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"content": "\u003cp>There’s something about the shadowy moral recesses of crime and suspense fiction that makes those genres especially appealing as temperatures soar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960275\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 842px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960275\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a burning street with a police officer raising a club over a Black man's head.\" width=\"842\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM.png 842w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM-800x1152.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM-160x230.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM-768x1105.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 842px) 100vw, 842px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Ash Dark as Night,’ by Gary Phillips. \u003ccite>(Soho Crime)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>‘Ash Dark as Night’ by Gary Phillips\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>I’m beginning my recommendations with two distinctive novels that appeared this spring. Gary Phillips introduced the character of LA crime photographer and occasional private eye Harry Ingram in the 2022 novel, \u003cem>One-Shot Harry\u003c/em>. The second novel of this evocative historical series is called \u003cem>Ash Dark as Night \u003c/em>and it opens in August 1965 during the Watts riots. Harry, who’s one of two African American freelancers covering the riots, has looped his trademark Speed Graphic camera around his neck and headed into the streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959945']We’re told that Harry’s situation is, of course, riskier than that of his white counterparts: “[M]aybe one of these fellas might well get a brick upside their head from a participant, but were less likely to be jacked-up by the law. Ingram realized either side might turn on him.” Indeed, when Harry captures the death of an unarmed Black activist at the hands of the LAPD, the photo makes him famous, as well as a target.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This novel is steeped in period details like snap-brim hats and ragtop Chevy Bel Air convertibles, along with walk-ons by real life figures like pioneering African American TV journalist Louis E. Lomax. But it’s Harry’s clear-eyed take on the fallen world around him that makes this series so powerful.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960276\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 832px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960276\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover illustrated to look like a nun holding a polaroid camera in the style of stained glass.\" width=\"832\" height=\"1206\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM.png 832w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM-800x1160.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM-768x1113.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 832px) 100vw, 832px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Blessed Water,’ by Margot Douaihy. \u003ccite>(Zando – Gillian Flynn Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>‘Blessed Water’ by Margot Douaihy\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>You might think a mystery about an inked-up lesbian punk musician-turned-nun is a little far-fetched; but New Orleans, the setting of the Sister Holiday series, is the city of far-fetched phenomenon, both sacred and profane. Margot Douaihy’s second book in this queer cozy series is called \u003cem>Blessed Water \u003c/em>and it finds the 34-year-old Sister Holiday up to her neck in murky flood waters and priests with secrets. Douaihy’s writing style — pure hard-boiled \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2010/01/19/122722618/just-kids-punk-icon-patti-smith-looks-back\" target=\"122722618\" rel=\"noopener\">Patti Smith\u003c/a> — contains all the contradictions that torment Sister Holiday in her bumpy journey of faith. Here she is in the Prologue recalling how she survived swallowing a glass rosary bead:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\n\u003cdiv>\n\u003cp>After my prayers for clarity, for forgiveness, for a cigarette, … deep inside the wet cave of my body was an unmistakable tickle. …\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The bead fought my stomach acid for hours, leaching its blessing or poison or unmet wish. Anything hidden always finds a way to escape, no matter its careful sealing.\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Amen to that, Sister Holiday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960277\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 700px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960277\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.28.12-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a young Asian man wearing a suit.\" width=\"700\" height=\"1064\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.28.12-AM.png 700w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.28.12-AM-160x243.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 700px) 100vw, 700px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Expat’ by Hansen Shi. \u003ccite>(Pegasus Crime)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘The Expat’ by Hansen Shi\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The main character in Hansen Shi’s excellent debut spy novel is an alienated young man named Michael Wang. He’s a first generation Chinese American a few years out of Princeton who’s hit the bamboo ceiling at General Motors in San Francisco, where he’s been working on technology for self-driving cars. Enter a femme fatale named Vivian who flatters Michael into believing that his brilliance will be recognized by her enigmatic boss in China. Once Michael settles into life in Beijing, however, he realizes he’s been tapped, not as a prodigy, but a patsy. \u003cem>The Expat \u003c/em>wraps up too abruptly, but it’s also true that I wanted this moody espionage tale to go on longer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960278\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 830px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960278\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a wooded area.\" width=\"830\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM.png 830w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM-800x1166.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM-768x1120.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 830px) 100vw, 830px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The God of the Woods’ by Liz Moore. \u003ccite>(Riverhead Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>‘The God of the Woods’ by Liz Moore\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Liz Moore’s extraordinary new literary suspense novel reminds me of \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2002/11/05/832803/donna-tartt\" target=\"832803\" rel=\"noopener\">Donna Tartt\u003c/a>’s 1992 debut, \u003cem>The Secret History. \u003c/em>There are superficial similarities: Both are thick intricate novels featuring young people isolated in enclosed worlds — in Tartt’s story, a Vermont college campus; in Moore’s, a summer camp in New York’s Adirondack mountains. But, the vital connection for me was a reading experience where I was so thoroughly submerged in a rich fictional world, that for hours I barely came up for air.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s a touch of Gothic excess about \u003cem>The God of the Woods, \u003c/em>beginning with the premise that not one, but two children from the wealthy Van Laar family disappear from Camp Emerson in the Adirondacks 14 years apart. Moore’s story jumps around in time, chiefly from the 1950s into the ’70s and features a host of characters from different social classes — campers, counselors, townspeople and local police — and the Van Laars themselves.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13960178']The precision of Moore’s writing never flags. Consider this reflection by Tracy, a 12-year-old camper who recalls that: “Her father once told her casually that she was built like a plum on toothpicks, and the phrase was at once so cruel and so poetic that it clicked into place around her like a harness.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moore’s previous book, \u003cem>Long Bright River\u003c/em>, was a superb social novel about the opioid crisis in Philadelphia; \u003cem>The God of the Woods\u003c/em> is something weirder and stranger and unforgettable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happy summer reading wherever your tastes take you.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There’s something about the shadowy moral recesses of crime and suspense fiction that makes those genres especially appealing as temperatures soar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960275\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 842px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960275\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a burning street with a police officer raising a club over a Black man's head.\" width=\"842\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM.png 842w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM-800x1152.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM-160x230.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.22.35-AM-768x1105.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 842px) 100vw, 842px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Ash Dark as Night,’ by Gary Phillips. \u003ccite>(Soho Crime)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>‘Ash Dark as Night’ by Gary Phillips\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>I’m beginning my recommendations with two distinctive novels that appeared this spring. Gary Phillips introduced the character of LA crime photographer and occasional private eye Harry Ingram in the 2022 novel, \u003cem>One-Shot Harry\u003c/em>. The second novel of this evocative historical series is called \u003cem>Ash Dark as Night \u003c/em>and it opens in August 1965 during the Watts riots. Harry, who’s one of two African American freelancers covering the riots, has looped his trademark Speed Graphic camera around his neck and headed into the streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>We’re told that Harry’s situation is, of course, riskier than that of his white counterparts: “[M]aybe one of these fellas might well get a brick upside their head from a participant, but were less likely to be jacked-up by the law. Ingram realized either side might turn on him.” Indeed, when Harry captures the death of an unarmed Black activist at the hands of the LAPD, the photo makes him famous, as well as a target.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This novel is steeped in period details like snap-brim hats and ragtop Chevy Bel Air convertibles, along with walk-ons by real life figures like pioneering African American TV journalist Louis E. Lomax. But it’s Harry’s clear-eyed take on the fallen world around him that makes this series so powerful.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960276\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 832px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960276\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover illustrated to look like a nun holding a polaroid camera in the style of stained glass.\" width=\"832\" height=\"1206\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM.png 832w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM-800x1160.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.25.15-AM-768x1113.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 832px) 100vw, 832px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Blessed Water,’ by Margot Douaihy. \u003ccite>(Zando – Gillian Flynn Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>‘Blessed Water’ by Margot Douaihy\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>You might think a mystery about an inked-up lesbian punk musician-turned-nun is a little far-fetched; but New Orleans, the setting of the Sister Holiday series, is the city of far-fetched phenomenon, both sacred and profane. Margot Douaihy’s second book in this queer cozy series is called \u003cem>Blessed Water \u003c/em>and it finds the 34-year-old Sister Holiday up to her neck in murky flood waters and priests with secrets. Douaihy’s writing style — pure hard-boiled \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2010/01/19/122722618/just-kids-punk-icon-patti-smith-looks-back\" target=\"122722618\" rel=\"noopener\">Patti Smith\u003c/a> — contains all the contradictions that torment Sister Holiday in her bumpy journey of faith. Here she is in the Prologue recalling how she survived swallowing a glass rosary bead:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\n\u003cdiv>\n\u003cp>After my prayers for clarity, for forgiveness, for a cigarette, … deep inside the wet cave of my body was an unmistakable tickle. …\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The bead fought my stomach acid for hours, leaching its blessing or poison or unmet wish. Anything hidden always finds a way to escape, no matter its careful sealing.\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Amen to that, Sister Holiday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960277\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 700px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960277\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.28.12-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a young Asian man wearing a suit.\" width=\"700\" height=\"1064\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.28.12-AM.png 700w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.28.12-AM-160x243.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 700px) 100vw, 700px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Expat’ by Hansen Shi. \u003ccite>(Pegasus Crime)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘The Expat’ by Hansen Shi\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The main character in Hansen Shi’s excellent debut spy novel is an alienated young man named Michael Wang. He’s a first generation Chinese American a few years out of Princeton who’s hit the bamboo ceiling at General Motors in San Francisco, where he’s been working on technology for self-driving cars. Enter a femme fatale named Vivian who flatters Michael into believing that his brilliance will be recognized by her enigmatic boss in China. Once Michael settles into life in Beijing, however, he realizes he’s been tapped, not as a prodigy, but a patsy. \u003cem>The Expat \u003c/em>wraps up too abruptly, but it’s also true that I wanted this moody espionage tale to go on longer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960278\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 830px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960278\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a wooded area.\" width=\"830\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM.png 830w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM-800x1166.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-25-at-11.30.33-AM-768x1120.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 830px) 100vw, 830px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The God of the Woods’ by Liz Moore. \u003ccite>(Riverhead Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>‘The God of the Woods’ by Liz Moore\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Liz Moore’s extraordinary new literary suspense novel reminds me of \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2002/11/05/832803/donna-tartt\" target=\"832803\" rel=\"noopener\">Donna Tartt\u003c/a>’s 1992 debut, \u003cem>The Secret History. \u003c/em>There are superficial similarities: Both are thick intricate novels featuring young people isolated in enclosed worlds — in Tartt’s story, a Vermont college campus; in Moore’s, a summer camp in New York’s Adirondack mountains. But, the vital connection for me was a reading experience where I was so thoroughly submerged in a rich fictional world, that for hours I barely came up for air.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s a touch of Gothic excess about \u003cem>The God of the Woods, \u003c/em>beginning with the premise that not one, but two children from the wealthy Van Laar family disappear from Camp Emerson in the Adirondacks 14 years apart. Moore’s story jumps around in time, chiefly from the 1950s into the ’70s and features a host of characters from different social classes — campers, counselors, townspeople and local police — and the Van Laars themselves.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The precision of Moore’s writing never flags. Consider this reflection by Tracy, a 12-year-old camper who recalls that: “Her father once told her casually that she was built like a plum on toothpicks, and the phrase was at once so cruel and so poetic that it clicked into place around her like a harness.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moore’s previous book, \u003cem>Long Bright River\u003c/em>, was a superb social novel about the opioid crisis in Philadelphia; \u003cem>The God of the Woods\u003c/em> is something weirder and stranger and unforgettable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happy summer reading wherever your tastes take you.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large alignright\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960116\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 810px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960116\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73.jpeg\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an illustrated obelisk. \" width=\"810\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73.jpeg 810w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73-800x1067.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73-160x213.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73-768x1024.jpeg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 810px) 100vw, 810px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Parade’ by Rachel Cusk. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In her latest novel \u003cem>Parade\u003c/em>, Rachel Cusk once again flouts traditional narrative to probe questions about the connections between freedom, gender, domesticity, art, and suffering in a series of fractured, loosely connected, quasi-essayic fictional episodes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But\u003cem> Parade\u003c/em> is a more abstract and less inviting construct than Cusk’s \u003cem>Outline\u003c/em> trilogy and her 2021 novel \u003cem>Second Place.\u003c/em> However unconventional, each of those books features a woman writer who provides a narrative through-line: Faye, in the celebrated trilogy, seeks to find her footing after a bitter divorce by eliciting others’ revelatory confidences, while the writer dubbed “M” in \u003cem>Second Place\u003c/em> recounts her obsession with a famous painter dubbed “L.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959775']Cusk’s 12th book of fiction offers no such centralized narrative maypole, repeatedly shifting direction and leaving readers in the lurch. \u003cem>Parade\u003c/em> is divided into four sections, whose titles — “The Stuntman,” “The Midwife,” “The Diver,” and “The Spy” — could be read as thumbnail descriptors for how multiple artists, all called G, produce their art. The fact that Cusk’s parade of deracinated seekers are all identified by the same initial is obviously meant to suggest a connection between them. But the deliberately obfuscating shared initial, combined with erratic jumps between first- and third-person narration, struck me as not just off-putting but pretentious. While Cusk’s aim is apparently a sort of Cubist group portrait of her artists, she has taken her experimental abstraction too far this time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Stuntman” begins boldly, with a line that made me think of another G man, the satirical Ukrainian Russian writer Nikolai Gogol. Cusk writes: “At a certain point in his career the artist G, perhaps because he could find no other way to make sense of his time and place in history, began to paint upside down.” We’re told that while no one knows whether G actually painted upside down or simply inverted his finished canvases, he was careful to establish the painting’s preferred orientation with his signature.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a remark that could apply to her own artistic trajectory, Cusk notes that after being “savagely criticised” for his early work, G’s new approach garnered “a fresh round of awards and honours that people seemed disposed to offer him almost no matter what he did.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>More parallels with Cusk’s own creative arc emerge in her account of G’s development. The painter, she writes, deeply affected by his poisonous early reception, “had found a way out of his artistic impasse, caught as he had felt himself to be between the anecdotal nature of representation and the disengagement of abstraction.” Cusk, who was vilified for her harsh take on motherhood and domesticity in her early books, also shifted gears to emerge triumphant with her innovative Outline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959868']But not everyone approved of the “new reality” reflected in G’s upended canvases. “His wife believed that with this development he had inadvertently expressed something disturbing about the female condition.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The stuntman of this tale is not just the artist G but also his wife, inverted in her husband’s unflattering portraits. And it is also the woman — who may or many not be the artist’s wife — who, disoriented after an unprovoked attack by a deranged woman while walking in an unnamed city, describes her sense of an alternate self in which she is “a kind of stuntman.” In a way, all of Cusk’s female characters — artists, writers, wives, gallerists — are stuntmen fighting what one of them calls the “quicksands of female irrelevance.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Stuntman” ends with G and this woman traveling to another unnamed city to see a retrospective exhibition of works by a female sculptor, also called G. This exhibit, shut down on its opening day by a suicide at the museum, figures again in the novel’s third section, “The Diver,” in which the museum’s director and the artist’s biographer gather with other art professionals to discuss the day’s upsetting events over dinner, noting how the suicide mirrors the “power of disturbance” in the featured sculptor’s work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Their wide-ranging conversation evokes the sort of earnest intellectual exchanges that people have in French movies. It is classic Cusk, touching on questions about art’s relationship to morality and the challenges of combining art with marriage and motherhood. These issues are also raised in the novel’s dark, fairy-tale-like second section, “The Midwife,” in which another female artist named G is trapped in a horrible marriage to a man who seizes control of their daughter and disapproves of his wife’s work, though not the money it generates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959993']The last section of the novel, “The Spy,” is a bit of an outlier, evoking the sad impossibility of resolution after the death of parents with whom one has had a contentious relationship (as Cusk did with hers). It is about a filmmaker — called G, of course — who broke away from his loveless childhood by adopting a pseudonym. This anonymity gave him freedom, but also led to a sense of detachment, with “no investment in the game of life. He is a spy; his ego is exiled, at bay.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003cem>Parade\u003c/em>, as in all her recent work, Cusk strives toward what she has lauded in Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg’s writing: “a more truthful representation of reality” through “a careful use of distance that is never allowed to become detachment.” But this novel, intermittently intriguing but mostly alienating, asks too much of readers.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Parade’ by Rachel Cusk is out now, via Farrar, Straus and Giroux.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large alignright\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960116\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 810px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13960116\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73.jpeg\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an illustrated obelisk. \" width=\"810\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73.jpeg 810w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73-800x1067.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73-160x213.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/untitled-design-73-768x1024.jpeg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 810px) 100vw, 810px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Parade’ by Rachel Cusk. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In her latest novel \u003cem>Parade\u003c/em>, Rachel Cusk once again flouts traditional narrative to probe questions about the connections between freedom, gender, domesticity, art, and suffering in a series of fractured, loosely connected, quasi-essayic fictional episodes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But\u003cem> Parade\u003c/em> is a more abstract and less inviting construct than Cusk’s \u003cem>Outline\u003c/em> trilogy and her 2021 novel \u003cem>Second Place.\u003c/em> However unconventional, each of those books features a woman writer who provides a narrative through-line: Faye, in the celebrated trilogy, seeks to find her footing after a bitter divorce by eliciting others’ revelatory confidences, while the writer dubbed “M” in \u003cem>Second Place\u003c/em> recounts her obsession with a famous painter dubbed “L.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Cusk’s 12th book of fiction offers no such centralized narrative maypole, repeatedly shifting direction and leaving readers in the lurch. \u003cem>Parade\u003c/em> is divided into four sections, whose titles — “The Stuntman,” “The Midwife,” “The Diver,” and “The Spy” — could be read as thumbnail descriptors for how multiple artists, all called G, produce their art. The fact that Cusk’s parade of deracinated seekers are all identified by the same initial is obviously meant to suggest a connection between them. But the deliberately obfuscating shared initial, combined with erratic jumps between first- and third-person narration, struck me as not just off-putting but pretentious. While Cusk’s aim is apparently a sort of Cubist group portrait of her artists, she has taken her experimental abstraction too far this time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Stuntman” begins boldly, with a line that made me think of another G man, the satirical Ukrainian Russian writer Nikolai Gogol. Cusk writes: “At a certain point in his career the artist G, perhaps because he could find no other way to make sense of his time and place in history, began to paint upside down.” We’re told that while no one knows whether G actually painted upside down or simply inverted his finished canvases, he was careful to establish the painting’s preferred orientation with his signature.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a remark that could apply to her own artistic trajectory, Cusk notes that after being “savagely criticised” for his early work, G’s new approach garnered “a fresh round of awards and honours that people seemed disposed to offer him almost no matter what he did.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>More parallels with Cusk’s own creative arc emerge in her account of G’s development. The painter, she writes, deeply affected by his poisonous early reception, “had found a way out of his artistic impasse, caught as he had felt himself to be between the anecdotal nature of representation and the disengagement of abstraction.” Cusk, who was vilified for her harsh take on motherhood and domesticity in her early books, also shifted gears to emerge triumphant with her innovative Outline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>But not everyone approved of the “new reality” reflected in G’s upended canvases. “His wife believed that with this development he had inadvertently expressed something disturbing about the female condition.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The stuntman of this tale is not just the artist G but also his wife, inverted in her husband’s unflattering portraits. And it is also the woman — who may or many not be the artist’s wife — who, disoriented after an unprovoked attack by a deranged woman while walking in an unnamed city, describes her sense of an alternate self in which she is “a kind of stuntman.” In a way, all of Cusk’s female characters — artists, writers, wives, gallerists — are stuntmen fighting what one of them calls the “quicksands of female irrelevance.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Stuntman” ends with G and this woman traveling to another unnamed city to see a retrospective exhibition of works by a female sculptor, also called G. This exhibit, shut down on its opening day by a suicide at the museum, figures again in the novel’s third section, “The Diver,” in which the museum’s director and the artist’s biographer gather with other art professionals to discuss the day’s upsetting events over dinner, noting how the suicide mirrors the “power of disturbance” in the featured sculptor’s work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Their wide-ranging conversation evokes the sort of earnest intellectual exchanges that people have in French movies. It is classic Cusk, touching on questions about art’s relationship to morality and the challenges of combining art with marriage and motherhood. These issues are also raised in the novel’s dark, fairy-tale-like second section, “The Midwife,” in which another female artist named G is trapped in a horrible marriage to a man who seizes control of their daughter and disapproves of his wife’s work, though not the money it generates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The last section of the novel, “The Spy,” is a bit of an outlier, evoking the sad impossibility of resolution after the death of parents with whom one has had a contentious relationship (as Cusk did with hers). It is about a filmmaker — called G, of course — who broke away from his loveless childhood by adopting a pseudonym. This anonymity gave him freedom, but also led to a sense of detachment, with “no investment in the game of life. He is a spy; his ego is exiled, at bay.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003cem>Parade\u003c/em>, as in all her recent work, Cusk strives toward what she has lauded in Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg’s writing: “a more truthful representation of reality” through “a careful use of distance that is never allowed to become detachment.” But this novel, intermittently intriguing but mostly alienating, asks too much of readers.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Parade’ by Rachel Cusk is out now, via Farrar, Straus and Giroux.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "best-nonfiction-books-2024-npr-staff-picks",
"title": "20 Nonfiction Books NPR Staffers Have Loved So Far This Year",
