#new york times book review

[trendynewsnow]

Exploring 'Say Nothing' with Patrick Radden Keefe: A Journey Through Conflict and Memory

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Spotify | How to Listen As part of The New York Times Book Review’s ambitious project highlighting the 100 Best Books published since the year 2000, renowned author Nick Hornby has hailed “Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland” as one of the “greatest literary achievements of the 21st century.” This remarkable work, crafted by Patrick…

[authordianecalabrese]

International Impact Book Awards Ceremony November 2, 2024, Phoenix Arizona

[rasheednewsonauthor]

I’m a mess! Look at my little face in the New York Times!

[macrolit]

According to the New York Times, these are the best fiction books of the 2020s. Do you agree? What's missing?

[greenerteacups]

Hello GT, I absolutely love Lionheart!

I published my first fic and have been dealing with some criticism; it’s not anythjng super hateful, but it’s not anything meant to make me improve either. I’ve been feeling sort of down because of it. My question is: have you ever dealt with hate or criticism before? What is your attitude towards it?

I find your work and answers on here super insightful and inspiring! I hope you have a nice day ❤️

Fuck em. Like, seriously, just fuck em. There's a time and place for writers to take critique and be strict with themselves; it's necessary for any artist to grow. That place is with a chosen group of creatives whose work you admire and whose judgment you trust. A rando on the Internet, while they may in fact be the next Marcel Proust, probably isn't. And I was raised to believe that while it's appropriate and kind to pay compliments to strangers when they're performing — just as you'd smile at a busker on the sidewalk, and or compliment a chalk artist — it's not appropriate to criticize them when what they do isn't to your tastes. They're providing you with their art for free. No one forced you to read it; no one forced you to listen. If you don't like it, it costs $0 to shut the fuck up.

Also — that thing I said about artists taking critique? That assumes that you're doing this out of a desire to improve your writing, which, while noble, is not actually a thing you need to do if you're a hobby writer. I like trying to improve; it makes me feel good. But at the end of the day, I do this for fun. I do this because in my real job, I am ruthless and self-critical and try really fucking hard to do well, and you need parts of your life that Aren't Like that. You need parts of your life where you're not worrying about whether you're Doing It Right. And living without that anxiety of critique is, paradoxically, the only way you'll find the artistic courage to take risks and develop new skills. Everyone is a little bit rough around the edges to begin with. (Not saying you're a beginner — you merely said "publish," and I certainly wrote a lot of things before I started publishing! But every artist is always trying to develop new skills and techniques; in the grand scope of things, we're all beginners.) Giving someone blunt critique when they're in the beginning phases of their journey as an artist is about as helpful as screaming at your six-year-old kid because he can't swim the butterfly.

And the thing is, these people will bluster and say "well, I'm just being honest, I'm just trying to be helpful," but like: mmmmmmno, you're not! You're not. And it's disingenuous to say so. Because if you were actually trying to be helpful, you would introduce yourself, offer your skills as an editor/beta reader, and start building the relationship of trust that grounds any meaningful co-creative partnership. People do not just accept random critique that comes flying at them from the blue nowhere. And issuing it in that form is the best way to make them hostile, defensive, and unreceptive to it. Delivering harsh feedback without a context of care and support is almost sure to fail as a method of actually changing behavior, and either (1) you know that, and are doing it anyway — presumably because you want people to know how Terribly Clever and Better At Writing you are, or (2) you sincerely have never thought about the effect that context and word choice have on how other people receive your meaning.

Which tells me you are the last fucking person on the planet I want writing advice from.

