Tom Robb Smith is a brilliant freaking genius. The setting for his thrillers Child 44 and The Secret Speech is post-Stalinist Russia, a world of justified paranoia for everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, from powerless citizens to KGB officers and back again (sometimes within the course of an hour).
Child 44 takes place in a world where the State claims murders don't happen; thus, a serial killer can thrive. Leo Demidov, a former state security officer, puts himself and his loved ones in grave danger just for suggesting there's a killer out there, much less trying to gather evidence and put an end to the crimes. (A confession: I am a bit weak of heart when it comes to stories of children in danger. Child 44, which early on contains a riveting scene of a family near starvation, was almost too much for me. But you'll enjoy the second book more if you read this one first.)
The Secret Speech, which hinges on a real life document by Krushchev apologizing for Russia's past mistakes, is mind-blowingly good. Leo now has infinitely more to lose; you will gasp at the lengths he goes to to protect his family. Honestly, my heart beat so fast during some of these chapters that I had to get up and walk around the room to calm down. Each character is complicated; good and evil people and deeds mix and match throughout. Yes, it's a popcorn book, but a hell of a good one.
Child 44: PR6119.M586 C48 2008
The Secret Speech: PR6119.M586 S43 2009


This is a picture book for adults. The pictures are beautiful and strange paintings, photographs, and embroideries by Maira Kalman, whose work you may already know from the New Yorker or her children's books. You know how Holden Caulfield says that with some books "you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it"? This is one of those books. It's about all the very biggest things -- the meaning of life, the human condition, mortality, art -- and also about the very small and very important things, like watching someone walk in front of you on the sidewalk.
This is a collection of responses to artistic "assignments" delivered through the Learning to Love You More
Tao Lin's first book of poems just pisses me off. It's so good, and so deceptively easy, and he's so young (early 20s, I believe), and these poems are so intimate, and so catchy. Seriously, where did he come from? Where did these poems come from? They read a lot like instant messages -- one of the poems is even titled "an instant messenger conversation we had about how my dad was in jail." Lin often doesn't capitalize words -- other titles include "i want to pour orange juice on my face" and "i am about to express myself." This last begins: "i want to check my email / i want to see a movie / i want to kill people" -- taking Frank O'Hara's "I do this, I do that" aesthetic even further, to "I feel this, I feel that, I'm going to write it all down." As I read this book I wanted Tao Lin to be my friend and I wanted to throw the book across the room, in approximately equal amounts. I wonder what he will do next, poetry-wise. (He's already got a book of short stories and a novel out. Damn him.)
You know that scene in Sixteen Candles where Anthony Michael Hall is in the car with the drunk popular girl and it seems like they might actually get together? (If you don't, you can probably catch the movie on cable right now, it's always on.) Well, I Love You, Beth Cooper is like that scene extended and enlarged into novel form. (And guess what, there's talk that the novel will be a film in a couple more years.) The story of a nerdy guy's pursuit of a cheerleader pushes the bounds of plausibility, but I suppose that's part of the fun of teenage stories. The main thing is, it's very, very funny. There are a lot of jokes that go by really quickly, much like the little asides in "The Simpsons" -- which makes sense, since Larry Doyle wrote for that show. (He also wrote for "Beavis and Butthead.") As in "The Simpsons," the main plotline is not what you care about -- what entertains you are the endless funny details in every scene. 










Aimee Bender has a new collection of short stories out, Willful Creatures
If you haven't read any of the Harry Potter books, you're not going to start with number six; if you have been reading them, you're going to read it. So there's not much point in a review. All I'll say is: if you have liked the sequence so far, you'll like this book; you may, however, have a few quibbles and questions. Like: why does J.K. Rowling feel it necessary to treat the house elves as "Step-n-Fetchit"-style comic characters - in other words, how can she treat race slavery so lightly? And: might the books have been a bit better if film versions weren't almost definitely looming ahead? And: how is it that the word poo is so dang funny, even to me, a 35-year-old mother of preschoolers, who really ought to know better? 