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"headTitle": "20 Nonfiction Books NPR Staffers Have Loved So Far This Year | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>We see you, hard-core NPR readers — just because it’s summer doesn’t mean it’s all fiction, all the time. So we asked around the newsroom to find our staffers’ favorite nonfiction from the first half of 2024. We’ve got biography and memoir, health and science, history, sports and more. (And, sure, if you \u003cem>only\u003c/em> want to take fiction to the beach, we’ve got you: \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13958311/best-new-books-summer-2024-npr-critics-picks\">Click here\u003c/a>.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952988\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 838px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952988\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a close-up headshot of a white woman with short brown hair. She is wearing aviator sunglasses that show a reflection of fire.\" width=\"838\" height=\"1216\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM.png 838w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM-800x1161.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM-768x1114.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 838px) 100vw, 838px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Burn Book: A Tech Love Story’ by Kara Swisher. \u003ccite>(Simon & Schuster)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Burn Book: A Tech Love Story’ by Kara Swisher\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Kara Swisher pulls off a magic trick here, delivering several sharply written books in one. There’s her story of becoming media’s most influential tech analyst, chronicling the rise of Facebook, Amazon, Google and, of course, X/Twitter — psychoanalyzing all the driven, flawed (mostly) dudebros who turned them into world-shaking platforms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s also an affecting personal memoir, charting her journey as a gay woman, spouse, mother, entrepreneurial journalist and advocate. And there’s a passionate critique of toxic technology, slamming self-centered tech CEOs who pursue engagement through enragement, unleashing social division. It’s all knit together with nimble-yet-effective prose, outlining how Silicon Valley works, how journalism works and how society works in one neat package\u003cem>. — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/243254424/eric-deggans\">Eric Deggans,\u003c/a> TV critic\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959959\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 830px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959959\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a Renaissance style painting of a nun's habit and jawline.\" width=\"830\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM.png 830w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM-800x1170.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM-160x234.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM-768x1123.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 830px) 100vw, 830px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Cloistered: My Years As a Nun’ by Catherine Coldstream. \u003ccite>(St Martin's Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Cloistered: My Years as a Nun’ by Catherine Coldstream\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Nuns have captured our imaginations as characters in fiction and on film over the years, but it’s rare to hear from one firsthand. This compelling memoir provides a glimpse into the life of a cloistered nun as the author shares her journey into — and ultimately out of — an order of Carmelite nuns in England.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Coldstream seamlessly weaves her own personal motivations for seeking a life of solitude, contemplation and service alongside an exploration of the challenges, reforms and purpose of such orders at the turn of the 21st century. This book will push you to reflect on faith, power and personal agency in your own communities as you consider Coldstream’s experience. \u003cem>— Tayla Burney, director, Network Programming & Production\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959960\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 868px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959960\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring letters collapsing in on one another.\" width=\"868\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM.png 868w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM-800x1119.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM-160x224.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM-768x1074.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 868px) 100vw, 868px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Grief is for People’ by Sloane Crosley. \u003ccite>(MCD)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Grief is for People’ by Sloane Crosley\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>I spent most of the last year mourning my mother and found few books that even got close to capturing my altered mental state. My brain kept rehashing the past and finding significance in the oddest things, and I so wanted to share that experience with the very person I was missing. In a slim 191 pages, Sloane Crosley nails it precisely as she details mourning her best friend, who died suddenly by suicide.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While poignant and vulnerable, her memoir is also insightful and funny, especially as she recounts adventures with Russell and her attempts to track down and reclaim jewelry that was stolen from her apartment about a month before he died: a caper he would have enjoyed in the telling. I finished it feeling grateful for her friend’s life and even more appreciative of my mom’s. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/474954558/melissa-gray\">Melissa Gray,\u003c/a> senior producer, ‘Weekend Edition’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959961\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 834px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959961\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a smiling grey-haired woman in a suit.\" width=\"834\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM.png 834w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM-800x1161.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM-768x1114.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 834px) 100vw, 834px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Grown Woman Talk: Your Guide to Getting and Staying Healthy’ by Sharon Malone M.D. \u003ccite>(Crown)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Grown Woman Talk: Your Guide to Getting and Staying Healthy’ by Sharon Malone M.D.\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>If you want to be more proactive in managing your health, Dr. Sharon Malone can help. \u003cem>Grown Woman Talk\u003c/em> is a playbook for navigating a fragmented and flawed health care system, written by a doctor who has spent more than 30 years practicing as an OB/GYN and is a certified menopause practitioner. She weaves in insights from her childhood in Mobile, Ala., when doctor visits were rare for her family. She recalls the first time she saw a doctor, entering the hospital through the “colored” door for an emergency tonsillectomy — and describes her mother as a “Jedi master” of managing injuries and illnesses with home remedies. Her deep sense of loss and anger at the death of her mom from cancer when she was 12 inspired her to be the kind of doctor and caretaker we need more of.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/2100208/allison-aubrey\">Allison Aubrey,\u003c/a> health correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959962\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 838px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959962\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting two overlapping circles with loose illustrations of people stretched out in them.\" width=\"838\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM.png 838w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM-800x1159.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM-768x1113.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 838px) 100vw, 838px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Here After: A Memoir’ by Amy Lin. \u003ccite>(Zibby Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Here After: A Memoir’ by Amy Lin\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In this memoir, the past and the present bleed together, as short wisps of chapters build the case for Kurtis and Amy as soul mates, while also telling the story of Kurtis’ sudden and unexplained death. Poetic, visceral and stark, this beautifully crafted book is a gift, pulling back the curtain on the intimate processes of love and grief. Steeped in the greatest of personal losses, Amy Lin allows us to witness her plod against the cascading losses that follow and behold the life raft that is memory. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/637150103/becky-harlan\">Beck Harlan,\u003c/a> visuals editor, ‘Life Kit’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959963\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 812px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959963\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM.png\" alt=\"A stark book cover featuring only grey text on a black background.\" width=\"812\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM.png 812w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM-800x1194.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM-160x239.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM-768x1146.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 812px) 100vw, 812px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality’ by Renée DiResta. \u003ccite>(PublicAffairs)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality’ by Renée DiResta\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>At a time when our screens are clogged with viral lies and conspiracy theories, \u003cem>Invisible Rulers \u003c/em>takes a long view toward explaining media manipulation and how we got to this moment. The book skillfully weaves together history and technology to explain the changing iterations of political propaganda over the past century.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Renée DiResta, a disinformation researcher at Stanford University, shares her own experiences on the front lines of the struggle to define objective reality, including entering the field after confronting anti-vaccine sentiment when she became a parent. In the years since, DiResta has found herself a focal point for conspiracy theories, as powerful politicians have sought to discredit her work and that of other researchers in the field. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/467974737/brett-neely\">Brett Neely,\u003c/a> supervising editor, Disinformation Reporting\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959964\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 830px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959964\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring the national mall at sunset.\" width=\"830\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM.png 830w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM-800x1166.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM-768x1120.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 830px) 100vw, 830px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Life After Power: Seven Presidents and Their Search for Purpose Beyond the White House’ by Jared Cohen. \u003ccite>(Simon & Schuster)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Life After Power: Seven Presidents and Their Search for Purpose Beyond the White House’ by Jared Cohen\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The American presidency is viewed as the most powerful position in the world. What happens when the job ends? History is often surprising. Not everyone found the role to be the most fulfilling one they ever had. Jared Cohen looks at some fascinating case studies that back that up. John Quincy Adams and William Howard Taft found greater joy in other branches of government: Congress and the Supreme Court. George Bush enjoys his private life and art studio. Life after power\u003cem> CAN \u003c/em>be much more rewarding.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/153024115/edith-chapin\">Edith Chapin,\u003c/a> senior vice president and editor in chief\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959966\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 812px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959966\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an illustration of the state of Florida filled in with branches and mangos. \" width=\"812\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM.png 812w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM-800x1196.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM-160x239.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM-768x1148.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 812px) 100vw, 812px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Mango Tree: A Memoir of Fruit, Florida, and Felony’ by Annabelle Tometich. \u003ccite>(Little, Brown and Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘The Mango Tree: A Memoir of Fruit, Florida, and Felony’ by Annabelle Tometich\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>This family memoir begins with a courtroom scene like no other. After a night in jail, Annabelle Tometich’s mom is charged with firing at a man who, she says, was stealing mangoes from the tree in her front yard. Tometich then hits rewind, taking readers back through her Fort Myers, Fla., childhood — with her Filipino American mom and white dad, a couple whose personality differences do not make them stronger together. The writing is both jewel-like and effortless, and Tometich’s memories — some mundane, some extraordinary — are mesmerizing. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/349278028/shannon-rhoades\">Shannon Rhoades,\u003c/a> senior editor, ‘Weekend Edition’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959967\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 814px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959967\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM.png\" alt=\"A colorful book cover featuring a flat circle.\" width=\"814\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM.png 814w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM-800x1191.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM-160x238.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM-768x1144.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 814px) 100vw, 814px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet’ by Hannah Ritchie. \u003ccite>(Little, Brown Spark)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet’ by Hannah Ritchie\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Not the End of the World\u003c/em> sifts through the evidence on pollution, extinction threats and deforestation. Once the numbers are clinically separated from emotion, a surprising guidebook to an eco-friendly life emerges. Food miles: not likely to affect climate change much. Meatless Mondays: helpful, especially if eschewing beef. Not everyone will interpret the world’s chances of staying within 2 degrees Celsius of warming with the same cautious optimism as Hannah Ritchie (“I’m confident we can keep moving closer”). But Ritchie’s data-first perspective makes this book an invaluable chaser to climate doomscrolling.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/724387257/darian-woods\">Darian Woods,\u003c/a> co-host, ‘The Indicator’ from ‘Planet Money’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959968\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 820px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959968\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting three empty hospital cots for infants.\" width=\"820\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM.png 820w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM-800x1182.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM-160x236.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM-768x1135.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 820px) 100vw, 820px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Relinquished: The Politics of Adoption and the Privilege of American Motherhood’ by Gretchen Sisson. \u003ccite>(St. Martin's Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Relinquished: The Politics of Adoption and the Privilege of American Motherhood’ by Gretchen Sisson\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Gretchen Sisson’s research and careful retelling of first/birth mothers’ experiences sheds light on the people who are too often ignored, dehumanized and erased within the institution of adoption.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This book deepened my understanding of how adoption, while typically viewed as a noble, feel-good form of family building, actually hinges on the trauma of family separation. \u003cem>Relinquished\u003c/em> reveals the structural forces behind this loss, commonly blamed on the individual failures of a mother or birth parents. These are interviews that broadened my understanding of reproductive justice and myself as an adopted person. It’s essential reading in this era of reproductive rights under threat, for anyone who has thought of adoption as “a simple alternative” to abortion, and anyone considering adoption as a family plan.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/1160672029/schuyler-swenson\">Schuyler Swenson,\u003c/a> content development producer\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959970\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 808px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959970\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting. dramatic path through the wilderness. A cabin stands high on a hill. \" width=\"808\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM.png 808w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM-800x1200.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM-160x240.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM-768x1152.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 808px) 100vw, 808px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Slow Productivity: The Lost Art of Accomplishment Without Burnout’ by Cal Newport. \u003ccite>(Portfolio)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Slow Productivity: The Lost Art of Accomplishment Without Burnout’ by Cal Newport\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>If you’re the typical knowledge worker, your life is overwhelmed by a dizzying flurry of emails and Slack messages breaking your focus every few minutes. You breathlessly ricochet from task to task yet never get enough real work done. Stop. Take a deep breath. Then read\u003cem> Slow Productivity, \u003c/em>which expounds on productivity expert Cal Newport’s tripartite philosophy of 1) do fewer things 2) work at a natural pace and 3) obsess over quality. He provides practical hacks to implement these principles into your life, while weaving in examples of how deep thinkers such as Jane Austen embodied slow productivity. Newport writes, “The way we’re working no longer works.” But if enough knowledge workers embrace slow productivity, we can revolutionize the world of work. \u003cem>— Preeti Aroon, copy editor, NPR.org\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959971\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 838px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959971\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a singled piece of wallpaper that resembles a flower.\" width=\"838\" height=\"1208\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM.png 838w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM-800x1153.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM-160x231.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM-768x1107.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 838px) 100vw, 838px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Smoke and Ashes: Opium’s Hidden Histories’ by Amitav Ghosh. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Smoke and Ashes: Opium’s Hidden Histories’ by Amitav Ghosh\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>This is a gripping tale of how the British became history’s first narco state, curiously, to help pay for the tea its people so loved to drink. Amitav Ghosh narrates how the British forced opium into China, creating a market by creating addicts. But opium did so much more. Ghosh investigates how it created many of the modern merchant families of India and the United States, including the fortunes of the Delanos (Roosevelt’s maternal grandfather) and the Forbeses. But perhaps the most important part of this book is how Ghosh looks at the history of opium through the prism of what we know now about opioid addiction, and the relatively newfound sympathy we have toward addicts — white addicts. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/536641200/diaa-hadid\">Diaa Hadid,\u003c/a> international correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959972\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1178px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959972\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring white block lettering on a red background.\" width=\"1178\" height=\"844\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM.png 1178w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-800x573.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-1020x731.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-160x115.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-768x550.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1178px) 100vw, 1178px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Thank You Please Come Again: How Gas Stations Feed & Fuel the American South’ by Kate Medley. \u003ccite>(The Bitter Southerner)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Thank You Please Come Again: How Gas Stations Feed & Fuel the American South’ by Kate Medley\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>As someone who travels Southern backroads reporting for NPR, I’ve long noticed how gas stations tend to serve as hubs in rural communities. And I have certainly sampled my share of convenience store fried chicken and sweet tea. Now, photojournalist Kate Medley, a native of Mississippi, takes us on a picturesque road trip across 11 states to document the food cultures you find at service stations. It’s a lovely coffee table book that puts a fascinating lens on a changing American South. There’s a little bit of everything — live bait and ammunition, hot tamales, catfish plates, Cajun banh mi, boiled peanuts, chicken tikka masala and hand-cut steaks. Writer Kiese Laymon’s forward sets the table with a story from his Mississippi youth as he recalls “my favorite restaurant served gas.” \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/2100438/debbie-elliott\">Debbie Elliott,\u003c/a> national correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959973\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 840px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959973\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a young Black child wearing Air Jordan sneakers and sitting on top of a basketball hoop.\" width=\"840\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM.png 840w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM-800x1152.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM-160x230.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM-768x1106.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 840px) 100vw, 840px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension’ by Hanif Abdurraqib. \u003ccite>(Random House)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension’ by Hanif Abdurraqib\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>I don’t even watch basketball all that much. And yet, there’s something alluring about Hanif Abdurraqib’s meditation on the sport. Because, sure, it’s about hoops and LeBron James and Cleveland and the funny way time works when you’re watching a Game 7. But it’s also about losing loved ones.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fans of Abdurraqib’s work will recognize his rhythms and stylistic flairs that hardly ever fail to draw a reader in, and his talent at making you see the beauty in the things he finds beautiful. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/348740829/andrew-limbong\">Andrew Limbong,\u003c/a> correspondent, Culture Desk, and host, NPR’s ‘Book of the Day’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959974\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 836px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959974\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a photo of Ukraine's president.\" width=\"836\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM.png 836w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM-800x1162.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM-768x1115.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 836px) 100vw, 836px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Showman: Inside the Invasion That Shook the World and Made a Leader of Volodymyr Zelensky’ by Simon Shuster. \u003ccite>(William Morrow)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘The Showman: Inside the Invasion That Shook the World and Made a Leader of Volodymyr Zelensky’ by Simon Shuster\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/01/23/1226278535/the-showman-ukraine-russia-zelenskyy-simon-shuster\">this cinematic page-turner,\u003c/a> \u003cem>Time \u003c/em>correspondent Simon Shuster paints a vivid portrait of the Ukrainian president, who honed his powerful communication skills during decades as one of Ukraine’s most popular comedians. Shuster charts the rise from naïve political novice to steely — and unforgiving — wartime president. Deeply reported and deftly written, this book is a feat not only because it sheds light on one of today’s most consequential political figures, but also the history that shaped him and the tectonic shift in geopolitics that he’s now forced to navigate. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/464446135/joanna-kakissis\">Joanna Kakissis,\u003c/a> Ukraine correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959975\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 828px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959975\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring the star of david.\" width=\"828\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM.png 828w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM-800x1169.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM-160x234.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM-768x1122.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 828px) 100vw, 828px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Threshold of Dissent: A History of American Jewish Critics of Zionism’ by Marjorie N. Feld. \u003ccite>(NYU Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘The Threshold of Dissent: A History of American Jewish Critics of Zionism’ by Marjorie N. Feld\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The world is a very confusing place right now — at least, that’s how it feels to me — so I’m always looking for books that can help me better understand where we are as a society and how we got here. \u003cem>The Threshold of Dissent\u003c/em> is one of those books.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In clear, careful language, the author illustrates some of the major moments over the past century that have shaped Jewish beliefs about Zionism, anti-Zionism and non-Zionism. It’s a history told with both rigor and compassion — two qualities that seem especially essential when embarking in conversation on such a fraught and contentious subject. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/477473044/leah-donnella\">Leah Donnella,\u003c/a> senior editor, ‘Code Switch’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959976\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 832px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959976\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an old photo of a young red-headed boy sitting next to a trunk in front of a car with open windows.\" width=\"832\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM.png 832w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM-800x1167.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM-768x1121.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 832px) 100vw, 832px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘A Very Private School: A Memoir’ by Charles Spencer. \u003ccite>(Gallery Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘A Very Private School: A Memoir’ by Charles Spencer\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Charles Spencer — younger brother of Diana, Princess of Wales — turns his considerable talents as a writer and historian on his own childhood. \u003cem>A Very Private School \u003c/em>details what he says happened to him and his classmates — physical, sexual, emotional abuse — at one of Britain’s most elite boarding schools.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Undergirding all is a culture of privilege, yes, but also silence and tradition rooted in the British Empire, sending 8-year-olds away from home as “the done thing.” Spencer’s quote from author Hilary Mantel in the book’s epigraph is telling, “I am writing in order to take charge of my childhood.” \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/349278028/shannon-rhoades\">Shannon Rhoades,\u003c/a> senior editor, ‘Weekend Edition’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959977\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 814px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959977\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a photo of a judge in robes with his seeing eye dog.\" width=\"814\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM.png 814w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM-800x1193.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM-160x239.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM-768x1145.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 814px) 100vw, 814px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Vision: A Memoir of Blindness and Justice’ by David S. Tatel. \u003ccite>(Little, Brown and Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Vision: A Memoir of Blindness and Justice’ by David S. Tatel\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>David Tatel has written the book that his friends and admirers always hoped he would write, but expected he would not. One that deals candidly with his “vision” — his blindness, and his years of treating it as an asterisk, all while becoming one of the most prominent and thoughtful judges in the country.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This book is both novelistic and introspective in its treatment of his lack of sight — from his love affair with his wife and children, to his “cane lessons,” to his later-in-life affection for his guide dog, Vixen. Along the way, it is also a book about the law, the art of judging and today’s Supreme Court. And it’s fascinating. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/2101289/nina-totenberg\">Nina Totenberg,\u003c/a> legal affairs correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959978\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 834px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959978\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM.png\" alt=\"A white book cover with black text.\" width=\"834\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM.png 834w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM-800x1163.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM-768x1116.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 834px) 100vw, 834px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Who’s Afraid of Gender?’ by Judith Butler. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Who’s Afraid of Gender?’ by Judith Butler\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Judith Butler’s groundbreaking 1990 book \u003cem>Gender Trouble\u003c/em> revolutionized gender studies by arguing that gender is socially constructed, almost mythlike, but that myth can create reality.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this book, Butler leans into the titular question: Why has gender become such a “phantasm” in American life, and what does it tell us about how we’re approaching some of the biggest problems facing us, like climate change and far-right extremism? Butler has a clear perspective — and spells out the dangers of an ascendant “anti-gender ideology.” But it’s also an invitation to consider how we think about gender — and what that might tell us about who we are. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/989930879/tinbete-ermyas\">Tinbete Ermyas,\u003c/a> editor, ‘All Things Considered’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959979\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 814px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959979\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring primitive artwork of a horse and plant life. \" width=\"814\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM.png 814w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM-800x1189.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM-160x238.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM-768x1142.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 814px) 100vw, 814px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World’ by Ada Limón. \u003ccite>(Milkweed Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World’ by Ada Limón\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This anthology of 50 never-before-published poems about nature was edited by the 24th poet laureate of the United States, Ada Limón. The collection is both achingly beautiful and terrifyingly urgent. From a humorous take on getting drenched in a rainstorm to a beloved tree on its last day of existence to a woman processing the bleak reality of the world her grandchildren will inherit, these poems encouraged a heightened noticing in me and (bonus!) introduced me to the work of many new-to-me poets I’m eager to explore. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/637150103/becky-harlan\">Beck Harlan,\u003c/a> visuals editor, ‘Life Kit’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>We see you, hard-core NPR readers — just because it’s summer doesn’t mean it’s all fiction, all the time. So we asked around the newsroom to find our staffers’ favorite nonfiction from the first half of 2024. We’ve got biography and memoir, health and science, history, sports and more. (And, sure, if you \u003cem>only\u003c/em> want to take fiction to the beach, we’ve got you: \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13958311/best-new-books-summer-2024-npr-critics-picks\">Click here\u003c/a>.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952988\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 838px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952988\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a close-up headshot of a white woman with short brown hair. She is wearing aviator sunglasses that show a reflection of fire.\" width=\"838\" height=\"1216\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM.png 838w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM-800x1161.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Screen-Shot-2024-02-26-at-9.37.25-AM-768x1114.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 838px) 100vw, 838px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Burn Book: A Tech Love Story’ by Kara Swisher. \u003ccite>(Simon & Schuster)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Burn Book: A Tech Love Story’ by Kara Swisher\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Kara Swisher pulls off a magic trick here, delivering several sharply written books in one. There’s her story of becoming media’s most influential tech analyst, chronicling the rise of Facebook, Amazon, Google and, of course, X/Twitter — psychoanalyzing all the driven, flawed (mostly) dudebros who turned them into world-shaking platforms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s also an affecting personal memoir, charting her journey as a gay woman, spouse, mother, entrepreneurial journalist and advocate. And there’s a passionate critique of toxic technology, slamming self-centered tech CEOs who pursue engagement through enragement, unleashing social division. It’s all knit together with nimble-yet-effective prose, outlining how Silicon Valley works, how journalism works and how society works in one neat package\u003cem>. — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/243254424/eric-deggans\">Eric Deggans,\u003c/a> TV critic\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959959\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 830px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959959\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a Renaissance style painting of a nun's habit and jawline.\" width=\"830\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM.png 830w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM-800x1170.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM-160x234.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.49.27-AM-768x1123.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 830px) 100vw, 830px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Cloistered: My Years As a Nun’ by Catherine Coldstream. \u003ccite>(St Martin's Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Cloistered: My Years as a Nun’ by Catherine Coldstream\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Nuns have captured our imaginations as characters in fiction and on film over the years, but it’s rare to hear from one firsthand. This compelling memoir provides a glimpse into the life of a cloistered nun as the author shares her journey into — and ultimately out of — an order of Carmelite nuns in England.