This week’s East Bay Express includes a lengthy piece by Anneli Rufus about Cody’s. The literary blog Dibs, of course, all over this last month (and Flares Into Darkness’s post is quoted as “one blogger” in Rufus’s article). But Rufus’s article doesn’t add much to the conversation that hasn’t been said already. There are some insinuations as to Andy Ross’s motivations about opening the San Francisco store (along with some quotes from Ross himself), with some memories of what Cody’s used to be (or what people believed it to be). But for a purportedly investigative article, there’s little here beyond conjecture. No efforts to obtain documents, no tough questions directed at Ross about his net worth and why he expanded when the banks continually turned down his loan. It’s almost as if Rufus stole Dibs’s angle, spent an afternoon wandering around Berkeley interviewing people and then banged out this piece for an easy payday. And they call blogs the leeches.
Being Wrong by Kathryn Schulz: Being wrong, as it turns out, isn't just the other variable in a binary opposition. Indeed, the relationship between our beliefs and the vast body of knowledge is one of humanity's big problems, but, at times, one of its great virtues. This thoughtful volume outlines numerous examples of human folly, from end-of-the-world prophets to ocular misperception, and makes a strong case for becoming more transparent about human fallibility, even when the results can be quite deadly. (
The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orrigner: This sweeping epic, which has been rightly identified in some corners as a "Holocaust page turner," puts to rest any and all rumors that the historical novel is dead. Orringer's great talent for balancing fine Romantic details, a vigorous synthesis of prewar Paris and Magyar strife, and Nazi brutality demonstrates a remarkable evolution from her previous short story collection, How to Breathe Underwater, and makes this a must read. (
If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This by Robin Black: Forget Wells Tower. Robin Black's marvelous short story collection, which has been needlessly ignored by The New York Times and The Washington Post, is very much on the level: far better than anything written by that lumbering Young Turk. These subtle stories have the maturity to avoid belabored metaphors and neat conclusions, revealing numerous nuances about the human condition in its careful use of understated language. (