A seismic essay-ish poetic arty journalistic collection of theories surrounding Whiteness from the mind of Rankine, who dissects the zombified corpus of American racism with award-winning sharpness. For the Social Justice Activists in your life.
Zadie Smith somehow wrote and released a life-affirming and habit-challenging essay collection about creation and finality in COVID-affected America during quarantine. Forget the op-eds and the Times. This is the most prescient COVID-era sense-making yet. For people interested in literary essays, New York, or those cute little flowers that spring up in the cracks of sidewalks sometimes.
A slim poetry play mixing the mythologies of Marilyn Monroe, nee Norma Jeane Baker, and Helen of Troy. Playful, progressive, provocative. A paean for all poetry pundits.
A frayed tapestry of threads that include a deadly illness, migrant abductors, and horny geologists. Often sad, surprisingly fun, always thoughtful. For those who want something smart and kinetic but also kind of can’t stand, I dunno, Pynchon or whatever.
A spooky weird little fiction that digs deep into the loamy earth from which we’ve grown the stem of social limitations on female agency. Fits nicely somewhere between Atwood and Oyeyemi.
A flavorful romp through the rockified soundscapes of 1960s London, as experienced by the band that never quite made it big. Tune in for the juicy details of Dean Moss’s latest affair, for the inside scoop on folker Elf Holloway’s songwriting process, and for the demonic skull-ripping solos of Jasper de Zoet. (This is a novel, by the way.)
A nineties coming-of-age story in the depressed French Rust Belt. Drunk lakeside parties, out-of-work factory men, social outcasts, and nights-to-forget that are unfortunately remembered. A translation for folks who couldn’t care less about who wins the Nobel Prize, but are curious about world literature in general.
It’s a big beautiful book about big beautiful fish. How can anyone resist? (Insert metaphor about swimming downstream here.)
Ever wanted to know the crazy dark history about where your coffee comes from? This thing reads like a mix between Breaking Bad and your favorite telenovela. Perfect for every coffee-obsessive caffeine addict who likes reading. So, like, all of us.
The intentionally-gauche cover masks a profound living, breathing, resisting poetic body. If Kehinde Wiley’s art could be turned to words, it might end up looking and sounding like this.