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Coldstream seamlessly weaves her own personal motivations for seeking a life of solitude, contemplation and service alongside an exploration of the challenges, reforms and purpose of such orders at the turn of the 21st century. This book will push you to reflect on faith, power and personal agency in your own communities as you consider Coldstream’s experience. \u003cem>— Tayla Burney, director, Network Programming & Production\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959960\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 868px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959960\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring letters collapsing in on one another.\" width=\"868\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM.png 868w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM-800x1119.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM-160x224.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-11.58.02-AM-768x1074.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 868px) 100vw, 868px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Grief is for People’ by Sloane Crosley. \u003ccite>(MCD)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Grief is for People’ by Sloane Crosley\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>I spent most of the last year mourning my mother and found few books that even got close to capturing my altered mental state. My brain kept rehashing the past and finding significance in the oddest things, and I so wanted to share that experience with the very person I was missing. In a slim 191 pages, Sloane Crosley nails it precisely as she details mourning her best friend, who died suddenly by suicide.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While poignant and vulnerable, her memoir is also insightful and funny, especially as she recounts adventures with Russell and her attempts to track down and reclaim jewelry that was stolen from her apartment about a month before he died: a caper he would have enjoyed in the telling. I finished it feeling grateful for her friend’s life and even more appreciative of my mom’s. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/474954558/melissa-gray\">Melissa Gray,\u003c/a> senior producer, ‘Weekend Edition’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959961\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 834px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959961\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a smiling grey-haired woman in a suit.\" width=\"834\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM.png 834w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM-800x1161.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.01.51-PM-768x1114.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 834px) 100vw, 834px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Grown Woman Talk: Your Guide to Getting and Staying Healthy’ by Sharon Malone M.D. \u003ccite>(Crown)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Grown Woman Talk: Your Guide to Getting and Staying Healthy’ by Sharon Malone M.D.\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>If you want to be more proactive in managing your health, Dr. Sharon Malone can help. \u003cem>Grown Woman Talk\u003c/em> is a playbook for navigating a fragmented and flawed health care system, written by a doctor who has spent more than 30 years practicing as an OB/GYN and is a certified menopause practitioner. She weaves in insights from her childhood in Mobile, Ala., when doctor visits were rare for her family. She recalls the first time she saw a doctor, entering the hospital through the “colored” door for an emergency tonsillectomy — and describes her mother as a “Jedi master” of managing injuries and illnesses with home remedies. Her deep sense of loss and anger at the death of her mom from cancer when she was 12 inspired her to be the kind of doctor and caretaker we need more of.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/2100208/allison-aubrey\">Allison Aubrey,\u003c/a> health correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959962\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 838px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959962\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting two overlapping circles with loose illustrations of people stretched out in them.\" width=\"838\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM.png 838w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM-800x1159.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.04.12-PM-768x1113.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 838px) 100vw, 838px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Here After: A Memoir’ by Amy Lin. \u003ccite>(Zibby Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Here After: A Memoir’ by Amy Lin\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In this memoir, the past and the present bleed together, as short wisps of chapters build the case for Kurtis and Amy as soul mates, while also telling the story of Kurtis’ sudden and unexplained death. Poetic, visceral and stark, this beautifully crafted book is a gift, pulling back the curtain on the intimate processes of love and grief. Steeped in the greatest of personal losses, Amy Lin allows us to witness her plod against the cascading losses that follow and behold the life raft that is memory. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/637150103/becky-harlan\">Beck Harlan,\u003c/a> visuals editor, ‘Life Kit’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959963\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 812px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959963\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM.png\" alt=\"A stark book cover featuring only grey text on a black background.\" width=\"812\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM.png 812w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM-800x1194.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM-160x239.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.06.45-PM-768x1146.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 812px) 100vw, 812px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality’ by Renée DiResta. \u003ccite>(PublicAffairs)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality’ by Renée DiResta\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>At a time when our screens are clogged with viral lies and conspiracy theories, \u003cem>Invisible Rulers \u003c/em>takes a long view toward explaining media manipulation and how we got to this moment. The book skillfully weaves together history and technology to explain the changing iterations of political propaganda over the past century.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Renée DiResta, a disinformation researcher at Stanford University, shares her own experiences on the front lines of the struggle to define objective reality, including entering the field after confronting anti-vaccine sentiment when she became a parent. In the years since, DiResta has found herself a focal point for conspiracy theories, as powerful politicians have sought to discredit her work and that of other researchers in the field. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/467974737/brett-neely\">Brett Neely,\u003c/a> supervising editor, Disinformation Reporting\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959964\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 830px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959964\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring the national mall at sunset.\" width=\"830\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM.png 830w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM-800x1166.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.09.20-PM-768x1120.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 830px) 100vw, 830px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Life After Power: Seven Presidents and Their Search for Purpose Beyond the White House’ by Jared Cohen. \u003ccite>(Simon & Schuster)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Life After Power: Seven Presidents and Their Search for Purpose Beyond the White House’ by Jared Cohen\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The American presidency is viewed as the most powerful position in the world. What happens when the job ends? History is often surprising. Not everyone found the role to be the most fulfilling one they ever had. Jared Cohen looks at some fascinating case studies that back that up. John Quincy Adams and William Howard Taft found greater joy in other branches of government: Congress and the Supreme Court. George Bush enjoys his private life and art studio. Life after power\u003cem> CAN \u003c/em>be much more rewarding.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/153024115/edith-chapin\">Edith Chapin,\u003c/a> senior vice president and editor in chief\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959966\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 812px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959966\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an illustration of the state of Florida filled in with branches and mangos. \" width=\"812\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM.png 812w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM-800x1196.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM-160x239.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.11.00-PM-768x1148.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 812px) 100vw, 812px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Mango Tree: A Memoir of Fruit, Florida, and Felony’ by Annabelle Tometich. \u003ccite>(Little, Brown and Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘The Mango Tree: A Memoir of Fruit, Florida, and Felony’ by Annabelle Tometich\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>This family memoir begins with a courtroom scene like no other. After a night in jail, Annabelle Tometich’s mom is charged with firing at a man who, she says, was stealing mangoes from the tree in her front yard. Tometich then hits rewind, taking readers back through her Fort Myers, Fla., childhood — with her Filipino American mom and white dad, a couple whose personality differences do not make them stronger together. The writing is both jewel-like and effortless, and Tometich’s memories — some mundane, some extraordinary — are mesmerizing. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/349278028/shannon-rhoades\">Shannon Rhoades,\u003c/a> senior editor, ‘Weekend Edition’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959967\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 814px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959967\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM.png\" alt=\"A colorful book cover featuring a flat circle.\" width=\"814\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM.png 814w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM-800x1191.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM-160x238.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.18.53-PM-768x1144.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 814px) 100vw, 814px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet’ by Hannah Ritchie. \u003ccite>(Little, Brown Spark)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet’ by Hannah Ritchie\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Not the End of the World\u003c/em> sifts through the evidence on pollution, extinction threats and deforestation. Once the numbers are clinically separated from emotion, a surprising guidebook to an eco-friendly life emerges. Food miles: not likely to affect climate change much. Meatless Mondays: helpful, especially if eschewing beef. Not everyone will interpret the world’s chances of staying within 2 degrees Celsius of warming with the same cautious optimism as Hannah Ritchie (“I’m confident we can keep moving closer”). But Ritchie’s data-first perspective makes this book an invaluable chaser to climate doomscrolling.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/724387257/darian-woods\">Darian Woods,\u003c/a> co-host, ‘The Indicator’ from ‘Planet Money’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959968\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 820px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959968\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting three empty hospital cots for infants.\" width=\"820\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM.png 820w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM-800x1182.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM-160x236.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.32.48-PM-768x1135.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 820px) 100vw, 820px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Relinquished: The Politics of Adoption and the Privilege of American Motherhood’ by Gretchen Sisson. \u003ccite>(St. Martin's Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Relinquished: The Politics of Adoption and the Privilege of American Motherhood’ by Gretchen Sisson\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Gretchen Sisson’s research and careful retelling of first/birth mothers’ experiences sheds light on the people who are too often ignored, dehumanized and erased within the institution of adoption.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This book deepened my understanding of how adoption, while typically viewed as a noble, feel-good form of family building, actually hinges on the trauma of family separation. \u003cem>Relinquished\u003c/em> reveals the structural forces behind this loss, commonly blamed on the individual failures of a mother or birth parents. These are interviews that broadened my understanding of reproductive justice and myself as an adopted person. It’s essential reading in this era of reproductive rights under threat, for anyone who has thought of adoption as “a simple alternative” to abortion, and anyone considering adoption as a family plan.\u003cem> — \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/1160672029/schuyler-swenson\">Schuyler Swenson,\u003c/a> content development producer\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959970\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 808px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959970\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting. dramatic path through the wilderness. A cabin stands high on a hill. \" width=\"808\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM.png 808w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM-800x1200.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM-160x240.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.35.35-PM-768x1152.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 808px) 100vw, 808px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Slow Productivity: The Lost Art of Accomplishment Without Burnout’ by Cal Newport. \u003ccite>(Portfolio)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Slow Productivity: The Lost Art of Accomplishment Without Burnout’ by Cal Newport\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>If you’re the typical knowledge worker, your life is overwhelmed by a dizzying flurry of emails and Slack messages breaking your focus every few minutes. You breathlessly ricochet from task to task yet never get enough real work done. Stop. Take a deep breath. Then read\u003cem> Slow Productivity, \u003c/em>which expounds on productivity expert Cal Newport’s tripartite philosophy of 1) do fewer things 2) work at a natural pace and 3) obsess over quality. He provides practical hacks to implement these principles into your life, while weaving in examples of how deep thinkers such as Jane Austen embodied slow productivity. Newport writes, “The way we’re working no longer works.” But if enough knowledge workers embrace slow productivity, we can revolutionize the world of work. \u003cem>— Preeti Aroon, copy editor, NPR.org\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959971\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 838px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959971\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a singled piece of wallpaper that resembles a flower.\" width=\"838\" height=\"1208\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM.png 838w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM-800x1153.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM-160x231.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.38.20-PM-768x1107.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 838px) 100vw, 838px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Smoke and Ashes: Opium’s Hidden Histories’ by Amitav Ghosh. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Smoke and Ashes: Opium’s Hidden Histories’ by Amitav Ghosh\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>This is a gripping tale of how the British became history’s first narco state, curiously, to help pay for the tea its people so loved to drink. Amitav Ghosh narrates how the British forced opium into China, creating a market by creating addicts. But opium did so much more. Ghosh investigates how it created many of the modern merchant families of India and the United States, including the fortunes of the Delanos (Roosevelt’s maternal grandfather) and the Forbeses. But perhaps the most important part of this book is how Ghosh looks at the history of opium through the prism of what we know now about opioid addiction, and the relatively newfound sympathy we have toward addicts — white addicts. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/536641200/diaa-hadid\">Diaa Hadid,\u003c/a> international correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959972\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1178px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959972\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring white block lettering on a red background.\" width=\"1178\" height=\"844\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM.png 1178w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-800x573.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-1020x731.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-160x115.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.42.34-PM-768x550.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1178px) 100vw, 1178px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Thank You Please Come Again: How Gas Stations Feed & Fuel the American South’ by Kate Medley. \u003ccite>(The Bitter Southerner)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Thank You Please Come Again: How Gas Stations Feed & Fuel the American South’ by Kate Medley\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>As someone who travels Southern backroads reporting for NPR, I’ve long noticed how gas stations tend to serve as hubs in rural communities. And I have certainly sampled my share of convenience store fried chicken and sweet tea. Now, photojournalist Kate Medley, a native of Mississippi, takes us on a picturesque road trip across 11 states to document the food cultures you find at service stations. It’s a lovely coffee table book that puts a fascinating lens on a changing American South. There’s a little bit of everything — live bait and ammunition, hot tamales, catfish plates, Cajun banh mi, boiled peanuts, chicken tikka masala and hand-cut steaks. Writer Kiese Laymon’s forward sets the table with a story from his Mississippi youth as he recalls “my favorite restaurant served gas.” \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/2100438/debbie-elliott\">Debbie Elliott,\u003c/a> national correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959973\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 840px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959973\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a young Black child wearing Air Jordan sneakers and sitting on top of a basketball hoop.\" width=\"840\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM.png 840w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM-800x1152.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM-160x230.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.44.59-PM-768x1106.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 840px) 100vw, 840px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension’ by Hanif Abdurraqib. \u003ccite>(Random House)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension’ by Hanif Abdurraqib\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>I don’t even watch basketball all that much. And yet, there’s something alluring about Hanif Abdurraqib’s meditation on the sport. Because, sure, it’s about hoops and LeBron James and Cleveland and the funny way time works when you’re watching a Game 7. But it’s also about losing loved ones.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fans of Abdurraqib’s work will recognize his rhythms and stylistic flairs that hardly ever fail to draw a reader in, and his talent at making you see the beauty in the things he finds beautiful. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/348740829/andrew-limbong\">Andrew Limbong,\u003c/a> correspondent, Culture Desk, and host, NPR’s ‘Book of the Day’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959974\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 836px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959974\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a photo of Ukraine's president.\" width=\"836\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM.png 836w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM-800x1162.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.48.55-PM-768x1115.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 836px) 100vw, 836px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Showman: Inside the Invasion That Shook the World and Made a Leader of Volodymyr Zelensky’ by Simon Shuster. \u003ccite>(William Morrow)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘The Showman: Inside the Invasion That Shook the World and Made a Leader of Volodymyr Zelensky’ by Simon Shuster\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/01/23/1226278535/the-showman-ukraine-russia-zelenskyy-simon-shuster\">this cinematic page-turner,\u003c/a> \u003cem>Time \u003c/em>correspondent Simon Shuster paints a vivid portrait of the Ukrainian president, who honed his powerful communication skills during decades as one of Ukraine’s most popular comedians. Shuster charts the rise from naïve political novice to steely — and unforgiving — wartime president. Deeply reported and deftly written, this book is a feat not only because it sheds light on one of today’s most consequential political figures, but also the history that shaped him and the tectonic shift in geopolitics that he’s now forced to navigate. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/464446135/joanna-kakissis\">Joanna Kakissis,\u003c/a> Ukraine correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959975\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 828px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959975\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring the star of david.\" width=\"828\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM.png 828w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM-800x1169.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM-160x234.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.51.02-PM-768x1122.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 828px) 100vw, 828px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Threshold of Dissent: A History of American Jewish Critics of Zionism’ by Marjorie N. Feld. \u003ccite>(NYU Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘The Threshold of Dissent: A History of American Jewish Critics of Zionism’ by Marjorie N. Feld\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The world is a very confusing place right now — at least, that’s how it feels to me — so I’m always looking for books that can help me better understand where we are as a society and how we got here. \u003cem>The Threshold of Dissent\u003c/em> is one of those books.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In clear, careful language, the author illustrates some of the major moments over the past century that have shaped Jewish beliefs about Zionism, anti-Zionism and non-Zionism. It’s a history told with both rigor and compassion — two qualities that seem especially essential when embarking in conversation on such a fraught and contentious subject. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/477473044/leah-donnella\">Leah Donnella,\u003c/a> senior editor, ‘Code Switch’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959976\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 832px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959976\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an old photo of a young red-headed boy sitting next to a trunk in front of a car with open windows.\" width=\"832\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM.png 832w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM-800x1167.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.53.50-PM-768x1121.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 832px) 100vw, 832px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘A Very Private School: A Memoir’ by Charles Spencer. \u003ccite>(Gallery Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘A Very Private School: A Memoir’ by Charles Spencer\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Charles Spencer — younger brother of Diana, Princess of Wales — turns his considerable talents as a writer and historian on his own childhood. \u003cem>A Very Private School \u003c/em>details what he says happened to him and his classmates — physical, sexual, emotional abuse — at one of Britain’s most elite boarding schools.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Undergirding all is a culture of privilege, yes, but also silence and tradition rooted in the British Empire, sending 8-year-olds away from home as “the done thing.” Spencer’s quote from author Hilary Mantel in the book’s epigraph is telling, “I am writing in order to take charge of my childhood.” \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/349278028/shannon-rhoades\">Shannon Rhoades,\u003c/a> senior editor, ‘Weekend Edition’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959977\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 814px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959977\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a photo of a judge in robes with his seeing eye dog.\" width=\"814\" height=\"1214\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM.png 814w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM-800x1193.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM-160x239.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.56.48-PM-768x1145.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 814px) 100vw, 814px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Vision: A Memoir of Blindness and Justice’ by David S. Tatel. \u003ccite>(Little, Brown and Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Vision: A Memoir of Blindness and Justice’ by David S. Tatel\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>David Tatel has written the book that his friends and admirers always hoped he would write, but expected he would not. One that deals candidly with his “vision” — his blindness, and his years of treating it as an asterisk, all while becoming one of the most prominent and thoughtful judges in the country.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This book is both novelistic and introspective in its treatment of his lack of sight — from his love affair with his wife and children, to his “cane lessons,” to his later-in-life affection for his guide dog, Vixen. Along the way, it is also a book about the law, the art of judging and today’s Supreme Court. And it’s fascinating. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/2101289/nina-totenberg\">Nina Totenberg,\u003c/a> legal affairs correspondent\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959978\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 834px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959978\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM.png\" alt=\"A white book cover with black text.\" width=\"834\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM.png 834w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM-800x1163.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-12.59.23-PM-768x1116.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 834px) 100vw, 834px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Who’s Afraid of Gender?’ by Judith Butler. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘Who’s Afraid of Gender?’ by Judith Butler\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Judith Butler’s groundbreaking 1990 book \u003cem>Gender Trouble\u003c/em> revolutionized gender studies by arguing that gender is socially constructed, almost mythlike, but that myth can create reality.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this book, Butler leans into the titular question: Why has gender become such a “phantasm” in American life, and what does it tell us about how we’re approaching some of the biggest problems facing us, like climate change and far-right extremism? Butler has a clear perspective — and spells out the dangers of an ascendant “anti-gender ideology.” But it’s also an invitation to consider how we think about gender — and what that might tell us about who we are. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/989930879/tinbete-ermyas\">Tinbete Ermyas,\u003c/a> editor, ‘All Things Considered’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959979\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 814px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959979\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring primitive artwork of a horse and plant life. \" width=\"814\" height=\"1210\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM.png 814w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM-800x1189.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM-160x238.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-18-at-1.01.39-PM-768x1142.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 814px) 100vw, 814px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World’ by Ada Limón. \u003ccite>(Milkweed Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cstrong>‘You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World’ by Ada Limón\u003c/strong>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This anthology of 50 never-before-published poems about nature was edited by the 24th poet laureate of the United States, Ada Limón. The collection is both achingly beautiful and terrifyingly urgent. From a humorous take on getting drenched in a rainstorm to a beloved tree on its last day of existence to a woman processing the bleak reality of the world her grandchildren will inherit, these poems encouraged a heightened noticing in me and (bonus!) introduced me to the work of many new-to-me poets I’m eager to explore. \u003cem>— \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/people/637150103/becky-harlan\">Beck Harlan,\u003c/a> visuals editor, ‘Life Kit’\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "lgbtq-comedians-new-netflix-documentary-review-outstanding-comedy-revolution",
"title": "‘Laughter Is Disarming’: A New Documentary Traces Generations of LGBTQ Comedy",
