John Updike, in his last-ever piece of book criticism, characterized Blake Bailey’s Cheever: A Life as a “heavy, dispiriting,” and dull read, both bloated and methodical, but I was riveted to every last depressing page. My review appears in Barnes & Noble Review. An excerpt: As conventions change and language shifts after an author’s death, his or her fiction tends . . .
“Woolf, Rhys, and O’Connor sounds like a law firm, and indeed it could be — a firm sure to lay down clear laws and illuminating precedents for women writers.”
The Smart Set is a weekly feature, compiled and posted by Lauren Cerand, that usually appears Mondays at 12:30 pm, and highlights the best of the week to come. Special favor is given to New York’s independent booksellers and venues, and low-cost and free events. Please send details to Ms. Cerand at lauren [at] maudnewton.com by the Thursday prior to . . .
In 1842, Edgar Allan Poe got so drunk on mint juleps while visiting New York that he sent a letter apologizing to publishers J. and H.G. Langley. Will you be so kind enough to put the best possible interpretation upon my behavior while in N-York? You must have conceived a queer idea of me — but the simple truth is . . .
The Tournament of Books gets underway today, as Powell’s Brockman decides between Steer Toward Rock and 2666.