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Horses are ghosts. They are living reminders of our preindustrial past. Like ghosts, they remind us of uncomfortable things.
Nearly half a century apart, Rumer Godden and E.F. Benson each moved into a house that could never seem to forget its first master, whose traces still filled its rooms. And so they made themselves at home as best they could—by writing ghost stories at Henry James’s desk.
The final book in Hilary Mantel’s award-winning trilogy completes the suggestion that time is the mirror in which we see ourselves, and that the uncertain reflections we cast change according to the source and quality of the light.
The question of a collection whose various subjects are assembled, rather than logically produced, is less what they have in common; it is instead what they make in common.
Fiction writer and essayist Joy Williams wears sunglasses all the time—a fact that might be a walking metaphor. In Williams’ world, it seems, God is also wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and after we tire of making funny faces at ourselves in His lenses, we start to panic.
Wislawa Szymborska and Alejandro Zambra use the book review as a vehicle to convey something closer to poetry. They content themselves to leave each review with a feeling or mood, rather than an appraisal of a work.
Brian Broome’s 2021 memoir is a letter to Black boys and Black men who have been “molded, not with fingers but with punches.”
Lauren Acampora’s novel is a fast read that moves ever faster the deeper Louisa and Sylvie head down their suburban rabbit hole.
Sarah Shilo’s 2005 novel explores the repercussions of trauma without support, tragedy without aid.
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