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"headTitle": "‘Laughter Is Disarming’: A New Documentary Traces Generations of LGBTQ Comedy | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>“Comedy’s always a reflection of the culture, good and bad,” says Page Hurwitz. Her new Netflix documentary about the history and current state of LGBTQ comedy is proof. Through archival footage, performances and interviews, \u003cem>Outstanding: A Comedy Revolution\u003c/em> spans nearly a century of LGBTQ comedy, including the milestones and setbacks for queer comedians pursuing careers making people laugh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959601']A multigenerational who’s who of comedy fills this documentary. Lily Tomlin, Rosie O’Donnell, Eddie Izzard, Sandra Bernhard, Billy Eichner, Fortune Feimster, Tig Notaro and Solomon Georgio are among the many performers who recount their personal stories of developing their comedic styles and grappling with homophobia.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hurwitz began her career doing stand-up in the late 1990s in San Francisco’s Castro district. Today, she writes, produces and directs comedy specials and TV series. When she started putting the documentary together, she knew there was something she had to get right: “We’re the gays, so I wanted to make it dynamic. There’s nothing worse you could be than banal.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEZX9LNX3BA\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To ensure her documentary had some dazzle, Hurwitz organized a massive event at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles featuring a marquis lineup of LGBTQ comedians. She turned the event into its own \u003ca href=\"https://www.netflix.com/title/81170956\">special for Netflix\u003c/a> and interspersed footage from it throughout the documentary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Among the revelatory moments in \u003cem>Outstanding\u003c/em> are interviews with comedians who might’ve been more famous had they not come out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13958101']Robin Tyler, one of the first comedians to come out on national television, says she was never in the closet. “Closets are vertical coffins,” she declares in the film. “All you do is suffocate to death.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Tyler’s comedy career suffered when she included jokes about Anita Bryant in her act. Bryant, the former beauty pageant winner, singer and Christian, was one of the most active voices in the anti-gay crusade. One such joke declared that Bryant “is to Christianity what paint-by-numbers is to art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That’s why no one knows her name,” says Hurwitz of Tyler, “And she should be a household name because she’s so funny and so talented.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959921\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1084px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959921\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM.png\" alt=\"An older woman is viewed in profile, sitting in a chair in a dimly lit room.\" width=\"1084\" height=\"722\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM.png 1084w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-800x533.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-1020x679.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-768x512.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1084px) 100vw, 1084px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Robin Tyler in ‘Outstanding: A Comedy Revolution.’ \u003ccite>(Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Hurwitz and a small staff pored over hundreds of archival performances and news footage to show how, from one decade to the next, queer comedians either made strides or suffered, depending on the political and cultural climate of the day. There’s Moms Mabley playing an openly gay character in a movie from the 1930s and the so-called \u003ca href=\"https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/cold-war-lavender-scare-and-lgbtq-activism.htm#:~:text=In%201953%2C%20President%20Eisenhower%20signed,losing%20their%20jobs%20and%20reputations.&text=This%20is%20now%20known%20as%20the%20Lavender%20Scare.\">Lavender Scare\u003c/a> during the Cold War.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959827']As comedian Scott Thompson puts it in the documentary, “I just thought life can change on a dime and society can change on a dime.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thompson points to an “embrace” of gay culture in the 1970s — think disco and Village People — to a complete about-face in the 1980s with the AIDS epidemic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It went back 30, 40 years, instantly, almost overnight,” he says. “Gay men in those days were considered vile.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959922\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1130px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959922\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM.png\" alt=\"A dapper man sits in front of a purple curtain, smiling and raising a cocktail.\" width=\"1130\" height=\"792\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM.png 1130w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-800x561.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-1020x715.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-160x112.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-768x538.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1130px) 100vw, 1130px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Scott Thompson/Buddy Cole at The Greek Theatre for Netflix Is A Joke Fest. \u003ccite>(Beth Dubber/Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“Comedy at that time was incredibly homophobic,” says Hurwitz, “and we had a lot of well-known comedians who were choosing to turn that tragedy into fodder for their hackneyed comedy acts. So, whether it was Andrew Dice Clay or Sam Kinison or frankly, for that matter, Eddie Murphy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But comedians know how to counterpunch and during the AIDS crisis, Sandra Bernhard’s politically charged, cabaret-style performances were a force. As she explains in the documentary, “This became like the next wave of having to be there and jump in full throttle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13958734']Comedian and actor Joel Kim Booster, who’s interviewed in the documentary, says he was “floored” when he saw the final cut of \u003cem>Outstanding\u003c/em>. He says it made him grateful to all of the queer comedians who blazed a trail for his generation. “We were not the ones who busted down the door. We just walked through it,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Outstanding\u003c/em> shows how there are still challenges for gay performers, most significantly transphobic material by big-name comedians. But Page Hurwitz says that LGBTQ comedians will continue to take the stage, make people laugh and change the culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“You’re sharing who you are with the audience and it’s so powerful,” she says, “because laughter is disarming. You make the personal universal, so we can realize that actually, we’re more alike than we are different.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959923\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1172px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959923\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM.png\" alt=\"Two drag queens perform at the front of a stage, while a chorus sings behind them.\" width=\"1172\" height=\"790\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM.png 1172w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-800x539.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-1020x688.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-768x518.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1172px) 100vw, 1172px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Bob The Drag Queen, Trixie Mattel, Rosie O’Donnell at The Greek Theatre for Netflix Is A Joke Fest. \u003ccite>(Beth Dubber/Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The audio and digital versions of this story were edited by Ciera Crawford. The audio story was produced by Isabella Gomez-Sarmiento. The digital was produced by Beth Novey.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>“Comedy’s always a reflection of the culture, good and bad,” says Page Hurwitz. Her new Netflix documentary about the history and current state of LGBTQ comedy is proof. Through archival footage, performances and interviews, \u003cem>Outstanding: A Comedy Revolution\u003c/em> spans nearly a century of LGBTQ comedy, including the milestones and setbacks for queer comedians pursuing careers making people laugh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>A multigenerational who’s who of comedy fills this documentary. Lily Tomlin, Rosie O’Donnell, Eddie Izzard, Sandra Bernhard, Billy Eichner, Fortune Feimster, Tig Notaro and Solomon Georgio are among the many performers who recount their personal stories of developing their comedic styles and grappling with homophobia.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hurwitz began her career doing stand-up in the late 1990s in San Francisco’s Castro district. Today, she writes, produces and directs comedy specials and TV series. When she started putting the documentary together, she knew there was something she had to get right: “We’re the gays, so I wanted to make it dynamic. There’s nothing worse you could be than banal.”\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/dEZX9LNX3BA'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/dEZX9LNX3BA'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>To ensure her documentary had some dazzle, Hurwitz organized a massive event at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles featuring a marquis lineup of LGBTQ comedians. She turned the event into its own \u003ca href=\"https://www.netflix.com/title/81170956\">special for Netflix\u003c/a> and interspersed footage from it throughout the documentary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Robin Tyler, one of the first comedians to come out on national television, says she was never in the closet. “Closets are vertical coffins,” she declares in the film. “All you do is suffocate to death.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Tyler’s comedy career suffered when she included jokes about Anita Bryant in her act. Bryant, the former beauty pageant winner, singer and Christian, was one of the most active voices in the anti-gay crusade. One such joke declared that Bryant “is to Christianity what paint-by-numbers is to art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That’s why no one knows her name,” says Hurwitz of Tyler, “And she should be a household name because she’s so funny and so talented.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959921\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1084px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959921\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM.png\" alt=\"An older woman is viewed in profile, sitting in a chair in a dimly lit room.\" width=\"1084\" height=\"722\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM.png 1084w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-800x533.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-1020x679.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.15.12-PM-768x512.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1084px) 100vw, 1084px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Robin Tyler in ‘Outstanding: A Comedy Revolution.’ \u003ccite>(Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Hurwitz and a small staff pored over hundreds of archival performances and news footage to show how, from one decade to the next, queer comedians either made strides or suffered, depending on the political and cultural climate of the day. There’s Moms Mabley playing an openly gay character in a movie from the 1930s and the so-called \u003ca href=\"https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/cold-war-lavender-scare-and-lgbtq-activism.htm#:~:text=In%201953%2C%20President%20Eisenhower%20signed,losing%20their%20jobs%20and%20reputations.&text=This%20is%20now%20known%20as%20the%20Lavender%20Scare.\">Lavender Scare\u003c/a> during the Cold War.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>As comedian Scott Thompson puts it in the documentary, “I just thought life can change on a dime and society can change on a dime.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thompson points to an “embrace” of gay culture in the 1970s — think disco and Village People — to a complete about-face in the 1980s with the AIDS epidemic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It went back 30, 40 years, instantly, almost overnight,” he says. “Gay men in those days were considered vile.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959922\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1130px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959922\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM.png\" alt=\"A dapper man sits in front of a purple curtain, smiling and raising a cocktail.\" width=\"1130\" height=\"792\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM.png 1130w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-800x561.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-1020x715.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-160x112.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.19.24-PM-768x538.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1130px) 100vw, 1130px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Scott Thompson/Buddy Cole at The Greek Theatre for Netflix Is A Joke Fest. \u003ccite>(Beth Dubber/Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“Comedy at that time was incredibly homophobic,” says Hurwitz, “and we had a lot of well-known comedians who were choosing to turn that tragedy into fodder for their hackneyed comedy acts. So, whether it was Andrew Dice Clay or Sam Kinison or frankly, for that matter, Eddie Murphy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But comedians know how to counterpunch and during the AIDS crisis, Sandra Bernhard’s politically charged, cabaret-style performances were a force. As she explains in the documentary, “This became like the next wave of having to be there and jump in full throttle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Comedian and actor Joel Kim Booster, who’s interviewed in the documentary, says he was “floored” when he saw the final cut of \u003cem>Outstanding\u003c/em>. He says it made him grateful to all of the queer comedians who blazed a trail for his generation. “We were not the ones who busted down the door. We just walked through it,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Outstanding\u003c/em> shows how there are still challenges for gay performers, most significantly transphobic material by big-name comedians. But Page Hurwitz says that LGBTQ comedians will continue to take the stage, make people laugh and change the culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“You’re sharing who you are with the audience and it’s so powerful,” she says, “because laughter is disarming. You make the personal universal, so we can realize that actually, we’re more alike than we are different.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959923\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1172px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959923\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM.png\" alt=\"Two drag queens perform at the front of a stage, while a chorus sings behind them.\" width=\"1172\" height=\"790\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM.png 1172w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-800x539.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-1020x688.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-2.21.41-PM-768x518.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1172px) 100vw, 1172px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Bob The Drag Queen, Trixie Mattel, Rosie O’Donnell at The Greek Theatre for Netflix Is A Joke Fest. \u003ccite>(Beth Dubber/Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The audio and digital versions of this story were edited by Ciera Crawford. The audio story was produced by Isabella Gomez-Sarmiento. The digital was produced by Beth Novey.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>I will be the first to admit I didn’t even know there \u003cem>was \u003c/em>a French shark movie until I saw it appear at the very top of Netflix’s top 10 movies. And it’s not as if it’s hiding anything about its topic: It’s called \u003cem>Under Paris\u003c/em>. You know why? Because it’s all about sharks under Paris. Specifically, it’s about sharks in the Seine. Initially, there are just a couple of sharks. But then, there are a \u003cem>lot \u003c/em>of sharks. And the movie is apparently an enormous hit, although/because it is, while not as silly as \u003cem>Sharknado\u003c/em>, very silly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959801']\u003cem>Under Paris \u003c/em>(aka, to me at least, \u003cem>Sharknadeau\u003c/em>) begins as a standard menacing-creature story. Sophia (Bérénice Bejo, Oscar nominee for \u003cem>The Artist\u003c/em>) is a scientist studying sharks in the vicinity of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch (a real, depressing thing). She and her team get a signal from one of their tagged sharks, named Lilith, and several members of the team go on a dive to obtain a blood sample. This dive does not go well (I mean, I suppose it goes OK for Lilith), leaving Sophia traumatized.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A few years later, a shark-saving group in Paris alerts Sophia that they know where Lilith is: in the Seine. Now, sharks in the Seine are not a real thing, but perhaps the only upside of climate change is the expansion of options for disaster movies. After all, a movie like this can throw its hands in the air and say, “Honestly, you don’t know \u003cem>what’s \u003c/em>possible now that you can go to the beach on Christmas, do you?” So: sharks in the Seine. Not just that, but \u003cem>multiplying \u003c/em>sharks in the Seine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959908\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1230px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959908\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM.png\" alt=\"A woman in scrubs examines a dead, blood-covered shark.\" width=\"1230\" height=\"766\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM.png 1230w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-800x498.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-1020x635.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-160x100.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-768x478.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1230px) 100vw, 1230px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Bérénice Bejo stars as Sophia, a shark scientist. \u003ccite>(Sofie Gheysens/Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Of course, Paris has an arrogant, careless mayor who, like all government officials in shark movies, suffers from a pathological failure to be adequately afraid of sharks. She has only one priority: making sure that the upcoming triathlon goes off without a hitch. That’s right: The Seine is infested with ravenous sharks at the very moment when crowds of swimmers are about to throw themselves into the Seine at a highly public event. Mon dieu! Now, if it were you or me, perhaps we think to ourselves, “Better to cancel the event in advance than have it canceled on account of all the swimmers being devoured,” but no, the mayor of Paris has no such caution.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the first half or so, \u003cem>Under Paris \u003c/em>unfolds like a fairly classy suspense film about a rarely seen threat. It does not look cheap in the way \u003cem>Sharknado \u003c/em>did, for instance. It’s quite competently shot and edited, it’s tense, and it’s frightening. In other words, it gets the job done.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnCefPQIH98\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the second half, the movie goes fully bazoo. Certain arguments about the sharks’ intentions are resolved when some participants in those arguments are eaten. You get your first of a couple of overhead shots of a shark leaping out of the water, mouth first, the better to show you someone in its jaws (heh) who is thinking, “This seems bad.” Crowds run in terror. Blood gushes. If you are watching the movie in the original French (which I recommend) and you have the English subtitles on, you will see a lot of the caption “[panicked screams].”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959670']All this to say: It’s not hard to understand why this is such a hot property at the moment. It gives you half of a fairly normal movie and half of an absolutely wacky one. About half of it is suspense, and about half of it is full-on creature horror, incredibly bloody and with a very (very) high body count. And at the end, there’s no question that just as these sharks are under Paris, the next ones will be under London (or New York, or wherever). If you’re looking for a popcorn movie and you don’t mind a lot of cartoonish gore, you could do a lot worse.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/newsletter/pop-culture\">Sign up for the newsletter\u003c/a> so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Listen to Pop Culture Happy Hour on \u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3xNgYt9\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3ELR3n6\">Spotify\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>I will be the first to admit I didn’t even know there \u003cem>was \u003c/em>a French shark movie until I saw it appear at the very top of Netflix’s top 10 movies. And it’s not as if it’s hiding anything about its topic: It’s called \u003cem>Under Paris\u003c/em>. You know why? Because it’s all about sharks under Paris. Specifically, it’s about sharks in the Seine. Initially, there are just a couple of sharks. But then, there are a \u003cem>lot \u003c/em>of sharks. And the movie is apparently an enormous hit, although/because it is, while not as silly as \u003cem>Sharknado\u003c/em>, very silly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cem>Under Paris \u003c/em>(aka, to me at least, \u003cem>Sharknadeau\u003c/em>) begins as a standard menacing-creature story. Sophia (Bérénice Bejo, Oscar nominee for \u003cem>The Artist\u003c/em>) is a scientist studying sharks in the vicinity of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch (a real, depressing thing). She and her team get a signal from one of their tagged sharks, named Lilith, and several members of the team go on a dive to obtain a blood sample. This dive does not go well (I mean, I suppose it goes OK for Lilith), leaving Sophia traumatized.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A few years later, a shark-saving group in Paris alerts Sophia that they know where Lilith is: in the Seine. Now, sharks in the Seine are not a real thing, but perhaps the only upside of climate change is the expansion of options for disaster movies. After all, a movie like this can throw its hands in the air and say, “Honestly, you don’t know \u003cem>what’s \u003c/em>possible now that you can go to the beach on Christmas, do you?” So: sharks in the Seine. Not just that, but \u003cem>multiplying \u003c/em>sharks in the Seine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959908\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1230px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959908\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM.png\" alt=\"A woman in scrubs examines a dead, blood-covered shark.\" width=\"1230\" height=\"766\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM.png 1230w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-800x498.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-1020x635.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-160x100.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-17-at-10.55.57-AM-768x478.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1230px) 100vw, 1230px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Bérénice Bejo stars as Sophia, a shark scientist. \u003ccite>(Sofie Gheysens/Netflix)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Of course, Paris has an arrogant, careless mayor who, like all government officials in shark movies, suffers from a pathological failure to be adequately afraid of sharks. She has only one priority: making sure that the upcoming triathlon goes off without a hitch. That’s right: The Seine is infested with ravenous sharks at the very moment when crowds of swimmers are about to throw themselves into the Seine at a highly public event. Mon dieu! Now, if it were you or me, perhaps we think to ourselves, “Better to cancel the event in advance than have it canceled on account of all the swimmers being devoured,” but no, the mayor of Paris has no such caution.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the first half or so, \u003cem>Under Paris \u003c/em>unfolds like a fairly classy suspense film about a rarely seen threat. It does not look cheap in the way \u003cem>Sharknado \u003c/em>did, for instance. It’s quite competently shot and edited, it’s tense, and it’s frightening. In other words, it gets the job done.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/jnCefPQIH98'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/jnCefPQIH98'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>In the second half, the movie goes fully bazoo. Certain arguments about the sharks’ intentions are resolved when some participants in those arguments are eaten. You get your first of a couple of overhead shots of a shark leaping out of the water, mouth first, the better to show you someone in its jaws (heh) who is thinking, “This seems bad.” Crowds run in terror. Blood gushes. If you are watching the movie in the original French (which I recommend) and you have the English subtitles on, you will see a lot of the caption “[panicked screams].”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>All this to say: It’s not hard to understand why this is such a hot property at the moment. It gives you half of a fairly normal movie and half of an absolutely wacky one. About half of it is suspense, and about half of it is full-on creature horror, incredibly bloody and with a very (very) high body count. And at the end, there’s no question that just as these sharks are under Paris, the next ones will be under London (or New York, or wherever). If you’re looking for a popcorn movie and you don’t mind a lot of cartoonish gore, you could do a lot worse.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/newsletter/pop-culture\">Sign up for the newsletter\u003c/a> so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Listen to Pop Culture Happy Hour on \u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3xNgYt9\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3ELR3n6\">Spotify\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>As \u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em> gets under way, things are looking up for Riley, the hockey-loving kid who moved with her parents from Minnesota to San Francisco in the first \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/10782253/why-the-key-character-in-inside-out-is-the-one-who-isnt-there\">\u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. She’s adjusted to her new life, school and friends, and her five personified emotions — who share the high-tech headquarters of her brain — have learned to work together in relative harmony. Joy, voiced by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/tag/amy-poehler\">Amy Poehler\u003c/a>, is still mostly in charge, but now she and Sadness — the incomparable Phyllis Smith — make a great team, along with the other key emotions, Anger, Fear and Disgust.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959577']But now Riley is 13, which means pimples, growth spurts and a much more complicated emotional life. The director Kelsey Mann, taking over for the first film’s Pete Docter, cleverly dramatizes the onset of puberty as a huge disruption for Joy and Company, who don’t know why their usual routine is suddenly causing Riley to undergo wild mood swings. It turns out, a new emotion has joined headquarters: Anxiety, voiced by a terrific Maya Hawke.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anxiety has brought along her own team of emotions. They’re basically the three E’s: Envy, Ennui and Embarrassment, voiced by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/ayo-edebiri\">Ayo Edebiri\u003c/a>, Adèle Exarchopoulos and Paul Walter Hauser. Some of this stretches conceptual credibility: Surely this isn’t the first time in her life that Riley has experienced some of those feelings. But that’s part of the whimsical pleasure of the \u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em> films: It’s fun to feel your own brain arguing with how it’s represented. It’s also fun to see new regions of Riley’s mental landscape, like the giant ravine that fuels her contemptuous side — naturally, it’s called the Sar-chasm.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-embed npr-promo-card insettwocolumn\">\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\u003c/div>\n\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The story kicks into gear when Riley is sent to an elite three-day hockey camp, where she’s forced to make some tough decisions, like whether to stick with her two closest friends or hang out with the cool older kids. As the pressure on Riley mounts and the competition gets more cutthroat, it’s Anxiety who emerges as the movie’s villain.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEjhY15eCx0&t=15s\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hawke does a great job of making the character’s polite bundle-of-nerves routine a little more annoying — and sinister — in every scene. Anxiety basically engineers a hostile takeover of Riley’s mind, banishing Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger and Disgust to the outskirts of consciousness, and setting out to mold Riley into a more successful version of herself. What she’s unwittingly doing is making Riley more ambitious and conniving.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em>, in other words, is something of an anti-stress movie, where unchecked drivenness can destroy a person’s true sense of self. It’s hard to argue with that, but it’s also hard not to push back a little. This isn’t the first Pixar movie that’s tried to teach us to lighten up and let things go, a lesson that dates as far back as the first \u003cem>Toy Story. \u003c/em>But it’s always struck me as a bit rich coming from Pixar, given the hyper-ambition and perfectionism that have long defined the studio’s brand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fortunately, there is a better, deeper message at the heart of \u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em>, that encourages us to take a more expansive view of ourselves — to acknowledge that we all have the capacity for good and bad. As in the first movie, the goal is to strive for balance, embrace complexity and learn to be OK with imperfection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13958728']I’m trying to do that myself with \u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em>, which, despite its many pleasures, is a pretty imperfect movie. It isn’t nearly as emotionally overwhelming as its predecessor, but how could it be? The first \u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em> was a piercing lament for childhood’s end, with Joy and Sadness’ frenemy dynamic as its irresistible core.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, Riley’s older and maturing, and it’s natural that her latest adventure should hit us differently. But there are also some bewildering choices here that suggest the story could have used, well, a rethink. There’s one overlong sequence, in which Joy and her friends encounter memories of old cartoon and video-game characters buried deep in Riley’s mind; it’s a cheap gag, and it almost pulled me out of the movie entirely. And there’s a recurring joke, involving Riley’s sense of Nostalgia, that strikes a weirdly sour note. Ironically, it made me feel a little nostalgic myself — for the days when Pixar would have known to leave a bit like that on the cutting-room floor.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Inside Out 2’ is released nationwide on June 14, 2024.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>As \u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em> gets under way, things are looking up for Riley, the hockey-loving kid who moved with her parents from Minnesota to San Francisco in the first \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/10782253/why-the-key-character-in-inside-out-is-the-one-who-isnt-there\">\u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. She’s adjusted to her new life, school and friends, and her five personified emotions — who share the high-tech headquarters of her brain — have learned to work together in relative harmony. Joy, voiced by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/tag/amy-poehler\">Amy Poehler\u003c/a>, is still mostly in charge, but now she and Sadness — the incomparable Phyllis Smith — make a great team, along with the other key emotions, Anger, Fear and Disgust.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>But now Riley is 13, which means pimples, growth spurts and a much more complicated emotional life. The director Kelsey Mann, taking over for the first film’s Pete Docter, cleverly dramatizes the onset of puberty as a huge disruption for Joy and Company, who don’t know why their usual routine is suddenly causing Riley to undergo wild mood swings. It turns out, a new emotion has joined headquarters: Anxiety, voiced by a terrific Maya Hawke.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anxiety has brought along her own team of emotions. They’re basically the three E’s: Envy, Ennui and Embarrassment, voiced by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/ayo-edebiri\">Ayo Edebiri\u003c/a>, Adèle Exarchopoulos and Paul Walter Hauser. Some of this stretches conceptual credibility: Surely this isn’t the first time in her life that Riley has experienced some of those feelings. But that’s part of the whimsical pleasure of the \u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em> films: It’s fun to feel your own brain arguing with how it’s represented. It’s also fun to see new regions of Riley’s mental landscape, like the giant ravine that fuels her contemptuous side — naturally, it’s called the Sar-chasm.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-embed npr-promo-card insettwocolumn\">\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\u003c/div>\n\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The story kicks into gear when Riley is sent to an elite three-day hockey camp, where she’s forced to make some tough decisions, like whether to stick with her two closest friends or hang out with the cool older kids. As the pressure on Riley mounts and the competition gets more cutthroat, it’s Anxiety who emerges as the movie’s villain.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/LEjhY15eCx0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/LEjhY15eCx0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hawke does a great job of making the character’s polite bundle-of-nerves routine a little more annoying — and sinister — in every scene. Anxiety basically engineers a hostile takeover of Riley’s mind, banishing Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger and Disgust to the outskirts of consciousness, and setting out to mold Riley into a more successful version of herself. What she’s unwittingly doing is making Riley more ambitious and conniving.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em>, in other words, is something of an anti-stress movie, where unchecked drivenness can destroy a person’s true sense of self. It’s hard to argue with that, but it’s also hard not to push back a little. This isn’t the first Pixar movie that’s tried to teach us to lighten up and let things go, a lesson that dates as far back as the first \u003cem>Toy Story. \u003c/em>But it’s always struck me as a bit rich coming from Pixar, given the hyper-ambition and perfectionism that have long defined the studio’s brand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fortunately, there is a better, deeper message at the heart of \u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em>, that encourages us to take a more expansive view of ourselves — to acknowledge that we all have the capacity for good and bad. As in the first movie, the goal is to strive for balance, embrace complexity and learn to be OK with imperfection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>I’m trying to do that myself with \u003cem>Inside Out 2\u003c/em>, which, despite its many pleasures, is a pretty imperfect movie. It isn’t nearly as emotionally overwhelming as its predecessor, but how could it be? The first \u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em> was a piercing lament for childhood’s end, with Joy and Sadness’ frenemy dynamic as its irresistible core.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, Riley’s older and maturing, and it’s natural that her latest adventure should hit us differently. But there are also some bewildering choices here that suggest the story could have used, well, a rethink. There’s one overlong sequence, in which Joy and her friends encounter memories of old cartoon and video-game characters buried deep in Riley’s mind; it’s a cheap gag, and it almost pulled me out of the movie entirely. And there’s a recurring joke, involving Riley’s sense of Nostalgia, that strikes a weirdly sour note. Ironically, it made me feel a little nostalgic myself — for the days when Pixar would have known to leave a bit like that on the cutting-room floor.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Inside Out 2’ is released nationwide on June 14, 2024.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "‘It Was All a Dream’ Shows the Work of a Nascent Rap Feminist",