[emrystheedgedancer]

Brandon Sanderson has finally become so popular that it’s cool for edgelords to hate him

[antoinemaillard]

Cover llustrations for the New york Times Book review about the Stephen King review of "All the Sinners Bleeds" by S. A Cosby. Thank you so much AD James Blue and Alvaro Dominguez

[mariainesgul]

Spot for The New York Times magazine, Oct 22 2023

[crudesko]

did NYT ask me for my opinion? no. will i still shamelessly give it? yes.

oh, and while you go through this list, here's my instagram <3

while nothing seems to surpass my love for literature written in the 1900s, the 2000s have come up with some phenomenal pieces of literature. infact, we are so lucky to be alive while authors like Margaret Atwood Ocean Vuong, and Richard Siken continue to publish masterpieces.

anyways, here are my top 10 picks for books of the 21 st century based on their writing style and the impact they had on me. then, there are some books in the follow up because the plot and words in those books were immaculate too. enough gabbling, now.

[iamnotathornbird]

[itsallmadonnasfault]

The Muchness Of Madonna: The New York Times Book Review, November 5, 2023

[nessiithatsme]

Unexpected Connection - Logan Henderson

Chapter 2

Emma

"Ms. White, it's nice to meet you in person." Mrs. Reynold, who I had only known from e-mails, came up to me with a broad, friendly smile. She was shorter than me, had golden brown curls and a face full of freckles that gave her an almost childlike appearance. She was immediately likeable, and I shook her hand.

"Welcome, Mrs. Reynold. I hope your journey was pleasant?" I asked, while I examined her with a smile. Her eyes wandered briefly to her companion, and I followed the glance automatically.

The man behind her was tall, at least as tall as me. He had black hair that glistened in the light and a striking face that immediately caught the eye. But it wasn't just his looks that made him so fascinating. It was the expression in his eyes – deep, almost challenging, as if he could see right through me. There was something unfathomable about this look, and for a moment I wondered if he noticed it himself.

He had the typical boy band face, but there was more. And yet I couldn't help but unconsciously disapprove of the arrogant attitude he had. Something about him wasn't right, even when he looked at me from a distance with a strangely intense presence, as if I were the only thing he cared about.

I turned back to Mrs. Reynold and tried to avert my eyes from him. "I hope you will like your rooms and Anna gave you a warm welcome?"

"Yes, thank you. Everything is perfect," she replied, and when she glanced back at the group of men in front of us, they nodded briefly.

"I'm glad to hear that," I said, trying my best to smile politely. But somehow the conversation today was different than usual. Something in the air was wrong, and it was precisely this man with the deep brown eyes who was constantly on my mind.

And then, just as I was about to turn away from them, it sounded again from his mouth: "I hope I see you later."

This remark – it was sharp and so casual that I had the urge to retort angrily. But I didn't. Instead, I nodded, tried to keep my composure, and said calmly, "I'm sure."

"It was a pleasure to meet you," I added before turning away and making my way to my office.

———

The lunch break came at just the right time. Anna and I sat in one of the small cafés in Central Park to escape the hustle and bustle of the hotel for a few minutes. The autumn air was mild, and the scent of Pumpkin Spice Latte wafted towards us. The leaves began to change color, and the golden glow of the sun bathed the park in a magical atmosphere. I couldn't help but take a deep breath and enjoy the moment.

"So, how was it with Mr. Harrison? Did everything go well?" Anna asked with a mischievous grin as she set my black coffee and a carrot cake in front of me.

"Yes, everything was fine with him. No problems," I replied, reaching for the cake. But then I thought of the group again. "But his daughters are big fans of this boy band we have here now."

Anna just grinned. "Oh dear, but you can't be blamed. Did you see the guy with the buzz cut?" Her eyes were already sparkling like a dog dreaming of a treat. "I'll tell you, if he asked me out, I wouldn't say no. He looks like he could do some..." She arched her eyebrows, which transformed her face into a mischievous smile. "And the big guy with the beard and bulging muscles, my God. He looks like he knows how to properly take care of a woman. But he's taken."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Anna, you're incorrigible," I laughed, but inside I was suddenly no longer so sure. Something about the band, and especially about him, wouldn't leave me alone. The guy with the deep brown eyes – he was what you would commonly call irresistible.

