This intensely oneiric work is a monument of vulgarity and erudition.
Rushdie bellows A Thousand and One Nights’s narrative influence in a sprawling novel that’s an ode to storytelling.
The tension in the novel comes from its main character finding within her a certain strength she doesn’t want to lose.
Kleeman has an astute eye for pop culture, and her postmodern send-up of consumerism will remind readers of White Noise.
It may be centered around the past, but at its heart this a book more concerned with the pain the living carry and the future it’s shaped.
At 80 years of age, the iconoclast evinces the same passion that has animated his provocative work up to this point.
The book affords boastful insights that require serious consideration.
This time, Anderson comes to play from the outset, with a sense of openness, and of shared intimacy with Seitz, that might be somewhat misleading, but is nevertheless revealing.
The likelihood of finishing so quickly only enhances the resonance: The text itself becomes a moment that can pass.
The pleasure of writing, of pairing words with another to create a distinct or lingeringly atmospheric or poetic effect, seems beyond King’s concern these days.
Maureen Corrigan’s deconstruction of the novel in the context of noir, or “hard-boiled” detective fiction, offers a refreshing perspective.
At 221 pages, it’s a tightly knit piece of fiction, an elegant examination of a complicated problem.
The novel suggests a print fusion of the filmmaker’s early, grungy, bluntly metaphorical work with the subtler, formally refined, classical elder-statesman films of his most recent period.
The narrator is not an aloof artist, but someone absurdly tied-up in the daily neuroses of the modern world.
Mizruchi provides analysis that’s offered a bit too much as objective fact.
Besides a number of instances of clunky, clichéd writing, Pascale has a tendency to summarize and explain every movie and episode she references.
Palin’s depiction of Hamish Melville, the impossibly ethical activist against which Mabbut compares himself, is handled unexpectedly.
The book takes a subtle stylistic turn in its second half that might bear quasi-meta significance.
Split Screen Korea exemplifies a kind of necessary scholarly monograph that will never go out of style.
Nicholson wears her erudition lightly, her swift, pared prose allowing the resonances of Cruise’s career to sneak up on you.
Friendship may read to many, especially those unfamiliar with New York, as one giant inside joke without a punchline.