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"content": "\u003cp>History is never really linear, no matter how nicely it’s packaged. \u003cem>It Was All a Dream\u003c/em>, a new documentary by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13848278/making-surviving-r-kelly-a-conversation-with-executive-producer-dream-hampton\">dream hampton\u003c/a>, is a collection of archival footage from the famed filmmaker’s early days covering hip-hop. This unearthed material, found in hampton’s home decades later, shows how complicated the gleam of rap’s golden age was even before it was minted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The director’s visual memoir, which premiered at the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival, is a selection of roving snapshots of life from 1993 to 1995, a pivotal period when Dr. Dre’s \u003cem>The Chronic\u003c/em> stamped the flag in the West Coast and the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13847666/hip-hop-deserves-that-respect-honoring-the-notorious-b-i-g-wu-tang-clan-in-nyc\">Notorious B.I.G.\u003c/a>’s \u003cem>Ready To Die\u003c/em> was the answer from the East, when the genre itself was transitioning from being a Black cultural dialogue to a money-making, mainstream fascination. It’s also when rap feminist foremothers were the fledglings weeding through a messy love-hate relationship timeline with the artform.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13932030']During this time, new acts were popping up everywhere and hampton was getting all the footage she could. Before they were prolific rap icons or masters behind the boards, they were as hampton writes later, “kamikazee capitalists who just happened to be teenagers,” young men and women making sense out of the world. The film welcomes the viewer into intimate, informal interviews with Notorious B.I.G, Snoop Dogg and Method Man, smirked, bright-eyed faces of artists who would become bonafide stars way before their hip-hop or Hollywood personas were cemented.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With roots in hip-hop journalism, hampton (who stylizes her name in all lowercase as a nod to Black feminist bell hooks) is a writer, producer and filmmaker who’s penned influential pieces about music and culture for \u003cem>The Village Voice\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Vibe\u003c/em>, \u003cem>The Source\u003c/em> and more. She has positioned her lens to cover movements of both subjugation and liberation, including the award-winning documentaries \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/109568/surviving-r-kelly-producer-dream-hampton-takes-on-ecosystem-that-supported-the-star\">\u003cem>Surviving R. Kelly\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003cem>Ladies First: A Story of Women in Hip-Hop\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though the exclusivity of the classic material is the draw, \u003cem>It Was All a Dream \u003c/em>stands out for another reason. By partially making herself the subject of the doc, hampton does what few artists ever have the courage or humility to do: show their first drafts. Though the narration of the film is pulled from articles she’d written in the same time period — eloquent words that now feel like sacred texts of early hip-hop feminist theory — the footage shows a much less incisive critic. It’s a period when hampton was a film student at NYU and, just as her subjects, still figuring it out as she went.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For most of the film, hampton is a grinning, tomboy femme fly on the wall. She’s much more in documentarian mode than interviewer while in studio sessions, backstage at shows and sharing blunts in the back of Biggie’s Benz. B.I.G’s booming laugh and Coogi-down’d presence is a centerpiece of the visual. (Biggie’s own son, C.J. Wallace, became an executive producer on the project after hampton showed him footage of his late father.) For Frank White fans, it’s a treasure trove of material. For hampton fans, it’s a window into the complexities — and the complicity — of trying to cover someone as both a subject and a friend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are behind the scenes looks at \u003cem>Source\u003c/em> photo shoots in progress with Onyx and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13911949/cypress-hill-documentary-showtime-insane-in-the-brain-estevan-oriol\">Cypress Hill\u003c/a>; cross-coast studio sessions featuring the likes of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareabites/112562/from-mobb-deep-rapper-a-cookbook-for-healthy-eating-in-prison\">Mobb Deep\u003c/a>, Q-Tip, Snoop, Dre, Tha Dogg Pound, Lady of Rage and Warren G cooking up soon-to-be classics; and shots of Big freestyling off the dome and his (\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13954740/diddy-allegations-sean-combs-raids-sex-trafficking-cassie-joi-rod-harve-pierre-jane-doe\">recently besmirched\u003c/a>) Bad Boy exec, Puff Daddy, mimicking his flow. But when hampton does question her subjects or convenes with her editors\u003cem>, \u003c/em>she uses her access, intellect and curiosity to not only capture the moment, but really zoom in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13934460']hampton films herself in a brainstorm with \u003cem>The Source\u003c/em> associate editor Kierna Mayo and tries to chart when misogyny became so “overbearing” in the music. “We just have to be careful to analyze it wholly,” Mayo says of hampton’s pitch. When hampton hosts a roundtable discussion and photoshoot (attended by now-defamed executive Russell Simmons) with rappers Nikki D, Boss, LeShaun and Hurricane Gloria, the women break down, as hampton writes, having to be “three times as good” in the face of hip-hop’s sexist double standard.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Ain’t nobody at this table right here scared of being called a bitch,” says Nikki D, Def Jam Recording’s first signed female rapper. “You can call me a bitch all you want to, but you know what you can and what you can’t do with me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In one studio session where Big, bathed in red light, raps lines of what will become a feature on Pudgee tha Phat Bastard’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PM0Yvpfu9AQ\">Think Big\u003c/a>” and freestyles a joke about a “rap rapist,” hampton appears from slightly off to the side to say, while laughing, that she’s offended by the joke. Even more telling, there is a scene about an hour in where Big scolds a young Lil’ Kim, his Junior M.A.F.I.A artist and girlfriend at the time, about her attitude and not taking pictures. While Kim ignores him at first, Big leans over and lifts up a chair, an action that makes Kim visibly flinch. It’s no more than a minute, but it’s a glimpse of the unspoken dynamic of their relationship, one that Kim would later speak on as being violent, caught on camera by hampton.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During an interview with Guru, hampton follows up a question to the rapper-producer about rap fantasies with a counter about the very real virulence towards women in the rhymes. “Why do n****s wanna kill bitches?” she poses to him clearly. Guru’s expression never changes but he lets out a small laugh as a brush-off. He then flips the question, rationalizing that maybe “bitches wanna kill n****s”; that there’s women who “don’t have their sh** together” and makes the distinction that rappers aren’t talking about women who are intelligent with ambition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13927349']These same themes of exceptionalism and compartmentalization come around often enough that they repeatedly obscure the point hampton is trying to drive in the discourse. Even with her feminist theory and moments of fearlessness, try as she might, her voice is not cutting through just yet. Maybe because her audience never really wants to change or maybe because it’s a dichotomous thesis she’s still wrestling with herself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the last scenes in the doc finds hampton on-camera, looking downward at the Hudson River as she travels on the Staten Island Ferry. As her eyelashes brush the far-off Twin Towers in the Manhattan background, hampton appears introspective and frustrated. She’d just had a debate with Wu-Tang Clan’s Method Man, who’s no more than 23 at the time, about his own misogynistic lyrics. “I don’t like when brothers make distinctions between women like some of us are hoodrats and some of us are goddesses. I think that we’re all goddesses,” hampton says to a friend. She remembers her interview with \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13934043/leila-steinberg-tupac-shakur-manager\">Tupac Shakur\u003c/a>, not shown in the film, annoyed with her missed opportunity, admitting, “I don’t know if I was challenging enough.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though the film promises never-before-seen footage of hip-hop greats, \u003cem>It Was All a Dream \u003c/em>is really a nostalgic, nascent Trojan horse, one that shows the important, imperfect, initial seed-sowing of the deeper questions we’re still tilling as a hip-hop culture today.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>History is never really linear, no matter how nicely it’s packaged. \u003cem>It Was All a Dream\u003c/em>, a new documentary by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13848278/making-surviving-r-kelly-a-conversation-with-executive-producer-dream-hampton\">dream hampton\u003c/a>, is a collection of archival footage from the famed filmmaker’s early days covering hip-hop. This unearthed material, found in hampton’s home decades later, shows how complicated the gleam of rap’s golden age was even before it was minted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The director’s visual memoir, which premiered at the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival, is a selection of roving snapshots of life from 1993 to 1995, a pivotal period when Dr. Dre’s \u003cem>The Chronic\u003c/em> stamped the flag in the West Coast and the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13847666/hip-hop-deserves-that-respect-honoring-the-notorious-b-i-g-wu-tang-clan-in-nyc\">Notorious B.I.G.\u003c/a>’s \u003cem>Ready To Die\u003c/em> was the answer from the East, when the genre itself was transitioning from being a Black cultural dialogue to a money-making, mainstream fascination. It’s also when rap feminist foremothers were the fledglings weeding through a messy love-hate relationship timeline with the artform.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>During this time, new acts were popping up everywhere and hampton was getting all the footage she could. Before they were prolific rap icons or masters behind the boards, they were as hampton writes later, “kamikazee capitalists who just happened to be teenagers,” young men and women making sense out of the world. The film welcomes the viewer into intimate, informal interviews with Notorious B.I.G, Snoop Dogg and Method Man, smirked, bright-eyed faces of artists who would become bonafide stars way before their hip-hop or Hollywood personas were cemented.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With roots in hip-hop journalism, hampton (who stylizes her name in all lowercase as a nod to Black feminist bell hooks) is a writer, producer and filmmaker who’s penned influential pieces about music and culture for \u003cem>The Village Voice\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Vibe\u003c/em>, \u003cem>The Source\u003c/em> and more. She has positioned her lens to cover movements of both subjugation and liberation, including the award-winning documentaries \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/109568/surviving-r-kelly-producer-dream-hampton-takes-on-ecosystem-that-supported-the-star\">\u003cem>Surviving R. Kelly\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003cem>Ladies First: A Story of Women in Hip-Hop\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though the exclusivity of the classic material is the draw, \u003cem>It Was All a Dream \u003c/em>stands out for another reason. By partially making herself the subject of the doc, hampton does what few artists ever have the courage or humility to do: show their first drafts. Though the narration of the film is pulled from articles she’d written in the same time period — eloquent words that now feel like sacred texts of early hip-hop feminist theory — the footage shows a much less incisive critic. It’s a period when hampton was a film student at NYU and, just as her subjects, still figuring it out as she went.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For most of the film, hampton is a grinning, tomboy femme fly on the wall. She’s much more in documentarian mode than interviewer while in studio sessions, backstage at shows and sharing blunts in the back of Biggie’s Benz. B.I.G’s booming laugh and Coogi-down’d presence is a centerpiece of the visual. (Biggie’s own son, C.J. Wallace, became an executive producer on the project after hampton showed him footage of his late father.) For Frank White fans, it’s a treasure trove of material. For hampton fans, it’s a window into the complexities — and the complicity — of trying to cover someone as both a subject and a friend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are behind the scenes looks at \u003cem>Source\u003c/em> photo shoots in progress with Onyx and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13911949/cypress-hill-documentary-showtime-insane-in-the-brain-estevan-oriol\">Cypress Hill\u003c/a>; cross-coast studio sessions featuring the likes of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareabites/112562/from-mobb-deep-rapper-a-cookbook-for-healthy-eating-in-prison\">Mobb Deep\u003c/a>, Q-Tip, Snoop, Dre, Tha Dogg Pound, Lady of Rage and Warren G cooking up soon-to-be classics; and shots of Big freestyling off the dome and his (\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13954740/diddy-allegations-sean-combs-raids-sex-trafficking-cassie-joi-rod-harve-pierre-jane-doe\">recently besmirched\u003c/a>) Bad Boy exec, Puff Daddy, mimicking his flow. But when hampton does question her subjects or convenes with her editors\u003cem>, \u003c/em>she uses her access, intellect and curiosity to not only capture the moment, but really zoom in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>hampton films herself in a brainstorm with \u003cem>The Source\u003c/em> associate editor Kierna Mayo and tries to chart when misogyny became so “overbearing” in the music. “We just have to be careful to analyze it wholly,” Mayo says of hampton’s pitch. When hampton hosts a roundtable discussion and photoshoot (attended by now-defamed executive Russell Simmons) with rappers Nikki D, Boss, LeShaun and Hurricane Gloria, the women break down, as hampton writes, having to be “three times as good” in the face of hip-hop’s sexist double standard.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Ain’t nobody at this table right here scared of being called a bitch,” says Nikki D, Def Jam Recording’s first signed female rapper. “You can call me a bitch all you want to, but you know what you can and what you can’t do with me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In one studio session where Big, bathed in red light, raps lines of what will become a feature on Pudgee tha Phat Bastard’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PM0Yvpfu9AQ\">Think Big\u003c/a>” and freestyles a joke about a “rap rapist,” hampton appears from slightly off to the side to say, while laughing, that she’s offended by the joke. Even more telling, there is a scene about an hour in where Big scolds a young Lil’ Kim, his Junior M.A.F.I.A artist and girlfriend at the time, about her attitude and not taking pictures. While Kim ignores him at first, Big leans over and lifts up a chair, an action that makes Kim visibly flinch. It’s no more than a minute, but it’s a glimpse of the unspoken dynamic of their relationship, one that Kim would later speak on as being violent, caught on camera by hampton.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During an interview with Guru, hampton follows up a question to the rapper-producer about rap fantasies with a counter about the very real virulence towards women in the rhymes. “Why do n****s wanna kill bitches?” she poses to him clearly. Guru’s expression never changes but he lets out a small laugh as a brush-off. He then flips the question, rationalizing that maybe “bitches wanna kill n****s”; that there’s women who “don’t have their sh** together” and makes the distinction that rappers aren’t talking about women who are intelligent with ambition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>These same themes of exceptionalism and compartmentalization come around often enough that they repeatedly obscure the point hampton is trying to drive in the discourse. Even with her feminist theory and moments of fearlessness, try as she might, her voice is not cutting through just yet. Maybe because her audience never really wants to change or maybe because it’s a dichotomous thesis she’s still wrestling with herself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the last scenes in the doc finds hampton on-camera, looking downward at the Hudson River as she travels on the Staten Island Ferry. As her eyelashes brush the far-off Twin Towers in the Manhattan background, hampton appears introspective and frustrated. She’d just had a debate with Wu-Tang Clan’s Method Man, who’s no more than 23 at the time, about his own misogynistic lyrics. “I don’t like when brothers make distinctions between women like some of us are hoodrats and some of us are goddesses. I think that we’re all goddesses,” hampton says to a friend. She remembers her interview with \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13934043/leila-steinberg-tupac-shakur-manager\">Tupac Shakur\u003c/a>, not shown in the film, annoyed with her missed opportunity, admitting, “I don’t know if I was challenging enough.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though the film promises never-before-seen footage of hip-hop greats, \u003cem>It Was All a Dream \u003c/em>is really a nostalgic, nascent Trojan horse, one that shows the important, imperfect, initial seed-sowing of the deeper questions we’re still tilling as a hip-hop culture today.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>In 1996, novelist Jill Ciment published a memoir called \u003cem>Half a Life. \u003c/em>It is primarily about her hardscrabble childhood in California’s San Fernando Valley, dominated by her difficult, volatile father, whom Ciment realized in hindsight was autistic. But about halfway through, Ciment’s life takes a turn, when at 16, she signs up for figure drawing classes, which she pays for with earnings from a part-time job. She develops a crush on the teacher, a married artist 30 years her senior named Arnold Mesches. Within a year, they are having an affair. Or, as she puts it, “Arnold was having an affair. I was going steady.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That relationship is the subject of Ciment’s follow-up memoir, \u003cem>Consent. Half a Life\u003c/em> was written when she was in her 40s and Arnold (as she refers to him) was in his 70s — at which point they had been married for more than 25 years. Now, eight years after his death at 93, she reconsiders their relationship in light of the #MeToo movement\u003cem>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959155']Her remarkable new book — at once forthright, thoughtful, and moving — broaches many questions: “Does a story’s ending excuse its beginning?” “Can a love that starts with such an asymmetrical balance of power ever right itself?” “How do I convey yearning for a kiss while at the same time acknowledge the predatory act of an older man kissing a teenager?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You don’t have to read \u003cem>Half a Life\u003c/em> to appreciate \u003cem>Consent\u003c/em>. In fact, the second memoir\u003cem>, \u003c/em>which both scrutinizes and amplifies what Ciment first wrote about her relationship with Arnold, is a far more interesting book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She describes their first kiss differently in the two memoirs. In the earlier version, she initiated the kiss and Arnold kissed her back, but then stopped himself and said, “Sweetheart, I can’t sleep with you. I’d like to, but I can’t … It wouldn’t be fair to you.” In the new book, he draws her to him and kisses her, and “I fervently kissed him back.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The age of consent in California is 18. Had Arnold groomed her with extra attention in class, or with furtive glances down her blouse? What about whispering to her, “I wish you were older”? Her reply in both books: “I’m old enough.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Me too?” she wonders now. “Did I have the agency to consent?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959530']Arnold read and discussed the first memoir with her — commenting, for example, that he would never have called a student “sweetheart.” But he was not alive to respond to \u003cem>Consent, \u003c/em>and Ciment tries to imagine his reactions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She questions her earlier assertion that she would never love anyone more than Arnold: “Could I have felt so sure of my love at 17 that I knew nothing would surpass it? Or was my 45-year-old self, in the middle of the marriage and the memoir, trying to burnish the story with love lest it read like a reenactment of Humbert Humbert and Lolita’s cross-country road trip?” Was she protecting Arnold\u003cem>, \u003c/em>even though the statute of limitations had long passed?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a particularly astute passage, Ciment highlights how language reflects changing social attitudes and colors our views — which makes it difficult to judge past behavior by today’s moral codes:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\n\u003cdiv>\n\u003cp>“If Arnold kissed me first, should I refer to him in the language of today — \u003cem>sexual offender, transgressor, abuser of power? \u003c/em>Or do I refer to him in the language of the late ’90s, when my 45-year-old self wrote the scene? The president at that time was Clinton, and the blue dress was in the news. Men who preyed on younger women were called \u003cem>letches, cradle-robbers, dogs. \u003c/em>Or do I refer to him in the language of 1970, at the apex of the sexual revolution, when the kiss took place — \u003cem>Casanova, silver fox?”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Time also alters the words that might be used to describe teenaged Ciment: a \u003cem>victim\u003c/em> or \u003cem>survivor\u003c/em> in today’s parlance, a \u003cem>bimbo\u003c/em> or \u003cem>vixen\u003c/em> in the ’90s, a \u003cem>cool chick\u003c/em> in the ’70s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It turns out there was plenty Ciment omitted in \u003cem>Half a Life\u003c/em>, including uncomfortable details like the fact that Arnold had not just a wife but another longstanding mistress when they first got together. And that, ever the teacher, he instructed her on sexual techniques and helped her prepare a portfolio of explicit sexual drawings from the female point of view for her application to CalArts school.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These early elisions provide a pointed reminder that all writing is selective, and memoirs are certainly no exception.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959550']Ciment’s frankness extends to the disadvantages of being a much younger wife, including Arnold’s inevitable physical diminution, the constant specter of loss, and — more amusingly — being asked how much she’s paid to take care of the old man dozing on a park bench beside her. You don’t have to be a Freudian to note that in Arnold, who was the same age as her father, Ciment found an attentive paternal figure who “showed me who I might become.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But \u003cem>Consent\u003c/em> — whose working title was \u003cem>The Other Half — \u003c/em>makes clear that she found much more. Their “half century of intimacy” included physical and mental stimulation, companionship, power shifts, financial worries, successful creative careers, illnesses, and, through it all, artistic collaborations in which “he was my first audience, as I was his first viewer.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite their many conversations about the subject, they never reached a firm consensus about who initiated that first kiss. No such uncertainty exists about their heartbreaking last one. This is a book poised to fuel plenty of discussion.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Consent’ by Jill Ciment is out now, via Pantheon\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Arnold read and discussed the first memoir with her — commenting, for example, that he would never have called a student “sweetheart.” But he was not alive to respond to \u003cem>Consent, \u003c/em>and Ciment tries to imagine his reactions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She questions her earlier assertion that she would never love anyone more than Arnold: “Could I have felt so sure of my love at 17 that I knew nothing would surpass it? Or was my 45-year-old self, in the middle of the marriage and the memoir, trying to burnish the story with love lest it read like a reenactment of Humbert Humbert and Lolita’s cross-country road trip?” Was she protecting Arnold\u003cem>, \u003c/em>even though the statute of limitations had long passed?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a particularly astute passage, Ciment highlights how language reflects changing social attitudes and colors our views — which makes it difficult to judge past behavior by today’s moral codes:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\n\u003cdiv>\n\u003cp>“If Arnold kissed me first, should I refer to him in the language of today — \u003cem>sexual offender, transgressor, abuser of power? \u003c/em>Or do I refer to him in the language of the late ’90s, when my 45-year-old self wrote the scene? The president at that time was Clinton, and the blue dress was in the news. Men who preyed on younger women were called \u003cem>letches, cradle-robbers, dogs. \u003c/em>Or do I refer to him in the language of 1970, at the apex of the sexual revolution, when the kiss took place — \u003cem>Casanova, silver fox?”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Time also alters the words that might be used to describe teenaged Ciment: a \u003cem>victim\u003c/em> or \u003cem>survivor\u003c/em> in today’s parlance, a \u003cem>bimbo\u003c/em> or \u003cem>vixen\u003c/em> in the ’90s, a \u003cem>cool chick\u003c/em> in the ’70s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It turns out there was plenty Ciment omitted in \u003cem>Half a Life\u003c/em>, including uncomfortable details like the fact that Arnold had not just a wife but another longstanding mistress when they first got together. And that, ever the teacher, he instructed her on sexual techniques and helped her prepare a portfolio of explicit sexual drawings from the female point of view for her application to CalArts school.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These early elisions provide a pointed reminder that all writing is selective, and memoirs are certainly no exception.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Ciment’s frankness extends to the disadvantages of being a much younger wife, including Arnold’s inevitable physical diminution, the constant specter of loss, and — more amusingly — being asked how much she’s paid to take care of the old man dozing on a park bench beside her. You don’t have to be a Freudian to note that in Arnold, who was the same age as her father, Ciment found an attentive paternal figure who “showed me who I might become.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But \u003cem>Consent\u003c/em> — whose working title was \u003cem>The Other Half — \u003c/em>makes clear that she found much more. Their “half century of intimacy” included physical and mental stimulation, companionship, power shifts, financial worries, successful creative careers, illnesses, and, through it all, artistic collaborations in which “he was my first audience, as I was his first viewer.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite their many conversations about the subject, they never reached a firm consensus about who initiated that first kiss. No such uncertainty exists about their heartbreaking last one. This is a book poised to fuel plenty of discussion.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Consent’ by Jill Ciment is out now, via Pantheon\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959718\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 832px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959718\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-12-at-2.20.38-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a smashed VHS tape against a black background.\" width=\"832\" height=\"1212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-12-at-2.20.38-PM.png 832w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-12-at-2.20.38-PM-800x1165.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-12-at-2.20.38-PM-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-12-at-2.20.38-PM-768x1119.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 832px) 100vw, 832px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Horror Movie: A Novel’ by Paul Tremblay. \u003ccite>(William Morrow)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Paul Tremblay’s \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is a peculiar horror novel that takes a refreshing look at the haunted film subgenre, while also eliminating the line between novels and movie scripts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dark, surprisingly violent, and incredibly multilayered, this narrative is a superb addition to Tremblay’s already impressive oeuvre that shows he can deliver the elements fans love from him — while also constantly pushing the envelope and exploring new ways to tell stories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13958207']In June of 1993, a small group of young people got together and spent a month making a bizarre horror movie titled \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em>. With one camera, a skeleton crew, a script that broke a lot of rules, and almost no budget, they managed to make their film after a few setbacks and plenty of blood and accidents. While the film was never released, three scenes and a few stills were made available online, and they became the stuff of legend over the years, collecting a cult following and sparking a frenzy of speculation, online debate, and conspiracy theories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, 30 years after the original, unreleased film was made and after all the drama —psychological and emotional as well as legal — that ensued, Hollywood wants to make a big budget version and release it. The man who played “The Thin Kid,” perhaps the original film’s most iconic and mysterious character, is the only surviving cast member, and they want him to reprise his role. He still has the mask he used in the movie, and also the scars the filming process left behind. He remembers the strange things that happened on the set, the brutality that quickly became normalized while they shot dark scenes, and the chaos and destruction the film brought to all of them. Still, he agrees to help with the reboot. As things move forward and he deals with directors and movie people, the past comes back to haunt him — but The Thin Kid pushes forward, as always.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Reading a Tremblay novel is entering a universe in which confusion and ambiguity — “My answer was not no. I didn’t say the word ‘yes'” — reign supreme. \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is no different. In fact, this might be Tremblay’s most Tremblay novel to date. For starters, the author once again eschews the traditional novel format, this time in favor of a mix of novel and screenplay in which one bleeds into the other frequently, switching chapters and effortlessly taking readers from past to present and back again. Also, the screenplay itself is unique in format and makes the reader part of what’s happening, constantly shattering the fourth wall and acknowledging that the events are communal — that we are there, witnessing what the characters are witnessing and feeling the same sense of dread and anticipation that they feel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the structure of this novel is unique, the narrative itself is very easy to follow — until it’s not. The story is there, but with many purposeful holes. We know bad things happened while the movie was being filmed — accidents, injuries, extreme violence that occurred with consent — and that the whole thing ended up in court, but we don’t know how or why. And the author holds those secrets until the very end, which, as with any other Tremblay novel, holds a few surprise twists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Most importantly, this is a narrative that questions the motivation behind evil acts. During the filming, The Thin Kid is horribly tortured: The kids who keep him hostage throw things at him, put out cigarettes on his body, and cut off part of his pinky finger. Some of that happens for real, partly to make it look convincing on screen and partly for reasons that aren’t too clear. There are several unsettling moments in this novel, and at the core of each of them are people acting horribly just because they can. Tremblay’s work has often interrogated the nature of horror and bad behavior, but never as clearly as he does here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13937318']While \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is the kind of creepy narrative that can be enjoyed without much thinking, it’s also a multilayered novel that almost demands intellectual engagement. Besides the way the author studies awful behavior, the story also explores the unreliable nature of memory. The Thin Kid, now the adult who narrates the novel, is self-deprecating and unreliable. He remembers things a certain way, but knows that his memories might not be accurate: “We laughed. I think we laughed, or I choose to remember we laughed. I think we’re in more control of what we remember or what we don’t remember than we assume.” This purposeful lack of certainty is designed to keep readers wondering, and it succeeds at that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is strange and unsettling in the best way possible. This is a novel that’s also a screenplay, but the story all blends together perfectly. Tremblay’s unique voice and chameleonic style have made him one of the leading voices in speculative fiction, and this is one of his best novels so far.