"I don't like the guys, honestly," I said in a determined tone, as if I wanted to convince myself.

Anna laughed loudly and took a sip of her coffee. "Really? They look like they can give you everything you want. And the shorter one with the blond hair? He looks like the type who would buy you more than just a coffee."

I stared at her. She was right, but I just couldn't admit it – at least not in front of her.

"I'm telling you, you should change your mind. You're not usually so stiff," Anna laughed and clinked her cup against mine. 

"Or do you like the cool guy? The one with all the charm and facial expressions? You know, the type that drives every woman crazy. What was his name again? Logan?"

I winced when the name 'Logan' was mentioned. Immediately, a warm shiver went through me, which I couldn't explain. The thought of him was like a magnet that drew me into his spell. The way he had looked at me yesterday – those piercing, almost demanding eyes... I tried to pull myself together, but the name 'Logan' kept echoing in my head, and the guy just wouldn't let me go.

"He's... too much," I finally said, even though I knew it sounded like I was trying to fool myself. "I don't want that. Too much drama."

Anna snorted and grinned broadly. "Sure, Emma. Too much drama. You're such a bad liar." She took another sip of her coffee, then put the cup down and folded her arms across her chest. "He's probably a real romantic behind his womanizer facade. Believe me, he knows exactly how to handle you."

I rolled my eyes and tried to distract myself. "I really don't have much time for him," I repeated, although I knew that at that moment I was trying to fool myself.

Anna laughed and shook her head. "Oh, sure. The steely Emma. But you're just trying to fool yourself, aren't you? I can tell you have a little soft spot for him. No wonder, the guy has this aura, you know?"

I wanted to say something, but at that moment I felt a strange lump in my throat. This Logan – why did he still occupy my thoughts? Why didn't he let go of me? I leaned back and tried to breathe calmly.

"Whatever," I finally said, forcing a smile. 'Work is work. And he's part of it.' It was the only answer I could come up with at the moment, even though I knew that Anna heard more than just my words.

Anna grinned when she noticed my hesitation, and I knew she'd seen right through me. But I wasn't going to admit it – not now, not like this.

———

After a refreshing lunch break in Central Park, Anna and I slowly made our way back to the hotel. Autumn was now unmistakable in New York and the trees began to turn bright colors. The streets were full of people heading for the milder temperatures, and the scent of Pumpkin Spice Latte wafted over from every corner.

"You know, Em," Anna said as we walked through the front doors of the hotel, "you should really practice your poker face when you talk to that guy. You've never tried so hard to suppress a reaction as you did with him."

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest. "I told you I didn't fancy him," I replied curtly, even though I knew that Anna always managed to touch a raw nerve with her pointed remarks.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, giving me a cheeky grin. "We can make a game out of it – if you ever bring yourself to give him a smile, you get a voucher for a spa experience."

I laughed softly, even though the idea of a spa voucher did little to help me free myself from thoughts of Logan. I still felt him, as if he were a shadow that haunted me. What was wrong with me?

We went to the front desk, where my colleagues were already working on their tasks. Just as I was about to turn to my desk, I noticed a loud, tense exchange between Logan and one of the young ladies at the front desk. The tone of voice was unmistakable, and the name "Logan" echoed through the room.

"—this is just not acceptable. I made it clear that I cannot sleep in a room with a bed that offers barely more space than a bathtub! What kind of service is this?"

The voice was unmistakable and left no doubt that it was Logan. And he was clearly not in a good mood.

I put one foot in the direction of the reception when I noticed Anna's gaze, which was curiously scrutinizing me. She just shrugged, as if to say, "Well, have fun."

"Excuse me, what exactly is the problem here?" I asked in a calm but firm tone as I approached. It was the right amount of professionalism that I had to show at such moments. After all, it was my job to mediate and find solutions.

Mr. Henderson turned to me immediately, and this time the look was not only more intense than at the first meeting, but also mixed with a hint of displeasure. He stared at me as if I were the last person on earth to whom he wanted to explain anything.

