“‘Them’ remakes the naturalist tradition of novels for a society that seems … incapable of ending an addiction to racist violence.”
B-Sides celebrates great books that time forgot.
Editor: John Plotz
Freud taught that childhoods shape our adult selves with unresolved trauma. But this novel shows that childhood joy can shape adulthood, too.
One of the strangest, most devastating works of Holocaust literature is about games.
“Whitehead’s satire takes aim … at a capitalist system that senses the profits to be made from proclaiming that systemic racism is a thing of the past.”
If George Eliot was interested in religious coexistence, she was also interested in unbelief.
Few writers have been as beloved by readers and underrated by reviewers as Daphne du Maurier. What irked them?
How, Murakami asks, can community after the earthquake be structured around self-reflection rather than cruelty?
The famous guidebook of rules, motions, and meetings has a darker history than you might think.
“Oreo” is not the easiest read, but it is a book that is, in many ways, written against ease.
How to catch a killer who only exists in a parallel world?
His characters—in 1919 Ireland, 1857 India, and 1940 Singapore—intuit that the world is about to collapse. But they can do nothing to save it.
Agatha Christie’s “At Bertram’s Hotel” allows us to have our nostalgic cake and read it too.
Novelist Jesmyn Ward is known for historical grandiosity, but her long-overlooked book “Sing, Unburied, Sing” turns away from realism into the realm of generic strangeness.
“Few libraries list it among their holdings, and sometimes I have wondered if the book in my possession actually exists.”
Very much against the grain of most standard leftist work, “Daughter of Earth” remains unsettled and unsettling throughout.
Few novels are so crammed with invention. Yet the interlocking richness of her ideas does not derail your reading.
Annotations isn’t a book you read for the plot. It’s more of a “Notes toward...” that remains just that: always towards, never quite arriving.
South African literature has long struggled to become drought-resistant: its plotlines, and even its paper production, presuppose abundant water.
Caesuras do things to stories—and to readers, even readers too young to know the term.
Impossible to summarize, The Last Samurai is deeply political—anti-capitalist and thoroughly feminist—without ever becoming preachy or moralizing.