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Gabino Iglesias is an author, book reviewer and professor living in Austin, Texas. Find him on X, formerly Twitter, at\u003c/em> \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/Gabino_Iglesias\">@Gabino_Iglesias\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Horror Movie’ by Paul Tremblay is out now, via William Morrow.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>In June of 1993, a small group of young people got together and spent a month making a bizarre horror movie titled \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em>. With one camera, a skeleton crew, a script that broke a lot of rules, and almost no budget, they managed to make their film after a few setbacks and plenty of blood and accidents. While the film was never released, three scenes and a few stills were made available online, and they became the stuff of legend over the years, collecting a cult following and sparking a frenzy of speculation, online debate, and conspiracy theories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, 30 years after the original, unreleased film was made and after all the drama —psychological and emotional as well as legal — that ensued, Hollywood wants to make a big budget version and release it. The man who played “The Thin Kid,” perhaps the original film’s most iconic and mysterious character, is the only surviving cast member, and they want him to reprise his role. He still has the mask he used in the movie, and also the scars the filming process left behind. He remembers the strange things that happened on the set, the brutality that quickly became normalized while they shot dark scenes, and the chaos and destruction the film brought to all of them. Still, he agrees to help with the reboot. As things move forward and he deals with directors and movie people, the past comes back to haunt him — but The Thin Kid pushes forward, as always.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Reading a Tremblay novel is entering a universe in which confusion and ambiguity — “My answer was not no. I didn’t say the word ‘yes'” — reign supreme. \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is no different. In fact, this might be Tremblay’s most Tremblay novel to date. For starters, the author once again eschews the traditional novel format, this time in favor of a mix of novel and screenplay in which one bleeds into the other frequently, switching chapters and effortlessly taking readers from past to present and back again. Also, the screenplay itself is unique in format and makes the reader part of what’s happening, constantly shattering the fourth wall and acknowledging that the events are communal — that we are there, witnessing what the characters are witnessing and feeling the same sense of dread and anticipation that they feel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the structure of this novel is unique, the narrative itself is very easy to follow — until it’s not. The story is there, but with many purposeful holes. We know bad things happened while the movie was being filmed — accidents, injuries, extreme violence that occurred with consent — and that the whole thing ended up in court, but we don’t know how or why. And the author holds those secrets until the very end, which, as with any other Tremblay novel, holds a few surprise twists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Most importantly, this is a narrative that questions the motivation behind evil acts. During the filming, The Thin Kid is horribly tortured: The kids who keep him hostage throw things at him, put out cigarettes on his body, and cut off part of his pinky finger. Some of that happens for real, partly to make it look convincing on screen and partly for reasons that aren’t too clear. There are several unsettling moments in this novel, and at the core of each of them are people acting horribly just because they can. Tremblay’s work has often interrogated the nature of horror and bad behavior, but never as clearly as he does here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>While \u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is the kind of creepy narrative that can be enjoyed without much thinking, it’s also a multilayered novel that almost demands intellectual engagement. Besides the way the author studies awful behavior, the story also explores the unreliable nature of memory. The Thin Kid, now the adult who narrates the novel, is self-deprecating and unreliable. He remembers things a certain way, but knows that his memories might not be accurate: “We laughed. I think we laughed, or I choose to remember we laughed. I think we’re in more control of what we remember or what we don’t remember than we assume.” This purposeful lack of certainty is designed to keep readers wondering, and it succeeds at that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Horror Movie\u003c/em> is strange and unsettling in the best way possible. This is a novel that’s also a screenplay, but the story all blends together perfectly. Tremblay’s unique voice and chameleonic style have made him one of the leading voices in speculative fiction, and this is one of his best novels so far.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Gabino Iglesias is an author, book reviewer and professor living in Austin, Texas. Find him on X, formerly Twitter, at\u003c/em> \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/Gabino_Iglesias\">@Gabino_Iglesias\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Horror Movie’ by Paul Tremblay is out now, via William Morrow.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "queenie-novel-hulu-series-candice-carty-williams-analysis",
"title": "Queenie’s Second Life on Screen Gives Her More Room to Grow",
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"content": "\u003cp>The new Hulu series \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> explores the quarter-life growing pains of lonely South Londoner Queenie Jenkins.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first of her British Jamaican family to go to university, Queenie is a struggling writer awkwardly straddling multiple worlds. An unwanted breakup with her white, longtime live-in boyfriend Tom sends her painfully reeling — spiraling into, and then climbing out of, destructive behaviors and onto a journey of growth and self-acceptance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959601']The show, which premiered Friday, is based on a 2019 book by Candice Carty-Williams. And with Carty-Williams at the creative helm, the novel’s strengths are immediately visible on screen: the sharp social observation, the rawness of the voice, and the specificity and conundrums of aspirational, young Black British life in the millennium.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As showrunner, Carty-Williams effectively translates and expands her vision, addressing the pain points that both riveted and rankled the book’s readers and ensuring that the creative aspects of production also make an impression. Through sight, sound and performance, \u003cem>Queenie \u003c/em>creates an empathetic and irresistible portrait of a young woman’s life in multicultural-yet-divided London.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwRwPcm3P4Q\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>The performances bring the novel to life\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>As great as the production sounds and looks, it’s the performances that make Queenie’s journey really accessible on screen. The material is challenging and multi-tonal but not a performance hits a wrong note. British actor Dionne Brown embodies Queenie Jenkins inside and out in a breakout role that is a world away from her restrained supporting performance as a police detective in the Apple TV+ crime drama \u003cem>Criminal Record\u003c/em>. Brown told NPR she felt drawn to the role because of how strongly she related to the novel: “my most visceral and initial reaction was just, I didn’t know that other women felt like this. I didn’t know other Black women felt like this.” So throughout taping she used the book “like a Bible.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And though it’s her first screen acting role, hip-hop artist Bellah is bubbly and fierce as Queenie’s bestie Kyazike. As her loving and protective Jamaican grandparents, Joseph Marcell (butler Geoffrey from \u003cem>The Fresh Prince of Bel Air\u003c/em>) and actress and comedian Llewella Gideon steal every scene they’re in. Pivotally, BAFTA-nominated actor Samuel Adewunmi, so powerful in the crime drama \u003cem>You Don’t Know Me\u003c/em>, radiates charisma and kindness as Kyazike’s cousin Frank.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>The format allows the audience to go deep\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The eight-episode series format allows viewers to go deep into Queenie’s world, getting to know friends and family and helping us understand how love surrounds Queenie without her really feeling it. Where the novel can seem a bit bleak in spite of the humor, episodic TV gives Carty-Williams more room to experiment with different moods and tones. A few days before the premiere, Carty-Williams told NPR that she knew “we would need a lot more light on the screen” in the TV adaptation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959643\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1898px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959643\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM.png\" alt=\"Three Black women stand side by side wearing cool clothes.\" width=\"1898\" height=\"1070\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM.png 1898w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-800x451.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-1020x575.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-160x90.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-768x433.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-1536x866.png 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1898px) 100vw, 1898px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Candice Carty-Williams’ ‘Queenie’ stars Dionne Brown and Bellah. \u003ccite>(Ramona Rosales/Disney)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Carty-Williams also said she felt fiercely protective bringing her first published novel to the screen. Basing Queenie’s story on her own experience coupled with second hand-horror stories from friends, “I had all those feelings and I didn’t want them to be stripped away, or watered down. The politics were important to me, the characters are important to me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959205']\u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> is a young woman’s story, but it’s also the manifestation of the adage that the personal is political. Queenie’s experiences lay bare the contours and consequences of England’s casual racism in every dimension of daily life. That includes, “the ways that [Queenie] was treated by people. This is at work, this is in relationships, this is in her relationship with Tom.” Carty-Williams said she was “willing to fight” to ensure that Queenie’s mental and emotional journey of finding herself in this world she saw as unfair made it to the screen intact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite the production’s extensive management structure (Lions Gate, Disney’s Onyx Collective, and British Channel 4 were involved and over a dozen executives), it’s clear she succeeded. The show teems with the sometimes-painful, subtly-political observational humor and confessional motif that made the book stand out — and all the elements work well together.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Some important changes from novel to screen\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Still, though faithful to the novel’s quarter-life crisis story, with the book’s most memorable thoughts and lines of dialogue making the leap almost verbatim from page to screen, the script bears some important changes. For one, Queenie’s circle includes a romantic addition — best friend Kiyazike’s cousin Frank, a friend and new love interest who appeared once briefly in the novel. Frank’s addition improves the series by addressing one of the biggest issues dogging the novel’s more ambivalent readers: Queenie’s fear and avoidance of Black men in favor of often painful encounters with white and brown men.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959163']\u003cem>Queenie’s\u003c/em> original release reflected both the pervasiveness and abuse of “rom-com” and “chick-lit” as book industry terms of art, and the delicate tightrope that Black writers walk telling stories about love, sex and race.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> debuted it appeared on best seller lists in multiple countries. \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> won both Best Debut and Book of the Year at the British Book Awards. Carty-Williams was the first Black woman author to win the latter award.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Britain, where Carty-Williams grew up, \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> quickly found a fiercely loyal following — a largely female audience that loved its voice and perspective. Many of those readers were women of color, Black British women who identified fiercely with the young woman struggling to claim love, career, self worth and mental health.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote class=\"npr-pull-quote\">\n\u003ch2>While Bridget Jones’ deepest insecurities stemmed from 10 extra pounds, granny panties and two very different suitors, Queenie grapples with racism, a miscarriage and sexual trauma. And some vocal African American readers were unhappy with its handling of these heavier themes.\u003c/h2>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>But the book’s popular and critical reception was somewhat mixed in the U.S., where the author was an unknown quantity. At minimum, some audiences were discomfited by Queenie’s emotional scarring and trauma around race when they believed they were promised something lighter — the heft and trauma of the book billed as a Black \u003cem>Bridget Jones Diary \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2019/05/30/728278275/queenie-author-candice-carty-williams\">seemed to betray its framing\u003c/a>. While Bridget Jones’ deepest insecurities stemmed from 10 extra pounds, granny panties and two very different suitors, Queenie grapples with racism, a miscarriage and sexual trauma. And some vocal African American readers were unhappy with its handling of these heavier themes. At worst, some storylines were seen as painfully self-hating or even the product of internalized anti-Black racism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Falling into ever more painful situations, Queenie has sex with men who talk about and treat her in demeaning, if not downright racist ways — the men she meets in apps and in the neighborhood reference her race, color, and the contours of her body as though she is a sex toy. They don’t see or aren’t that interested in her intelligence and her pain.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959644\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 708px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959644\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.09.18-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a Black woman's ear and braids piles high on her head. Her face is not visible.\" width=\"708\" height=\"1104\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.09.18-PM.png 708w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.09.18-PM-160x249.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 708px) 100vw, 708px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Queenie’ by Candice Carty-Williams. \u003ccite>(Gallery/Scout Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Carty-William’s unflinching portrayal of Queenie’s situation is one of the novel’s most challenging aspects. Though Queenie notices and complains about the degrading approaches, she dates a series of these men and continues to long for the return of a boyfriend who seems to treat her with little regard. She seems to internalize racism and brush off the disrespect, taking it in stride as long as the men dishing it out are not Black. Even for a literary novel (which despite the comedic tone, \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> really is) that would be hard to take in (\u003cem>Luster\u003c/em> comes to mind). But that’s not how the book was positioned.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13958131']Though Carty-Williams used the “Black Bridget Jones” marketing pitch to broaden the readership, she’s also said of Queenie: “She’s not Bridget Jones. She could never be.” As a result of the label, though, and the gorgeous, brightly-colored cover drawing of a Black woman with braids and hoop earrings, Black women were primed to see themselves at the center of romance-infused comedy. That’s not what they got.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Instead, the novel \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> offers a sometimes harrowing multidimensional portrait of the dynamics of love, work and identity, mental health, and the Black immigrant experience. The love and acceptance Queenie eventually finds is hard won, and it lies not in a romantic relationship but within herself and her community. That’s a healthy choice. But every genre makes a promise, and a bait and switch in terms of reader expectations can feel like erasure.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Exploring critically important topics in the book and on screen\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>That said, as Carty-Williams emphasizes, discomfiting or not, Queenie’s experience is worth delving into. If it’s hard to reconcile Queenie’s sharp insight and her self-destructive actions, it’s also true that Queenie navigates a world that routinely doesn’t see, or fetishizes and even villainizes, her. Exploding the stereotype of a “strong Black woman,” with intense vulnerability, parts are hard to watch, but through her experimentation and misadventures, both the novel and the series explore essential topics: the racial and gender dynamics and politics of consent and desirability, and the rippling effects of domestic partner abuse. It is hard to watch her covet white attention and approval even when it hurts her, but it’s something that many Black women have been through.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959645\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1752px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959645\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM.png\" alt=\"Two Black women stand outside at dusk, next to two white women.\" width=\"1752\" height=\"1022\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM.png 1752w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-800x467.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-1020x595.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-160x93.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-768x448.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-1536x896.png 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1752px) 100vw, 1752px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dionne Brown as Queenie in a scene with her best friend Kyazike, played by Bellah. \u003ccite>(Latoya Okuneye/Disney)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A big challenge for the screen adaptation is that despite therapy, Queenie’s deeply rooted fear of Black men doesn’t have a resolution, or much deeper exploration in the original text. In a novel about self reflection, self-acceptance and growth, this is hard to reconcile. The series does better. The racial dimensions of Queenie’s pain and fears were at the center of some online discourse in 2019 and, in the leadup to the premiere, some with knowledge of the story raised similar questions on social media in reaction to the \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> trailer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When talking with NPR for this piece, Carty-Williams pointed out that when readers have been in conversation about her debut, they tend to ask how Queenie did what she did. She pushes back wondering why the onus is on the woman rather than asking why men behave how they do toward Queenie. She also disclosed that the series allowed her to better resolve Queenie’s difficulties with men in her community partly, but not exclusively, through her relationship with her best friend’s cousin Frank. Carty-Williams said that this exploration was inspired both by conversations with readers and by her own maturation. Now in her 30s, she says she better understands attachment disorder, and how fears and triggers manifest, than when she started writing the novel at 26. In this way, the story of the making of \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em>-the-series has a happier ending — giving Queenie more room to grow.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Queenie’ is streaming now on Hulu.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The new Hulu series \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> explores the quarter-life growing pains of lonely South Londoner Queenie Jenkins.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first of her British Jamaican family to go to university, Queenie is a struggling writer awkwardly straddling multiple worlds. An unwanted breakup with her white, longtime live-in boyfriend Tom sends her painfully reeling — spiraling into, and then climbing out of, destructive behaviors and onto a journey of growth and self-acceptance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The show, which premiered Friday, is based on a 2019 book by Candice Carty-Williams. And with Carty-Williams at the creative helm, the novel’s strengths are immediately visible on screen: the sharp social observation, the rawness of the voice, and the specificity and conundrums of aspirational, young Black British life in the millennium.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As showrunner, Carty-Williams effectively translates and expands her vision, addressing the pain points that both riveted and rankled the book’s readers and ensuring that the creative aspects of production also make an impression. Through sight, sound and performance, \u003cem>Queenie \u003c/em>creates an empathetic and irresistible portrait of a young woman’s life in multicultural-yet-divided London.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/wwRwPcm3P4Q'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/wwRwPcm3P4Q'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003ch3>The performances bring the novel to life\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>As great as the production sounds and looks, it’s the performances that make Queenie’s journey really accessible on screen. The material is challenging and multi-tonal but not a performance hits a wrong note. British actor Dionne Brown embodies Queenie Jenkins inside and out in a breakout role that is a world away from her restrained supporting performance as a police detective in the Apple TV+ crime drama \u003cem>Criminal Record\u003c/em>. Brown told NPR she felt drawn to the role because of how strongly she related to the novel: “my most visceral and initial reaction was just, I didn’t know that other women felt like this. I didn’t know other Black women felt like this.” So throughout taping she used the book “like a Bible.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And though it’s her first screen acting role, hip-hop artist Bellah is bubbly and fierce as Queenie’s bestie Kyazike. As her loving and protective Jamaican grandparents, Joseph Marcell (butler Geoffrey from \u003cem>The Fresh Prince of Bel Air\u003c/em>) and actress and comedian Llewella Gideon steal every scene they’re in. Pivotally, BAFTA-nominated actor Samuel Adewunmi, so powerful in the crime drama \u003cem>You Don’t Know Me\u003c/em>, radiates charisma and kindness as Kyazike’s cousin Frank.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>The format allows the audience to go deep\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The eight-episode series format allows viewers to go deep into Queenie’s world, getting to know friends and family and helping us understand how love surrounds Queenie without her really feeling it. Where the novel can seem a bit bleak in spite of the humor, episodic TV gives Carty-Williams more room to experiment with different moods and tones. A few days before the premiere, Carty-Williams told NPR that she knew “we would need a lot more light on the screen” in the TV adaptation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959643\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1898px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959643\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM.png\" alt=\"Three Black women stand side by side wearing cool clothes.\" width=\"1898\" height=\"1070\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM.png 1898w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-800x451.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-1020x575.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-160x90.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-768x433.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.02.19-PM-1536x866.png 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1898px) 100vw, 1898px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Candice Carty-Williams’ ‘Queenie’ stars Dionne Brown and Bellah. \u003ccite>(Ramona Rosales/Disney)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Carty-Williams also said she felt fiercely protective bringing her first published novel to the screen. Basing Queenie’s story on her own experience coupled with second hand-horror stories from friends, “I had all those feelings and I didn’t want them to be stripped away, or watered down. The politics were important to me, the characters are important to me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> is a young woman’s story, but it’s also the manifestation of the adage that the personal is political. Queenie’s experiences lay bare the contours and consequences of England’s casual racism in every dimension of daily life. That includes, “the ways that [Queenie] was treated by people. This is at work, this is in relationships, this is in her relationship with Tom.” Carty-Williams said she was “willing to fight” to ensure that Queenie’s mental and emotional journey of finding herself in this world she saw as unfair made it to the screen intact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite the production’s extensive management structure (Lions Gate, Disney’s Onyx Collective, and British Channel 4 were involved and over a dozen executives), it’s clear she succeeded. The show teems with the sometimes-painful, subtly-political observational humor and confessional motif that made the book stand out — and all the elements work well together.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Some important changes from novel to screen\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Still, though faithful to the novel’s quarter-life crisis story, with the book’s most memorable thoughts and lines of dialogue making the leap almost verbatim from page to screen, the script bears some important changes. For one, Queenie’s circle includes a romantic addition — best friend Kiyazike’s cousin Frank, a friend and new love interest who appeared once briefly in the novel. Frank’s addition improves the series by addressing one of the biggest issues dogging the novel’s more ambivalent readers: Queenie’s fear and avoidance of Black men in favor of often painful encounters with white and brown men.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cem>Queenie’s\u003c/em> original release reflected both the pervasiveness and abuse of “rom-com” and “chick-lit” as book industry terms of art, and the delicate tightrope that Black writers walk telling stories about love, sex and race.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> debuted it appeared on best seller lists in multiple countries. \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> won both Best Debut and Book of the Year at the British Book Awards. Carty-Williams was the first Black woman author to win the latter award.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Britain, where Carty-Williams grew up, \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> quickly found a fiercely loyal following — a largely female audience that loved its voice and perspective. Many of those readers were women of color, Black British women who identified fiercely with the young woman struggling to claim love, career, self worth and mental health.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote class=\"npr-pull-quote\">\n\u003ch2>While Bridget Jones’ deepest insecurities stemmed from 10 extra pounds, granny panties and two very different suitors, Queenie grapples with racism, a miscarriage and sexual trauma. And some vocal African American readers were unhappy with its handling of these heavier themes.\u003c/h2>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>But the book’s popular and critical reception was somewhat mixed in the U.S., where the author was an unknown quantity. At minimum, some audiences were discomfited by Queenie’s emotional scarring and trauma around race when they believed they were promised something lighter — the heft and trauma of the book billed as a Black \u003cem>Bridget Jones Diary \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2019/05/30/728278275/queenie-author-candice-carty-williams\">seemed to betray its framing\u003c/a>. While Bridget Jones’ deepest insecurities stemmed from 10 extra pounds, granny panties and two very different suitors, Queenie grapples with racism, a miscarriage and sexual trauma. And some vocal African American readers were unhappy with its handling of these heavier themes. At worst, some storylines were seen as painfully self-hating or even the product of internalized anti-Black racism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Falling into ever more painful situations, Queenie has sex with men who talk about and treat her in demeaning, if not downright racist ways — the men she meets in apps and in the neighborhood reference her race, color, and the contours of her body as though she is a sex toy. They don’t see or aren’t that interested in her intelligence and her pain.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959644\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 708px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959644\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.09.18-PM.png\" alt=\"A book cover depicting a Black woman's ear and braids piles high on her head. Her face is not visible.\" width=\"708\" height=\"1104\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.09.18-PM.png 708w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.09.18-PM-160x249.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 708px) 100vw, 708px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Queenie’ by Candice Carty-Williams. \u003ccite>(Gallery/Scout Press)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Carty-William’s unflinching portrayal of Queenie’s situation is one of the novel’s most challenging aspects. Though Queenie notices and complains about the degrading approaches, she dates a series of these men and continues to long for the return of a boyfriend who seems to treat her with little regard. She seems to internalize racism and brush off the disrespect, taking it in stride as long as the men dishing it out are not Black. Even for a literary novel (which despite the comedic tone, \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> really is) that would be hard to take in (\u003cem>Luster\u003c/em> comes to mind). But that’s not how the book was positioned.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Though Carty-Williams used the “Black Bridget Jones” marketing pitch to broaden the readership, she’s also said of Queenie: “She’s not Bridget Jones. She could never be.” As a result of the label, though, and the gorgeous, brightly-colored cover drawing of a Black woman with braids and hoop earrings, Black women were primed to see themselves at the center of romance-infused comedy. That’s not what they got.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Instead, the novel \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> offers a sometimes harrowing multidimensional portrait of the dynamics of love, work and identity, mental health, and the Black immigrant experience. The love and acceptance Queenie eventually finds is hard won, and it lies not in a romantic relationship but within herself and her community. That’s a healthy choice. But every genre makes a promise, and a bait and switch in terms of reader expectations can feel like erasure.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Exploring critically important topics in the book and on screen\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>That said, as Carty-Williams emphasizes, discomfiting or not, Queenie’s experience is worth delving into. If it’s hard to reconcile Queenie’s sharp insight and her self-destructive actions, it’s also true that Queenie navigates a world that routinely doesn’t see, or fetishizes and even villainizes, her. Exploding the stereotype of a “strong Black woman,” with intense vulnerability, parts are hard to watch, but through her experimentation and misadventures, both the novel and the series explore essential topics: the racial and gender dynamics and politics of consent and desirability, and the rippling effects of domestic partner abuse. It is hard to watch her covet white attention and approval even when it hurts her, but it’s something that many Black women have been through.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959645\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1752px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959645\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM.png\" alt=\"Two Black women stand outside at dusk, next to two white women.\" width=\"1752\" height=\"1022\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM.png 1752w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-800x467.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-1020x595.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-160x93.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-768x448.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-5.13.29-PM-1536x896.png 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1752px) 100vw, 1752px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dionne Brown as Queenie in a scene with her best friend Kyazike, played by Bellah. \u003ccite>(Latoya Okuneye/Disney)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A big challenge for the screen adaptation is that despite therapy, Queenie’s deeply rooted fear of Black men doesn’t have a resolution, or much deeper exploration in the original text. In a novel about self reflection, self-acceptance and growth, this is hard to reconcile. The series does better. The racial dimensions of Queenie’s pain and fears were at the center of some online discourse in 2019 and, in the leadup to the premiere, some with knowledge of the story raised similar questions on social media in reaction to the \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em> trailer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When talking with NPR for this piece, Carty-Williams pointed out that when readers have been in conversation about her debut, they tend to ask how Queenie did what she did. She pushes back wondering why the onus is on the woman rather than asking why men behave how they do toward Queenie. She also disclosed that the series allowed her to better resolve Queenie’s difficulties with men in her community partly, but not exclusively, through her relationship with her best friend’s cousin Frank. Carty-Williams said that this exploration was inspired both by conversations with readers and by her own maturation. Now in her 30s, she says she better understands attachment disorder, and how fears and triggers manifest, than when she started writing the novel at 26. In this way, the story of the making of \u003cem>Queenie\u003c/em>-the-series has a happier ending — giving Queenie more room to grow.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Queenie’ is streaming now on Hulu.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "The 19 Movies NPR Critics Are Most Excited About This Summer",
