortune to read about in years: mean, vain, nasty, small-minded, and just about any other adjective along the same lines.