What is it with the books coverage in the NY Sun? Totally makes the daily Times look like a provincial rag . . .
Anyway, Benjamin Ivry has a review of Victor Segalen’s Steles, a collection of prose poems just out from Wesleyan University Press in today’s Sun.
I personally don’t know much about Segalen, except that his novel Rene Leys was recommended to me on several occasions. And was reissued not too long ago by the ubiquitous (at least on this blog) New York Review Books.
But back to the real matter—how is it that the Sun has such a kick-ass book review section? I’ve never actually seen anyone reading this on the subway . . . Anyone? Anyone?
The Sicilian Mafia has always been a rich subject for sensational crime fiction. The Godfather, Goodfellas, and The Sopranos worked the mob’s bloody corpses and family feuds to both entertainment and artistic value. Giuseppe di Piazza’s debut novel attempts this,. . .
Antoine Volodine’s vast project (40 plus novels) of what he calls the post-exotic remains mostly untranslated, so for many of us, understanding it remains touched with mystery, whispers from those “who know,” and guesswork. That’s not to say that, were. . .
It hasn’t quite neared the pitch of the waiting-in-line-at-midnight Harry Potter days, but in small bookstores and reading circles of New York City, an aura has attended the novelist Elena Ferrante and her works. One part curiosity (Who is she?),. . .