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"content": "\u003cp>At this time of year, there’s air conditioning, and then there’s movie theater air conditioning — a frigid blast forceful enough to cool down the biggest crowd on a hot summer’s day. And if that’s not enough, your neighborhood multiplex also boasts enormous ice-cold drinks to go with popcorn and candy and … oh, right … it also has movies! Comedies, action-adventures, coming-of-age tales, animation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’re wondering which to catch, NPR critics have you covered. Here’s our take on the cream of the cinematic crop — Marvel to just plain marvelous — from now through Labor Day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Hit Man,’ in theaters May 24, on Netflix June 7\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXwa8DKIK7g&t=10s\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Red-hot star Glen Powell plays the titular hit man — well, a cop pretending to be a hit man — in this action rom-com. Romantic comedies are much rarer than they used to be, and the ones that do show up are often disappointing. But! Powell co-wrote the screenplay with director Richard Linklater, whose skill with love stories is well established (the Before trilogy is all the love-story credibility anybody needs, forever). A lot of Netflix movies have fizzled. Hopefully this one will not. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Ghostlight,’ in theaters June 14\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1TycuGX4Mw\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The title of this warmly engaging drama refers to theatrical superstition: a light left onstage to keep the theater ghost at bay — or at least to keep it happy — when actors aren’t present. Actors are everywhere here, as family tragedy blends into Shakespearean tragedy (a grieving construction worker getting roped into a community theater \u003cem>Romeo and Juliet\u003c/em>), and the film doubles down on connections by casting a real-life father, wife and daughter as the construction worker, his wife and their daughter. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Inside Out 2,’ in theaters June 14\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEjhY15eCx0\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em> was one of Pixar’s best films, but sequels haven’t always been the studio’s strength. Still, it’s exciting to know that Joy (Amy Poehler) is back, as are Phyllis Smith’s Sadness and Lewis Black’s Anger. New voices and new emotions arrive as Riley enters her teenage years, and the world may not be ready for Maya Hawke as Anxiety or Ayo Edebiri as Envy (OK, I may not). But get out the tissues or whatever else you need to cope with an onslaught of feelings, because it’s coming. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘The Bikeriders,’ in theaters June 21\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYioWaFdp70\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A melodrama about a fictional 1960s motorcycle gang starring Austin Butler, Jodie Comer and Tom Hardy? Sure, why not! This is Jeff Nichols’ first feature in almost a decade (following 2016’s \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Midnight Special\u003c/em>), and he has proved himself again and again as a filmmaker who excels at capturing mood and ambience, through setting as well as a great Michael Shannon performance. At the very least, this could be a thrill ride. — Aisha Harris\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Fancy Dance,’ in theaters June 21, on Apple TV+ June 28\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmPPiLaiN8g\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It has taken far too long for Erica Tremblay’s profound feature debut to get a proper release — it premiered at Sundance back in January 2023 — but the wait is worth it. Lily Gladstone plays Jax, a woman caring for her young niece on a Native American reservation after her sister goes missing. Part crime drama and part road trip movie, it avoids emotional clichés while offering an underseen perspective and a dynamic performance from Gladstone. — Aisha Harris\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Kinds of Kindness,’ in theaters June 21\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inAuktwXbew\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Viewers who know Yorgos Lanthimos’ recent work — \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13938158/poor-things-movie-review-emma-stone-bella-baxter-mark-ruffalo-willem-dafoe\">\u003cem>Poor Things\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13846027/the-favourite-sou-smart-sou-wicked-sou-witty-sou-gououd\">\u003cem>The Favourite\u003c/em>\u003c/a> — might find him whimsically absurd. Those of us who’ve been with him from his 2009 breakthrough, \u003cem>Dogtooth\u003c/em>, however, know him to be a deadpan satirist of the most scalding, remorseless variety. He has reteamed with \u003cem>Dogtooth\u003c/em> writer Efthimis Filippou for this anthology film featuring the same stable of actors playing different roles in three shorts. Can’t wait to see him getting back to his roots; bring on the bleak. — Glen Weldon\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Thelma,’ in theaters June 21\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyE_hYkZPPE\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ninety-three-year-old Thelma (June Squibb) is duped by a phone scammer in the opening reel and then sets off on a geriatric \u003cem>Mission: Impossible\u003c/em> across Los Angeles to get her money back. Along the way, she enlists the aid (and electric scooter) of an old pal (the late Richard Roundtree), runs rings around her frantic daughter (Parker Posey) and matches wits with scammer Malcolm McDowell. An understated riot that’s arguably the most Sundance-ean comedy since \u003cem>Little Miss Sunshine\u003c/em>. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Horizon: An American Saga, Chapter 1\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Chapter 2\u003c/em>, in theaters June 28 and Aug. 16\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYsReoZMj1k\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kevin Costner’s passion project (he has said he mortgaged his 10-acre oceanfront property in Santa Barbara to finance it) returns him to \u003cem>Dances With Wolves\u003c/em> territory — settlers arriving in covered wagons, expecting Indigenous communities to disappear. \u003cem>Chapter 1\u003c/em> is reportedly roughly three hours long. \u003cem>Chapter 2\u003c/em> will hit theaters seven weeks later. And depending on whether audiences show up, Costner will spend his summer either shooting the next chapter or, I guess, nursing his wounds. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘A Quiet Place: Day One,’ in theaters June 28\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjx-iHGXk9Q\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s not a spoiler anymore that \u003cem>A Quiet Place\u003c/em>‘s story made sequels complicated — but there are always prequels. This one, starring Lupita Nyong’o, rewinds all the way back to the alien invasion that got everybody to shut up in the first place. And unlike the other two films, it takes place smack in the middle of New York City, not the most natural place to attempt total silence. John Krasinski stepped back from both directing and writing the screenplay, which could be a problem — or a fresh start. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F,’ on Netflix July 3\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoxhkE_U3Ww\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Street-smart Detroit detective Axel Foley is the role that made Eddie Murphy a movie star in 1984. This Part 4 has been in development since the mid-1990s, after morphing briefly into a TV pilot that never got picked up. Joining Murphy from the earlier films will be fellow cops Judge Reinhold, John Ashton and Paul Reiser, as well as Bronson Pinchot’s star-making art gallerist, Serge. Franchise newbies include Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Kevin Bacon. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ in theaters July 12\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lW7enw6mFxs\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Space race rom-com” isn’t exactly well-trod territory, so this project from Greg Berlanti (\u003cem>Love, Simon\u003c/em>) could be a light, refreshing summer diversion starring a pair of ridiculously good-looking actors. Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum play a marketing consultant and NASA launch director who team up to stage a “backup” recording of the moon landing in case the actual moon-landing attempt fails. Presumably they fall in love, with at least one Sinatra song crooning in the background. — Aisha Harris\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘National Anthem,’ in theaters July 12\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeGCjSOHfZ8\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is the first feature by photographer Luke Gilford. Charlie Plummer stars as a young man in New Mexico who takes a job at a homestead of queer rodeo performers where, as often happens in films like this, he comes to learn things about himself. I haven’t yet seen it, but by all accounts it’s a quiet and lyrical movie that tells a queer story that isn’t rooted in trauma and tragedy, but in self-discovery and finding your people. It arrives at a time when those stories are much needed. — Glen Weldon\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Sing Sing,’ in theaters July 12 (limited), Aug. 2 (wide)\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3dXc6P3zH8\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One current rule: If it has \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13909135/colman-domingo-strand-theater-valentines-euphoria-walking-dead-zola\">Colman Domingo\u003c/a> in it, it will be worth watching. \u003cem>Sing Sing\u003c/em> is about a man played by Domingo who is incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit and who joins the New York prison’s theater program to produce a comedy with his fellow inmates. The movie’s publicity campaign makes some broad claims (including that it’s a “true story of resilience, humanity, and the transformative power of art”), but if it lives up to them the way its early reviews suggest, it will be special. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Twisters,’ in theaters July 19\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wdok0rZdmx4\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The most intriguing thing about this sequel to the classic, bombastic disaster movie \u003cem>Twister\u003c/em> is that it’s directed by Lee Isaac Chung, who directed \u003cem>Minari\u003c/em> — one of the least bombastic films in recent memory. Glen Powell and Daisy Edgar-Jones star in this sequel, which certainly tries in its trailer to call to mind the goofy, special-effects-heavy, not-actually-advisable-in-a-storm feeling of the original. Will it have a plot? Who knows? Does it need a plot? Probably not! — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Deadpool & Wolverine,’ in theaters July 26\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pn5fdK61o9c\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marvel may be releasing only one superhero movie this year, but it’s a double-header, with two regenerative dudes in spandex — one joke-spewing and disfigured, the other snarling and adamantium-clawed — teaming up to save something or other. Technically, it’s Ryan Reynolds’ movie, so he’ll be setting the tone, meaning lotsa laughs. What? — you say — Wolverine died in his last movie? Well, to that I say … multiverse … or time-shift … or who cares, if Hugh Jackman’s willing to come back. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Dìdi,’ in theaters July 26\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6gve8GtSuU\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thirteen-year-old Chris begins Sean Wang’s semi-autobiographical, coming-of-age dramedy trading insults with his older sister, and he ends it choked up as she leaves home (and him) for college. In between, there are pranks, misadventures, a clumsy first romance and an ill-advised attempt to ingratiate himself with some cool high school skateboarders by claiming to be an expert filmmaker. The film, which charmed at Sundance, is a lot like its pint-size hero — cute, exasperating, promising. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Kneecap,’ in theaters Aug. 2\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QB2LsoZOQpU\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Raw, raunchy, violent and uproarious, this origin story of the titular Irish-language hip-hop group is both a riot and a call to arms. Filled with the fury of a populace that had to fight for the right to keep its own language, the film features rappers Naoise Ó Cairealláin and Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh, as well as the mild-mannered substitute music teacher who became their DJ, JJ Ó Dochartaigh, playing themselves — entirely professionally — through sex scenes, police beatings and drug-fueled jam sessions. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Close to You,’ in theaters Aug. 16\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959596\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 966px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959596\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM.png\" alt=\"A shirtless young trans man leans up against a window frame and gazes outside.\" width=\"966\" height=\"536\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM.png 966w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-800x444.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-160x89.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-768x426.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-672x372.png 672w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 966px) 100vw, 966px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Elliot Page in ‘Close to You.’ \u003ccite>(Me+You Productions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With Elliot Page, in his first movie role in six years, playing a trans man who’s wary about attending his first family reunion since his transition, this story already had hooks for audiences. Throw in reports that the film’s scenes were mostly improvised on the day of shooting, and it sounds like an emotional high-wire act. Page, who came out as trans in 2020, is also involved with another queer coming-of-age story this summer, as executive producer for the cheerleading tale \u003cem>Backspot\u003c/em>. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Between the Temples,’ in theaters Aug. 23\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959595\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1292px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959595\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM.png\" alt=\"An older woman leans her head onto the shoulder of a younger man. \" width=\"1292\" height=\"722\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM.png 1292w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-800x447.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-1020x570.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-160x89.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-768x429.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1292px) 100vw, 1292px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jason Schwartzman and Carol Kane in ‘Between the Temples.’ \u003ccite>(Sean Price Williams/Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A depressed cantor (Jason Schwartzman) who can’t sing since his wife’s death gets an odd request while teaching bar/bat mitzvah classes at his synagogue. His septuagenarian grade-school music teacher (Carol Kane) recognizes he’s foundering and wants to help, so she asks him to tutor her for a late-in-life bat mitzvah. He resists, she insists, and things go predictably \u003cem>Harold and Maude\u003c/em> from there in plot terms, though Schwartzman and Kane bring their own quirks. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>At this time of year, there’s air conditioning, and then there’s movie theater air conditioning — a frigid blast forceful enough to cool down the biggest crowd on a hot summer’s day. And if that’s not enough, your neighborhood multiplex also boasts enormous ice-cold drinks to go with popcorn and candy and … oh, right … it also has movies! Comedies, action-adventures, coming-of-age tales, animation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’re wondering which to catch, NPR critics have you covered. Here’s our take on the cream of the cinematic crop — Marvel to just plain marvelous — from now through Labor Day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Hit Man,’ in theaters May 24, on Netflix June 7\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/DXwa8DKIK7g'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/DXwa8DKIK7g'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Red-hot star Glen Powell plays the titular hit man — well, a cop pretending to be a hit man — in this action rom-com. Romantic comedies are much rarer than they used to be, and the ones that do show up are often disappointing. But! Powell co-wrote the screenplay with director Richard Linklater, whose skill with love stories is well established (the Before trilogy is all the love-story credibility anybody needs, forever). A lot of Netflix movies have fizzled. Hopefully this one will not. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Ghostlight,’ in theaters June 14\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/R1TycuGX4Mw'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/R1TycuGX4Mw'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The title of this warmly engaging drama refers to theatrical superstition: a light left onstage to keep the theater ghost at bay — or at least to keep it happy — when actors aren’t present. Actors are everywhere here, as family tragedy blends into Shakespearean tragedy (a grieving construction worker getting roped into a community theater \u003cem>Romeo and Juliet\u003c/em>), and the film doubles down on connections by casting a real-life father, wife and daughter as the construction worker, his wife and their daughter. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Inside Out 2,’ in theaters June 14\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/LEjhY15eCx0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/LEjhY15eCx0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em> was one of Pixar’s best films, but sequels haven’t always been the studio’s strength. Still, it’s exciting to know that Joy (Amy Poehler) is back, as are Phyllis Smith’s Sadness and Lewis Black’s Anger. New voices and new emotions arrive as Riley enters her teenage years, and the world may not be ready for Maya Hawke as Anxiety or Ayo Edebiri as Envy (OK, I may not). But get out the tissues or whatever else you need to cope with an onslaught of feelings, because it’s coming. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘The Bikeriders,’ in theaters June 21\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/PYioWaFdp70'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/PYioWaFdp70'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>A melodrama about a fictional 1960s motorcycle gang starring Austin Butler, Jodie Comer and Tom Hardy? Sure, why not! This is Jeff Nichols’ first feature in almost a decade (following 2016’s \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Midnight Special\u003c/em>), and he has proved himself again and again as a filmmaker who excels at capturing mood and ambience, through setting as well as a great Michael Shannon performance. At the very least, this could be a thrill ride. — Aisha Harris\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Fancy Dance,’ in theaters June 21, on Apple TV+ June 28\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/AmPPiLaiN8g'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/AmPPiLaiN8g'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>It has taken far too long for Erica Tremblay’s profound feature debut to get a proper release — it premiered at Sundance back in January 2023 — but the wait is worth it. Lily Gladstone plays Jax, a woman caring for her young niece on a Native American reservation after her sister goes missing. Part crime drama and part road trip movie, it avoids emotional clichés while offering an underseen perspective and a dynamic performance from Gladstone. — Aisha Harris\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Kinds of Kindness,’ in theaters June 21\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/inAuktwXbew'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/inAuktwXbew'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Viewers who know Yorgos Lanthimos’ recent work — \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13938158/poor-things-movie-review-emma-stone-bella-baxter-mark-ruffalo-willem-dafoe\">\u003cem>Poor Things\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13846027/the-favourite-sou-smart-sou-wicked-sou-witty-sou-gououd\">\u003cem>The Favourite\u003c/em>\u003c/a> — might find him whimsically absurd. Those of us who’ve been with him from his 2009 breakthrough, \u003cem>Dogtooth\u003c/em>, however, know him to be a deadpan satirist of the most scalding, remorseless variety. He has reteamed with \u003cem>Dogtooth\u003c/em> writer Efthimis Filippou for this anthology film featuring the same stable of actors playing different roles in three shorts. Can’t wait to see him getting back to his roots; bring on the bleak. — Glen Weldon\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Thelma,’ in theaters June 21\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/lyE_hYkZPPE'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/lyE_hYkZPPE'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Ninety-three-year-old Thelma (June Squibb) is duped by a phone scammer in the opening reel and then sets off on a geriatric \u003cem>Mission: Impossible\u003c/em> across Los Angeles to get her money back. Along the way, she enlists the aid (and electric scooter) of an old pal (the late Richard Roundtree), runs rings around her frantic daughter (Parker Posey) and matches wits with scammer Malcolm McDowell. An understated riot that’s arguably the most Sundance-ean comedy since \u003cem>Little Miss Sunshine\u003c/em>. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Horizon: An American Saga, Chapter 1\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Chapter 2\u003c/em>, in theaters June 28 and Aug. 16\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/YYsReoZMj1k'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/YYsReoZMj1k'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Kevin Costner’s passion project (he has said he mortgaged his 10-acre oceanfront property in Santa Barbara to finance it) returns him to \u003cem>Dances With Wolves\u003c/em> territory — settlers arriving in covered wagons, expecting Indigenous communities to disappear. \u003cem>Chapter 1\u003c/em> is reportedly roughly three hours long. \u003cem>Chapter 2\u003c/em> will hit theaters seven weeks later. And depending on whether audiences show up, Costner will spend his summer either shooting the next chapter or, I guess, nursing his wounds. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘A Quiet Place: Day One,’ in theaters June 28\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/gjx-iHGXk9Q'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/gjx-iHGXk9Q'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>It’s not a spoiler anymore that \u003cem>A Quiet Place\u003c/em>‘s story made sequels complicated — but there are always prequels. This one, starring Lupita Nyong’o, rewinds all the way back to the alien invasion that got everybody to shut up in the first place. And unlike the other two films, it takes place smack in the middle of New York City, not the most natural place to attempt total silence. John Krasinski stepped back from both directing and writing the screenplay, which could be a problem — or a fresh start. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F,’ on Netflix July 3\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/KoxhkE_U3Ww'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/KoxhkE_U3Ww'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Street-smart Detroit detective Axel Foley is the role that made Eddie Murphy a movie star in 1984. This Part 4 has been in development since the mid-1990s, after morphing briefly into a TV pilot that never got picked up. Joining Murphy from the earlier films will be fellow cops Judge Reinhold, John Ashton and Paul Reiser, as well as Bronson Pinchot’s star-making art gallerist, Serge. Franchise newbies include Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Kevin Bacon. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ in theaters July 12\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/lW7enw6mFxs'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/lW7enw6mFxs'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>“Space race rom-com” isn’t exactly well-trod territory, so this project from Greg Berlanti (\u003cem>Love, Simon\u003c/em>) could be a light, refreshing summer diversion starring a pair of ridiculously good-looking actors. Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum play a marketing consultant and NASA launch director who team up to stage a “backup” recording of the moon landing in case the actual moon-landing attempt fails. Presumably they fall in love, with at least one Sinatra song crooning in the background. — Aisha Harris\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘National Anthem,’ in theaters July 12\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/oeGCjSOHfZ8'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/oeGCjSOHfZ8'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>This is the first feature by photographer Luke Gilford. Charlie Plummer stars as a young man in New Mexico who takes a job at a homestead of queer rodeo performers where, as often happens in films like this, he comes to learn things about himself. I haven’t yet seen it, but by all accounts it’s a quiet and lyrical movie that tells a queer story that isn’t rooted in trauma and tragedy, but in self-discovery and finding your people. It arrives at a time when those stories are much needed. — Glen Weldon\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Sing Sing,’ in theaters July 12 (limited), Aug. 2 (wide)\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/j3dXc6P3zH8'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/j3dXc6P3zH8'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>One current rule: If it has \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13909135/colman-domingo-strand-theater-valentines-euphoria-walking-dead-zola\">Colman Domingo\u003c/a> in it, it will be worth watching. \u003cem>Sing Sing\u003c/em> is about a man played by Domingo who is incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit and who joins the New York prison’s theater program to produce a comedy with his fellow inmates. The movie’s publicity campaign makes some broad claims (including that it’s a “true story of resilience, humanity, and the transformative power of art”), but if it lives up to them the way its early reviews suggest, it will be special. — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Twisters,’ in theaters July 19\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/wdok0rZdmx4'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/wdok0rZdmx4'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The most intriguing thing about this sequel to the classic, bombastic disaster movie \u003cem>Twister\u003c/em> is that it’s directed by Lee Isaac Chung, who directed \u003cem>Minari\u003c/em> — one of the least bombastic films in recent memory. Glen Powell and Daisy Edgar-Jones star in this sequel, which certainly tries in its trailer to call to mind the goofy, special-effects-heavy, not-actually-advisable-in-a-storm feeling of the original. Will it have a plot? Who knows? Does it need a plot? Probably not! — Linda Holmes\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Deadpool & Wolverine,’ in theaters July 26\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/pn5fdK61o9c'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/pn5fdK61o9c'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Marvel may be releasing only one superhero movie this year, but it’s a double-header, with two regenerative dudes in spandex — one joke-spewing and disfigured, the other snarling and adamantium-clawed — teaming up to save something or other. Technically, it’s Ryan Reynolds’ movie, so he’ll be setting the tone, meaning lotsa laughs. What? — you say — Wolverine died in his last movie? Well, to that I say … multiverse … or time-shift … or who cares, if Hugh Jackman’s willing to come back. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Dìdi,’ in theaters July 26\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/e6gve8GtSuU'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/e6gve8GtSuU'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Thirteen-year-old Chris begins Sean Wang’s semi-autobiographical, coming-of-age dramedy trading insults with his older sister, and he ends it choked up as she leaves home (and him) for college. In between, there are pranks, misadventures, a clumsy first romance and an ill-advised attempt to ingratiate himself with some cool high school skateboarders by claiming to be an expert filmmaker. The film, which charmed at Sundance, is a lot like its pint-size hero — cute, exasperating, promising. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Kneecap,’ in theaters Aug. 2\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/QB2LsoZOQpU'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/QB2LsoZOQpU'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Raw, raunchy, violent and uproarious, this origin story of the titular Irish-language hip-hop group is both a riot and a call to arms. Filled with the fury of a populace that had to fight for the right to keep its own language, the film features rappers Naoise Ó Cairealláin and Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh, as well as the mild-mannered substitute music teacher who became their DJ, JJ Ó Dochartaigh, playing themselves — entirely professionally — through sex scenes, police beatings and drug-fueled jam sessions. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Close to You,’ in theaters Aug. 16\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959596\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 966px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959596\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM.png\" alt=\"A shirtless young trans man leans up against a window frame and gazes outside.\" width=\"966\" height=\"536\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM.png 966w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-800x444.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-160x89.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-768x426.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.36.32-AM-672x372.png 672w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 966px) 100vw, 966px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Elliot Page in ‘Close to You.’ \u003ccite>(Me+You Productions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With Elliot Page, in his first movie role in six years, playing a trans man who’s wary about attending his first family reunion since his transition, this story already had hooks for audiences. Throw in reports that the film’s scenes were mostly improvised on the day of shooting, and it sounds like an emotional high-wire act. Page, who came out as trans in 2020, is also involved with another queer coming-of-age story this summer, as executive producer for the cheerleading tale \u003cem>Backspot\u003c/em>. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>‘Between the Temples,’ in theaters Aug. 23\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959595\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1292px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959595\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM.png\" alt=\"An older woman leans her head onto the shoulder of a younger man. \" width=\"1292\" height=\"722\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM.png 1292w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-800x447.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-1020x570.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-160x89.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-11-at-10.34.45-AM-768x429.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1292px) 100vw, 1292px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jason Schwartzman and Carol Kane in ‘Between the Temples.’ \u003ccite>(Sean Price Williams/Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A depressed cantor (Jason Schwartzman) who can’t sing since his wife’s death gets an odd request while teaching bar/bat mitzvah classes at his synagogue. His septuagenarian grade-school music teacher (Carol Kane) recognizes he’s foundering and wants to help, so she asks him to tutor her for a late-in-life bat mitzvah. He resists, she insists, and things go predictably \u003cem>Harold and Maude\u003c/em> from there in plot terms, though Schwartzman and Kane bring their own quirks. — Bob Mondello\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Franz Kafka’s Life Wasn't So Kafkaesque After All, TV Miniseries Shows",
