For any frustrated writer, the premise of Adam Langers The Thieves of Manhattan is alluring, as the satirical story is a strong jab at the current state of the publishing industry.
Aiming to “reveal the secrets of Gaza,” Izzeldin Abuelaish’s I Shall Not Hate is a supremely moving memoir of a doctor-turned peace activist’s harsh life.
A period of confusion might follow after opening Ana Menéndezs new book, Adios, Happy Homeland! The contents page lists what appear to be chapter titles. Yet the prologue is written by a Cubophile Irishman, Herberto Quain, and the first chapter is attributed to an author named Celestino DAlba.
The scene is a small café in Tel Aviv. An 84-year-old male ballet phenomenon engages his waitress in conversation. He always orders the same thing: espresso, a side of steamed milk, water with lemon. Initially she ignores his advances, but quickly succumbs to his persistence.
I often ask myself why international literature is so much more appealing than North American fiction. Reading Florida-born, Brooklyn-dwelling Justin Taylors debut novel The Gospel of Anarchy is a good opportunity to explore this question.