"The room I've been assigned is simply unacceptable," he continued, and his look left me in no doubt that he was really annoyed. "I'm paying for quality, not for a bed that I can barely turn around in."

"Mr. Henderson," I said calmly, taking a step closer, the professionalism in my voice leaving no room for misunderstanding. "We are, of course, sorry for the inconvenience. I'm happy to take another look at the room and see what we can do to resolve the problem."

"I would prefer you to deal with it directly," Mr. Henderson replied in a sharp tone, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to contain his anger. "The bed... it's unacceptable. It's much too small. If I'm paying for this stay, I expect at least a bed worthy of the name."

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and although I knew that it was my job to remain calm and solution-oriented, I couldn't help but feel the tension between us. He was not your typical guest who could be satisfied with a simple "sorry." But I wasn't a hotel employee who would just take anything either.

"Mr. Henderson," I began, a little sharper this time, "we have already spoken to the team in charge, and there were no further complaints regarding the room size. This is the standard room you booked. I can offer you an upgrade, but to do that, I'd have to check if a suitable room is available."

"An upgrade?" Mr. Henderson cut me off, his voice a little sharper now. "That's not the solution. I don't want an upgrade, I want a decent bed. And I expect it to be of an appropriate standard."

I held his gaze steadily, though it was hard for me to remain calm. Something about his manner, that mixture of dissatisfaction and dominance, spurred me on. "I understand your frustration, but I can assure you that we are doing our best to satisfy you. Please give me a moment."

I was about to reach for the phone to contact my colleague and housekeeping manager, Robert, when Mr. Henderson took another step towards me and there was a hint of surprise in his words. "You're the... manager here?"

"Yes, exactly," I replied, raising an eyebrow. 'And that means I'm responsible for finding solutions. What exactly would you like me to do, Mr. Henderson?' My voice was calm but firm. I knew I couldn't get involved in a discussion that wasn't within my area of responsibility.

Mr. Henderson looked at me for a moment, and I could see a mixture of resignation and renewed calculation in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, as if inwardly acknowledging a point.

"I just want to make sure that the service here meets the standard I expect," he finally said, a little calmer but no less determined.

I nodded, but I knew that this altercation was not over yet. There was tension in the air that would not dissipate easily. But it was a start – we were on to it. And in a way, I knew that we were now meeting on a completely different level.

"I'll take care of it, Mr. Henderson," I said and turned to solve the problem. 'I'll take care of everything."

Anna had followed the conversation with interest, and when I turned away from Mr. Henderson, I noticed the mischievous grin on her face. She knew exactly what she saw.

"You really stood up to him,' she said with a slight, almost insolent smile.

I ignored her and continued on my way, but somehow I couldn't shake the feeling that Logan Henderson and I were on dangerous ground. Ground that neither of us fully understood yet. 

But we would.

[qeyond]

Did I ever tell y'all that when I was a teen I was trying to write a fan fic about B before he did the LABB murders and I worked so hard on it and I put so much love and heart into it and it was very over dramatic and emo because it was like also a diary. But the thing I did was I made it B writing about himself (he wrote the fanfic) and then I also titled the fan fic "Just Being B". Like why does it sound like a sitcom, on paper reads like a sitcom, but is actually a hard, emotional retell of B's harrowing past and pains and horrors and all these fucked up reasons why he wanted to do the LABB crimes?

Anyway, Beyond Birthday possessed me to write his clown ass autobiography when I was 13 and he really loved doing it.

[avocado-frog]

"book written by acclaimed author guaranteed to have you on the edge of your seat while reading" ok. what's the book about

[uglygirlstatus]

Omg you didnt like one last stop? Two of my friends LOVE it and i cannot be moved to read it <3 im curious why you didnt like it so i can chose to continue to not read it but with a reason

reading the line “that twink contains multitudes” in a published novel made my brain shrivel up

[shapethings]