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"content": "\u003cp>If you’ve ever felt powerless when confronted with faceless bureaucracy, confounded by absurd accusations or simply hopeless, chances are the word “kafkaesque” might sum up your situation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But a television miniseries released this month shows Prague-born author Franz Kafka, whose work inspired the word, as anything but kafkaesque. Tortured recluse he is not here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Instead, Kafka is a wrangler of labyrinthian bureaucratic systems, so successful in fact that his bosses do all in their power to keep him at home and prevent him from enlisting in World War I. That’s the story according to \u003cem>Kafka\u003c/em>, a six-part series that was co-produced by Germany’s ARD, Austria’s ORF and Superfilm.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959459']“We all think we hear of the bureau, or the office, that it’s a dark world and it’s apocalyptic (for Kafka). But in the real world, it was a paradise,” Director David Schalko told NPR’s Michel Martin during a joint interview with Joel Basman, who plays the title role.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Schalko said he was inspired to take on the project after reading Reiner Stach’s \u003ca href=\"https://press.princeton.edu/our-authors/stach-reiner\">three-volume biography\u003c/a> of Kafka, originally published in German between 2002 and 2014. In rejecting the usual tropes of equivocating Kafka’s angst-ridden works with the writer’s life, Schalko’s biopic offers a lush, more humanly complex picture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAANEfhwgw8\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>One perspective per episode\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>ChaiFlicks, \u003ca href=\"https://www.chaiflicks.com/\">a streaming platform focused on Jewish content\u003c/a>, is releasing new episodes weekly since the June 6 U.S. debut. Each episode focuses on a different perspective of Kafka’s life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first theme is the author’s relationship with his close friend Max Brod — who ultimately defied Kafka’s wish to have all his manuscripts burned and instead posthumously became his biographer and literary executor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The other episodes focus on his (bourgeois) family, three of his lovers and his role as an insurance lawyer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959520\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1290px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959520\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM.png\" alt=\"A man wearing a suit and spectacles sits with a woman leaning on his shoulder who has fallen asleep.\" width=\"1290\" height=\"744\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM.png 1290w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-800x461.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-1020x588.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-160x92.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-768x443.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1290px) 100vw, 1290px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Max Brod (David Kross) and his wife Elsa (Tamara Stern) escaped Prague on one of the last trains to leave the city before Nazi forces took control, recognizing the danger to Jews like himself. He carried Franz Kafka’s papers with him in a suitcase. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In episode four, Kafka wins successive court cases and contracts for the company. He is held in high esteem by his superiors at the Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute. They also admire his writings and press him to review their own mediocre texts. It’s an admiration that Kafka does not reciprocate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He was very good rhetorically and he was fighting for the insurance company,” Schalko said. “It’s not the silent Kafka who is not able to talk in front of other people. It shows a complete different Kafka.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959521\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1278px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959521\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM.png\" alt=\"A man with neat black hair stands in a room lit in purple and pink hues.\" width=\"1278\" height=\"770\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM.png 1278w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-800x482.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-1020x615.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-160x96.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-768x463.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1278px) 100vw, 1278px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The series alternates between biographical material, historical context and scenes from Kafka’s writings. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Basman says he felt compelled in portraying Kafka to “get away from the cliché of him being a depressed person. First of all, he’s a funny man. He’s got humor. And of course, he’s got his issues, and we all got them in our lives, but he was far away from depressed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>A century since Kafka’s death\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The series’ release coincides with the 100th anniversary of Kafka’s death this month. And it comes at a time of renewed interest in the writer, who has become an unexpected hot item among a younger generation reflecting on alienation via \u003ca href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@aquariuscat444/video/7263000782516030752\">posts\u003c/a> on TikTok.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959205']Just last year, readers could finally access a \u003ca href=\"https://www.amazon.com/Diaries-Franz-Kafka/dp/0805243550\">new translation\u003c/a> of Kafka’s diaries, by Ross Benjamin. Prior versions relied on a manuscript heavily edited and redacted by Kafka’s friend Brod, whose version was polished and removed lewd, homoerotic and unflattering material concerning Kafka and himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The unfiltered version shows a more hesitant Kafka who often left his thoughts unfinished mid-sentence — not surprising for an author who never didn’t complete the three novels he started and whose characters struggled with the impossibility of finishing tasks.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959522\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1292px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959522\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM.png\" alt=\"Two 1940s era women sit next to each other at a desk looking incredulous.\" width=\"1292\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM.png 1292w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-800x495.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-1020x632.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-160x99.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-768x476.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1292px) 100vw, 1292px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kafka’s longtime fiancée Felice Bauer (Lia von Blarer, right) got so fed up with his constant equivocation that she confronted him alongside her friend, Grete Bloch (Marie-Luise Stockinger), an event that inspired the novel ‘The Trial.’ \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez | Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The feeling to wake up and feel like vermin, like an insect, and feeling the shame and get canceled by the others, is a feeling you know from social media very well,” Schalko said, while pointing to arbitrary arrests in Russia as another example.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He also writes about the bureaucracy and how it feels to be a human being in a system that doesn’t see you as a human being. And that’s a big issue in our times as well.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13958863']In a memorable scene in episode three, Kafka brings home for dinner a traditional Yiddish theater actor he befriended, Yitzhak Löwy. But Kafka’s domineering father, Hermann, disapproves and says Löwy is dirty and compares him to an insect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The confrontation inspired Kafka to write his novella \u003cem>The Metamorphosis\u003c/em>, the story of a man who turns into a bug. Kafka had also written a 100-page letter criticizing his father — the closest he came to writing an autobiography — though he neither sent nor published it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959523\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1302px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959523\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM.png\" alt=\"A man sits against a tree, clutching a book between his hands in deep thought.\" width=\"1302\" height=\"806\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM.png 1302w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-800x495.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-1020x631.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-160x99.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-768x475.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1302px) 100vw, 1302px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The poet Rainer Maria Rilke, played by Lars Eidinger, is shown moved to tears after reading Kafka’s ‘The Metamorphosis,’ the story of a man who turns into an insect that was inspired by a confrontation between Kafka’s domineering father and the writer’s Yiddish actor friend Yitzhak Löwy. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“For his father, it was more important to be accepted by the elites of Prague; he tried to maybe even hide his Judaism,” Basman said.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Swiss-born actor says he could relate to this ambiguity in Kafka’s family identity because his own father is originally from Israel but he’s an atheist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was never Jewish enough, but I also was never Swiss enough … I realized, okay, people want to brand you and if they can’t brand you, they don’t want you on their team,” Basman said.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I think for Kafka, religion was also just a journey of getting to know himself because it was hidden by his father so strongly that he took this journey by himself.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>Kafka and women\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The women in Kafka’s life also left an indelible mark. He was engaged several times but never married. One of his fiancées was Felice Bauer, Brod’s cousin. The pair meet and only get to know each superficially before Kafka sends her hundreds of agonizing letters for months on end, through an initial parting, a second engagement and a final breakup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959163']Fed up with Kafka’s constant equivocation, Bauer at one point confronts him, letters in hand, with her friend Grete Bloch — another recipient of letters from Kafka — by her side. The episode drawn from the writer’s life inspired his novel \u003cem>The Trial\u003c/em>, published posthumously in 1925.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The protagonist Joseph K. navigates an absurdly complex bureaucratic system and makes mistakes that make him look guilty of an unknown crime for which he is put on trial and then executed “like a dog.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959525\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1282px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959525\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM.png\" alt=\"A man lies in the grass, while a woman lies partially on his chest, happily reading a letter.\" width=\"1282\" height=\"782\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM.png 1282w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-800x488.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-1020x622.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-160x98.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-768x468.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1282px) 100vw, 1282px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kafka was engaged four times and never married, keeping most relationships long-distance via extensive letter-writing. His penultimate relationship was with the writer Milena Jesenská (Liv Lisa Fries), who recognizes his talent. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Kafka’ is available to stream on \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.chaiflicks.com/videos/kafka-episode-1-1080p-25fps-stereo-1\">ChaiFlicks\u003c/a>\u003cem>. New episodes will release weekly.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>If you’ve ever felt powerless when confronted with faceless bureaucracy, confounded by absurd accusations or simply hopeless, chances are the word “kafkaesque” might sum up your situation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But a television miniseries released this month shows Prague-born author Franz Kafka, whose work inspired the word, as anything but kafkaesque. Tortured recluse he is not here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Instead, Kafka is a wrangler of labyrinthian bureaucratic systems, so successful in fact that his bosses do all in their power to keep him at home and prevent him from enlisting in World War I. That’s the story according to \u003cem>Kafka\u003c/em>, a six-part series that was co-produced by Germany’s ARD, Austria’s ORF and Superfilm.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/uAANEfhwgw8'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/uAANEfhwgw8'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003ch3>One perspective per episode\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>ChaiFlicks, \u003ca href=\"https://www.chaiflicks.com/\">a streaming platform focused on Jewish content\u003c/a>, is releasing new episodes weekly since the June 6 U.S. debut. Each episode focuses on a different perspective of Kafka’s life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first theme is the author’s relationship with his close friend Max Brod — who ultimately defied Kafka’s wish to have all his manuscripts burned and instead posthumously became his biographer and literary executor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The other episodes focus on his (bourgeois) family, three of his lovers and his role as an insurance lawyer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959520\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1290px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959520\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM.png\" alt=\"A man wearing a suit and spectacles sits with a woman leaning on his shoulder who has fallen asleep.\" width=\"1290\" height=\"744\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM.png 1290w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-800x461.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-1020x588.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-160x92.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-12.58.48-PM-768x443.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1290px) 100vw, 1290px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Max Brod (David Kross) and his wife Elsa (Tamara Stern) escaped Prague on one of the last trains to leave the city before Nazi forces took control, recognizing the danger to Jews like himself. He carried Franz Kafka’s papers with him in a suitcase. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In episode four, Kafka wins successive court cases and contracts for the company. He is held in high esteem by his superiors at the Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute. They also admire his writings and press him to review their own mediocre texts. It’s an admiration that Kafka does not reciprocate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He was very good rhetorically and he was fighting for the insurance company,” Schalko said. “It’s not the silent Kafka who is not able to talk in front of other people. It shows a complete different Kafka.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959521\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1278px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959521\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM.png\" alt=\"A man with neat black hair stands in a room lit in purple and pink hues.\" width=\"1278\" height=\"770\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM.png 1278w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-800x482.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-1020x615.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-160x96.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.02.20-PM-768x463.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1278px) 100vw, 1278px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The series alternates between biographical material, historical context and scenes from Kafka’s writings. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Basman says he felt compelled in portraying Kafka to “get away from the cliché of him being a depressed person. First of all, he’s a funny man. He’s got humor. And of course, he’s got his issues, and we all got them in our lives, but he was far away from depressed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>A century since Kafka’s death\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The series’ release coincides with the 100th anniversary of Kafka’s death this month. And it comes at a time of renewed interest in the writer, who has become an unexpected hot item among a younger generation reflecting on alienation via \u003ca href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@aquariuscat444/video/7263000782516030752\">posts\u003c/a> on TikTok.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Just last year, readers could finally access a \u003ca href=\"https://www.amazon.com/Diaries-Franz-Kafka/dp/0805243550\">new translation\u003c/a> of Kafka’s diaries, by Ross Benjamin. Prior versions relied on a manuscript heavily edited and redacted by Kafka’s friend Brod, whose version was polished and removed lewd, homoerotic and unflattering material concerning Kafka and himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The unfiltered version shows a more hesitant Kafka who often left his thoughts unfinished mid-sentence — not surprising for an author who never didn’t complete the three novels he started and whose characters struggled with the impossibility of finishing tasks.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959522\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1292px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959522\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM.png\" alt=\"Two 1940s era women sit next to each other at a desk looking incredulous.\" width=\"1292\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM.png 1292w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-800x495.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-1020x632.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-160x99.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.05.44-PM-768x476.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1292px) 100vw, 1292px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kafka’s longtime fiancée Felice Bauer (Lia von Blarer, right) got so fed up with his constant equivocation that she confronted him alongside her friend, Grete Bloch (Marie-Luise Stockinger), an event that inspired the novel ‘The Trial.’ \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez | Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The feeling to wake up and feel like vermin, like an insect, and feeling the shame and get canceled by the others, is a feeling you know from social media very well,” Schalko said, while pointing to arbitrary arrests in Russia as another example.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He also writes about the bureaucracy and how it feels to be a human being in a system that doesn’t see you as a human being. And that’s a big issue in our times as well.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>In a memorable scene in episode three, Kafka brings home for dinner a traditional Yiddish theater actor he befriended, Yitzhak Löwy. But Kafka’s domineering father, Hermann, disapproves and says Löwy is dirty and compares him to an insect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The confrontation inspired Kafka to write his novella \u003cem>The Metamorphosis\u003c/em>, the story of a man who turns into a bug. Kafka had also written a 100-page letter criticizing his father — the closest he came to writing an autobiography — though he neither sent nor published it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959523\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1302px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959523\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM.png\" alt=\"A man sits against a tree, clutching a book between his hands in deep thought.\" width=\"1302\" height=\"806\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM.png 1302w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-800x495.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-1020x631.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-160x99.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.16.30-PM-768x475.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1302px) 100vw, 1302px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The poet Rainer Maria Rilke, played by Lars Eidinger, is shown moved to tears after reading Kafka’s ‘The Metamorphosis,’ the story of a man who turns into an insect that was inspired by a confrontation between Kafka’s domineering father and the writer’s Yiddish actor friend Yitzhak Löwy. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“For his father, it was more important to be accepted by the elites of Prague; he tried to maybe even hide his Judaism,” Basman said.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Swiss-born actor says he could relate to this ambiguity in Kafka’s family identity because his own father is originally from Israel but he’s an atheist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was never Jewish enough, but I also was never Swiss enough … I realized, okay, people want to brand you and if they can’t brand you, they don’t want you on their team,” Basman said.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I think for Kafka, religion was also just a journey of getting to know himself because it was hidden by his father so strongly that he took this journey by himself.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>Kafka and women\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The women in Kafka’s life also left an indelible mark. He was engaged several times but never married. One of his fiancées was Felice Bauer, Brod’s cousin. The pair meet and only get to know each superficially before Kafka sends her hundreds of agonizing letters for months on end, through an initial parting, a second engagement and a final breakup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Fed up with Kafka’s constant equivocation, Bauer at one point confronts him, letters in hand, with her friend Grete Bloch — another recipient of letters from Kafka — by her side. The episode drawn from the writer’s life inspired his novel \u003cem>The Trial\u003c/em>, published posthumously in 1925.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The protagonist Joseph K. navigates an absurdly complex bureaucratic system and makes mistakes that make him look guilty of an unknown crime for which he is put on trial and then executed “like a dog.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959525\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1282px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959525\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM.png\" alt=\"A man lies in the grass, while a woman lies partially on his chest, happily reading a letter.\" width=\"1282\" height=\"782\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM.png 1282w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-800x488.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-1020x622.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-160x98.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Screen-Shot-2024-06-10-at-1.21.02-PM-768x468.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1282px) 100vw, 1282px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kafka was engaged four times and never married, keeping most relationships long-distance via extensive letter-writing. His penultimate relationship was with the writer Milena Jesenská (Liv Lisa Fries), who recognizes his talent. \u003ccite>(Copyright ORF/Superfilm/Nicole Albiez/Superfilm)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Kafka’ is available to stream on \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.chaiflicks.com/videos/kafka-episode-1-1080p-25fps-stereo-1\">ChaiFlicks\u003c/a>\u003cem>. New episodes will release weekly.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"order": 1
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"id": "code-switch-life-kit",
"title": "Code Switch / Life Kit",
"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"meta": {
"site": "radio",
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"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
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"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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"id": "forum",
"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 9
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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"id": "freakonomics-radio",
"title": "Freakonomics Radio",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
"subscribe": {
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/freakonomics-radio/id354668519",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
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},
"fresh-air": {
"id": "fresh-air",
"title": "Fresh Air",
"info": "Hosted by Terry Gross, \u003cem>Fresh Air from WHYY\u003c/em> is the Peabody Award-winning weekday magazine of contemporary arts and issues. One of public radio's most popular programs, Fresh Air features intimate conversations with today's biggest luminaries.",
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"meta": {
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"link": "/radio/program/fresh-air",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=214089682&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510051/podcast.xml"
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},
"hidden-brain": {
"id": "hidden-brain",
"title": "Hidden Brain",
"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
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"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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},
"how-i-built-this": {
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"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/howIBuiltThis.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510313/how-i-built-this",
"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"npr": "https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/3zxy",
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"order": 15
},
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"spotify": "https://open.spotify.com/show/2p3Fifq96nw9BPcmFdIq0o?si=39209f7b25774f38",
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 18
},
"link": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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}
},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
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},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
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"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
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},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Masters-of-Scale-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
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"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
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"apple": "https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/mindshift-podcast/id1078765985",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
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"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/stories-teachers-share",
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}
},
"morning-edition": {
"id": "morning-edition",
"title": "Morning Edition",
"info": "\u003cem>Morning Edition\u003c/em> takes listeners around the country and the world with multi-faceted stories and commentaries every weekday. Hosts Steve Inskeep, David Greene and Rachel Martin bring you the latest breaking news and features to prepare you for the day.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3am-9am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Morning-Edition-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/programs/morning-edition/",
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"link": "/radio/program/morning-edition"
},
"onourwatch": {
"id": "onourwatch",
"title": "On Our Watch",
"tagline": "Deeply-reported investigative journalism",
"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/On-Our-Watch-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "On Our Watch from NPR and KQED",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/onourwatch",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "kqed",
"order": 11
},
"link": "/podcasts/onourwatch",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://podcasts.apple.com/podcast/id1567098962",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5ucHIub3JnLzUxMDM2MC9wb2RjYXN0LnhtbD9zYz1nb29nbGVwb2RjYXN0cw",
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"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/show/on-our-watch",
"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510360/podcast.xml"
}
},
"on-the-media": {
"id": "on-the-media",
"title": "On The Media",
"info": "Our weekly podcast explores how the media 'sausage' is made, casts an incisive eye on fluctuations in the marketplace of ideas, and examines threats to the freedom of information and expression in America and abroad. For one hour a week, the show tries to lift the veil from the process of \"making media,\" especially news media, because it's through that lens that we see the world and the world sees us",
"airtime": "SUN 2pm-3pm, MON 12am-1am",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/onTheMedia.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.wnycstudios.org/shows/otm",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "wnyc"
},
"link": "/radio/program/on-the-media",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/on-the-media/id73330715?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/On-the-Media-p69/",
"rss": "http://feeds.wnyc.org/onthemedia"
}
},
"pbs-newshour": {
"id": "pbs-newshour",
"title": "PBS NewsHour",
"info": "Analysis, background reports and updates from the PBS NewsHour putting today's news in context.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3pm-4pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/PBS-News-Hour-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.pbs.org/newshour/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "pbs"
},
"link": "/radio/program/pbs-newshour",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/pbs-newshour-full-show/id394432287?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/PBS-NewsHour---Full-Show-p425698/",
"rss": "https://www.pbs.org/newshour/feeds/rss/podcasts/show"
}
},
"perspectives": {
"id": "perspectives",
"title": "Perspectives",
"tagline": "KQED's series of daily listener commentaries since 1991",
"info": "KQED's series of daily listener commentaries since 1991.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Perspectives_Tile_Final.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Perspectives",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/perspectives/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 14
},
"link": "/perspectives",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/id73801135",
"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/432309616/perspectives",
"rss": "https://ww2.kqed.org/perspectives/category/perspectives/feed/",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly93dzIua3FlZC5vcmcvcGVyc3BlY3RpdmVzL2NhdGVnb3J5L3BlcnNwZWN0aXZlcy9mZWVkLw"
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},
"planet-money": {
"id": "planet-money",
"title": "Planet Money",
"info": "The economy explained. Imagine you could call up a friend and say, Meet me at the bar and tell me what's going on with the economy. Now imagine that's actually a fun evening.",
"airtime": "SUN 3pm-4pm",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/planetmoney.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/sections/money/",
"meta": {
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"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/planet-money",
"subscribe": {
"npr": "https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/M4f5",
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/planet-money/id290783428?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/Business--Economics-Podcasts/Planet-Money-p164680/",
"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510289/podcast.xml"
}
},
"politicalbreakdown": {
"id": "politicalbreakdown",
"title": "Political Breakdown",
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