Ishiguro's debut uses intimate family shame to get to the horror of Nagasaki atom bomb aftermath.
In an era when hype was in its infancy and big events were truly big it seemed reasonable to believe in them.
A wild bunch yes, but also aging, sad, and desperately seeking out.
Saddam's anti-contrition can fairly borrow from French royalty. “Apres mois, le deluge…
Lorraine Adams' magnificent first novel about putative terrorists is informed by reporting on Algerian immigrants.
Black pumps, white purse, beige boots, the exacting bulemia of a month of Rome purchases.
Download! she commands. Now! she adds. Fill your Pharmacy! Hot Me is the Wang for You!
In the best of worlds, Wilder, Lemmon, and Shirley MacLaine. Period.
Quaint bar-enoteche are staple of Roman nightlife, but Fluid suggesta a sea-change.
Jill Ker Conway's recalls her journey from Australia to the halls of American academia.
Italy personifies what masochistic doubters insists it already is: a second-rate South American plutocracy.