It is a poignant irony that Kent Haruf’s final novel, finished just before he died last year, is a love story set in the shadow of death. Its seventy-year-old protagonists, Addie Moore and Louis Waters, inhabit the lonely spaces of life after bereavement: both widowed long ago, these two neighbours have been enduring the emptiness of houses only a block apart in the small prairie town of Holt, Colorado (in which all of Haruf’s novels are set), while seemingly insensible to their mutual solitude. ‘And then there was the day’, as the novel begins, in Haruf’s deceptively plain prose
Follow Literary Review on Twitter
'Amis clearly belongs to the do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do school of pedagogy. More or less everything he says is demonstrably contradicted by elements of his own work, be they here or elsewhere.'
'The bar is set high at the outset, and readers are primed to wonder if Mikhail can make his case.'
Does Alan Mikhail's new life of the Sultan Selim I really overturn 'shibboleths that have held sway for a millennium'? Caroline Finkel investigates.
'Shopkeepers even cut out their names from shop paper bags and pasted them onto their books’ endpapers to feign wealth and gain cultural capital, as seen in a book owned by William Straw, a grocer.'
@laurenohagan91 on the Edwardian bookplate fashion.