“Madly, Deeply: The Diaries of Alan Rickman,” edited by Alan Taylor. (Henry Holt, $32.)
Clearly, Alan Rickman wrote these journals only for himself; the entries are terse, revealing little. (As the New York Times said, if Rickman had written “The Metamorphosis,” it would have been one line: “Woke as bug.”) Still, for fans of the late actor these entries are glimpses into his world, if not his soul: buying a blender, taking the Eurostar to Paris, getting the terrible news that Natasha Richardson had died in a ski accident. Of his own death sentence — a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer — he wrote only, “A different kind of diary now.” Six months later, he was gone.
“Wonderlands: Essays on the Life of Literature,” by Charles Baxter. (Graywolf Press, $17.)
Novelist, essayist, poet and teacher Charles Baxter is one of the literary treasures of Minnesota, and in “Wonderlands” he generously shares his vast knowledge and approach to reading, writing and teaching. These are not the usual writing tips; these are essays of insight and wisdom. Give your characters a request, not a command; inventory who they are and what they have — because what they have can be lost. He examines charisma, he gives generous nods to other writers (James McBride, William Faulkner, Toni Morrison), all in his distinct and clear voice.
“We Don’t Know Ourselves” by Fintan O’Toole. (Liveright, $32.)
Fintan O’Toole grew up during times of great change in Ireland, and here he gives a brilliant, clear-eyed picture of how as he grew, the country grew — from a backwater dominated by the Catholic Church to a more modern (but equally problematic) country. He is unflinching as he describes economic woes, the Magdalene Laundries for “fallen women,” the sexual abuse of children by priests, and the corruption of greedy politicians. His writing is so clear and detailed that even though the book weighs in at (cough, cough) 615 pages, it is hard to put down.
“Diary of a Misfit,” by Casey Parks. (Alfred A. Knopf, $29.)
Casey Parks’ stunning memoir is a family story, a mystery and a coming-of-age tale of a young gay woman, steeped in rural Louisiana. Parks, a reporter for the Washington Post, weaves these threads into an absolute page-turner. A misfit in her own town (her pastor decrees that she’d be better off dead than gay), she turns to her grandmother, who says: “I grew up across the street from a woman who lived as a man.” Parks devotes years to uncovering that person’s complicated story, peeling off layer after layer, finding herself as she finds them.
“Also a Poet,” by Ada Calhoun. (Grove Press, $29.)
When journalist Ada Calhoun stumbled across a box of old cassette tapes of interviews her father had done years back, she was compelled to finish what he had started. Her father, art critic Peter Schjeldahl, had attempted a biography of poet Frank O’Hara but abandoned it after O’Hara’s sister stopped cooperating. The result here is a revealing biography of O’Hara — but also a memoir of the complicated relationship between Calhoun and her father. A brilliant, evocative read.
“The Light We Carry,” by Michelle Obama. (Crown, $32.50.)
More self-help than memoir, Michelle Obama’s inspirational “The Light We Carry” is filled with coping advice, from learning to knit to learning how to face fear. Laced with anecdotes from her girlhood, her marriage to Barack, and the COVID-19 lockdowns, this book is written in the warm voice of a trusted friend. Obama admits to feelings of despair, of looking in the mirror and hating what she sees, of feeling self-conscious about her height. After all this country has been through, does she still believe in going high? She does. Read this and you will, too.
“Bigger Than Bravery,” edited by Valerie Boyd. (Lookout Press, $18.95.)
Commissioned during the pandemic and after the murder of George Floyd, these 32 essays and poems by writers of color are fierce and moving. Valerie Boyd died in February, and this book adds to her impressive legacy. Kiese Laymon, Alice Walker and Jason Reynolds all — as well as a host of emerging writers — write with grace and power. Tayari Jones writes about a Black woman who, toting her infant, delivers groceries for Uber Eats. Former Star Tribune reporter Rosalind Bentley writes about discovering a harrowing family story. There is pain in these pieces, but also beauty and strength.
“Rogues,” by Patrick Radden Keefe. (Doubleday, $30.)
One of the best journalists writing today, Patrick Radden Keefe is the author of the award-winning “Say Nothing,” a history of the IRA, and “Empire of Pain,” his biography of the Sackler family and their opioid empire. “Rogues” is a more modest venture but just as gripping — a collection of long, reported pieces about “grifters, killers, rebels and crooks” (as the subtitle explains). Most were originally published in the New Yorker, eloquent pieces about Mexican drug baron El Chapo, Anthony Bourdain and other compelling creatures.
“Coffee With Hitler,” by Charles Spicer. (Pegasus, $29.95.)
Could anyone have stopped the Nazis? In the mid-1930s, a group of British aristocrats thought they could. Long dismissed as “Nazi sympathizers,” these men — founders of the Anglo-German Fellowship — get a fresh look in this history, which began as the author’s dissertation. Not appeasers (like Neville Chamberlain), these men worked not to coddle, but to “civilize” the Nazis, believing that through personal connections they could make a difference. After Kristallnacht, however, that view began to change. This is a riveting book, well-researched and written, with a very different take.
“Picasso’s War,” by Hugh Eakin. (Crown, $32.99.)
It actually was the war of John Quinn, an Irish American with incredible vision. At the turn of the 20th century, Americans were at the forefront of everything except the visual arts — we still loved the Old Masters and cared nothing for anything experimental. Quinn set about to change that but died before he could realize his dream — a museum dedicated to modern art. Enter Alfred Barr, who took up the cause. In clear prose and with great authority, author Hugh Eakin, who lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, has written a vibrant and surprising book about how two men changed the way America views art.
“The Bird Name Book,” by Susan Myers. (Princeton University Press, $39.95.)
This exquisite book (heavy glossy pages, full-color plates, decorative page headers) is also a notable work of scholarship. It opens with a section on “the namers,” the “privileged, white and male” people who gave birds their English names over the years, and then goes on to give us the birds — descriptions, status and origin of name. Usually they’re named for their call, their appearance or the shape of their nests. But other times it’s something odd — the booby, for instance, comes from the Spanish word for “stupid” (bobo). Spanish sailors named them thus because the birds would land on their ships, where they were then killed and eaten.
“Dakota Modern: The Art of Oscar Howe,” edited by Kathleen Ash-Milby and Nill Anthes. (University of Oklahoma Press, 151 color plates, $50.)
This beautiful book is a companion to the exhibit at the National Museum of the American Indian in New York, and it more than does it justice. Yanktonai Dakota artist Oscar Howe, who died in 1983,challenged notions of Native art, blending traditional Native themes with a modern approach. Not only are some of Howe’s best-known paintings reproduced here, but also the text of his famous letter to the Philbrook Art Center in Tulsa, which had criticized his work as being “not Indian.” “There is much more to Indian art than pretty, stylized paintings,” he wrote, and this gorgeous book proves that true.
