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MAKE 'EM LAUGH

SHORT-TERM MEMORIES OF LONGTIME FRIENDS

Names drop like snowflakes, glistening in the sunny terrain of this exuberant memoir.

A frothy collection of stories and gossip from the comedic actress.

Reynolds (Unsinkable, 2013, etc.), aided by co-author Hannaway, former late-night programming director for CBS, looks back happily at her 65-year career on stage, screen, and TV. Calling herself “a vaudevillian, a baggy-pants comedian,” she confesses she’ll “do anything to get a laugh”: pretending to ravish TV host Jack Paar under his desk (“Debbie Goes Wild!” exclaimed the next day’s headlines); tackling Regis Philbin (“a cute young thing…small and wiry and fit”); dancing so energetically with Johnny Carson that he ended up sweating and winded. Although she regrets not having had “more sex” and confesses to a “lack of passion” that “probably cost me dearly in my marriages,” Reynolds delights in revealing some of her aristocratic admirers. Newly divorced from Eddie Fisher, she caught the eye of 28-year-old King Baudouin of Belgium, whom she spirited away to a day at the beach; in London for a celebration of Bob Hope’s 82nd birthday, Prince Philip progressed from holding her hand to caressing her backside; and the shah of Iran, whose wife invited her to perform at their palace, was so enchanted that he wouldn’t let her stop singing. At a post-performance dinner, “I kept looking around, hoping for some rich, single prince to take an interest in me,” Reynolds writes. Instead, she received a gift from the shah of a handmade Persian rug. The bubbly Reynolds has a kind word for almost everyone: Howard Hughes, “the most polite, southern Texas kind of gentleman”; Elizabeth Taylor, with whom Reynolds had “a very unusual friendship”; her personal assistant, who had been one of her most ardent fans; and her many hairdressers. Only the “obnoxious” Milton Berle and the “pain in the ass” Shelley Winters merit her scorn. The rest is pure frosting.

Names drop like snowflakes, glistening in the sunny terrain of this exuberant memoir.

Pub Date: Nov. 10, 2015

ISBN: 978-0-06-241663-6

Page Count: 288

Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: Oct. 3, 2015

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NIGHT

The author's youthfulness helps to assure the inevitable comparison with the Anne Frank diary although over and above the...

Elie Wiesel spent his early years in a small Transylvanian town as one of four children. 

He was the only one of the family to survive what Francois Maurois, in his introduction, calls the "human holocaust" of the persecution of the Jews, which began with the restrictions, the singularization of the yellow star, the enclosure within the ghetto, and went on to the mass deportations to the ovens of Auschwitz and Buchenwald. There are unforgettable and horrifying scenes here in this spare and sombre memoir of this experience of the hanging of a child, of his first farewell with his father who leaves him an inheritance of a knife and a spoon, and of his last goodbye at Buchenwald his father's corpse is already cold let alone the long months of survival under unconscionable conditions. 

The author's youthfulness helps to assure the inevitable comparison with the Anne Frank diary although over and above the sphere of suffering shared, and in this case extended to the death march itself, there is no spiritual or emotional legacy here to offset any reader reluctance.

Pub Date: Jan. 16, 2006

ISBN: 0374500010

Page Count: 120

Publisher: Hill & Wang

Review Posted Online: Oct. 7, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2006

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WHEN BREATH BECOMES AIR

A moving meditation on mortality by a gifted writer whose dual perspectives of physician and patient provide a singular...

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A neurosurgeon with a passion for literature tragically finds his perfect subject after his diagnosis of terminal lung cancer.

Writing isn’t brain surgery, but it’s rare when someone adept at the latter is also so accomplished at the former. Searching for meaning and purpose in his life, Kalanithi pursued a doctorate in literature and had felt certain that he wouldn’t enter the field of medicine, in which his father and other members of his family excelled. “But I couldn’t let go of the question,” he writes, after realizing that his goals “didn’t quite fit in an English department.” “Where did biology, morality, literature and philosophy intersect?” So he decided to set aside his doctoral dissertation and belatedly prepare for medical school, which “would allow me a chance to find answers that are not in books, to find a different sort of sublime, to forge relationships with the suffering, and to keep following the question of what makes human life meaningful, even in the face of death and decay.” The author’s empathy undoubtedly made him an exceptional doctor, and the precision of his prose—as well as the moral purpose underscoring it—suggests that he could have written a good book on any subject he chose. Part of what makes this book so essential is the fact that it was written under a death sentence following the diagnosis that upended his life, just as he was preparing to end his residency and attract offers at the top of his profession. Kalanithi learned he might have 10 years to live or perhaps five. Should he return to neurosurgery (he could and did), or should he write (he also did)? Should he and his wife have a baby? They did, eight months before he died, which was less than two years after the original diagnosis. “The fact of death is unsettling,” he understates. “Yet there is no other way to live.”

A moving meditation on mortality by a gifted writer whose dual perspectives of physician and patient provide a singular clarity.

Pub Date: Jan. 19, 2016

ISBN: 978-0-8129-8840-6

Page Count: 248

Publisher: Random House

Review Posted Online: Sept. 29, 2015

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2015

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