A captivating homage to the city and the restless souls inhabiting it.
A woman’s besotted affair with New York is celebrated in these exuberant writings.
Australian-born novelist Emanuel’s rambling memoirs of her sojourns in New York and her short fiction set in the city blend together into a love letter that views Gotham’s iconic scenes and experiences from off-kilter angles. Chief among these are Emanuel’s wanderings through the city’s art scene, viewing everything from classical sculpture to Rembrandt self-portraits to avant-garde gallery offerings. (“I can only think of kneepads,” she remarks of a performance piece in which the artist crawled across a concrete floor strewn with glass shards.) She also got distracted by a man’s jiggling leg during a performance of Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera; went on many a shopping expedition (at one boutique, she absentmindedly shoplifted a purse); ruminated on John Lennon at the Dakota and Dylan Thomas at the White Horse Tavern; encountered celebrated street performer The Naked Cowboy, clad only in undies, on 42nd Street during a blizzard; battled a balky MetroCard reader; savored the fish section at Zabar’s food nirvana; and listened patiently to the yackety anecdotes of natives. (“As I gets out of the car, I closes the door and my coat catches in the door. Ira the stupid klutz starts driving away.”) Later sections of the book feature flash fiction, also about women wandering New York, drawn by tenuous romantic leads but mainly just taking in the city’s aura. A final story removes itself to Sydney to plumb the fraught relationship of an insecure art student and her melodramatic friend—before returning to New York for melancholy reflection on the friendship’s tragic demise.
Emanuel’s feuilletons unfold as a swirling kaleidoscope of impressions that add up to an urban odyssey reminiscent of Stephen Dedalus’ passage through Dublin in Ulysses. Her gorgeous, evocative prose renders even a subway annoyance as a standout image: “In the seat opposite us, sits the exact opposite of tantalizing, a stoner ogre slumps half asleep, legs sprawled, a claw hammer poking out of his pocket.” As the city emerges through her layered atmospherics, Emanuel conveys the dynamic of loneliness and longing playing out in them. (“In the shadow of a fifth-floor walk-up, a chain-smoking figure presses his face to the window pane. The tip of his cigarette smouldering red. We face each other at twilight. Two lone voyeurs. Me eating a Twinkie and him slouching on the razor’s edge. Oh Jesus.”) At times the writing breaks free into a surreal lyricism that’s right on the edge of incoherence—“A film, a robot, the city of rationality remembers me giddy as a goddess and maggot man dancing on stained carpet, punching the jukebox as he upends packets of chips into my open mouth of that Sunday, do I whisper, Come home with me”—yet somehow makes sense. Anyone who has lived in—or dreamed of—New York will find here an engrossing portrait of its mundane magic.
A captivating homage to the city and the restless souls inhabiting it.Pub Date: Aug. 16, 2022
ISBN: 978-1-955196-79-6
Page Count: 178
Publisher: Adelaide Books
Review Posted Online: Sept. 24, 2022
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2022
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
A memoir of vivid detail and understandable ambivalence.
The bassist for Prince during the Purple Rain era provides glimpses into the kingdom.
BrownMark—who was born Mark Brown in 1962—describes his rise from a single-parent home in a city of racial discrimination (Minneapolis) to success with the musical supernova. Yet there were plenty of bumps along the way. For example, in 1982, even a big raise only brought his salary to $425 per week; later, he quit after discovering that his Purple Rain Tour bonus that he’d imagined might be $1.5 million was in fact only $15,000. Those looking for a memoir awash in sex, drugs, and the seamier sides of Prince’s private life will instead discover hard work and rigid discipline under a stern taskmaster, an artist who became what he was through minute attention to detail as well as genius. The author ably chronicles his own life growing up Black in a city so White he thought of it as a “Scandinavian Mecca.” As a boy, his family didn’t have a TV, and his early experiences playing music involved a makeshift guitar constructed out of a shoe box and rubber bands. Before he auditioned for Prince, he had never been to the suburbs, and before he joined the band, he had never been on a plane. His life changed dramatically at a time when the world of music was changing, as well. Disco was breaking down walls between Black and White, and punk was bringing a new edge and urgency. As Prince’s star was ascending, he demanded the full spotlight and resented any response his young bassist was generating. The author left the band in the mid-1980s feeling that he lived “in a world of filth, greed, and deception.” Still, the connections and impressions he made as a member of The Revolution launched his career, and he notes that “working with Prince was like going to the finest music school in the land.” One of Kirkus and Rolling Stone’s Best Music Books of 2020.
A memoir of vivid detail and understandable ambivalence.Pub Date: Sept. 22, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-5179-0927-7
Page Count: 144
Publisher: Univ. of Minnesota
Review Posted Online: July 6, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 2020
PERSPECTIVES
If that promise of clarity is what awaits us all, then death doesn’t seem so awful, and that is a great gift from Sacks. A...
Valediction from the late neurologist and writer Sacks (On the Move: A Life, 2015, etc.).
In this set of four short essays, much-forwarded opinion pieces from the New York Times, the author ponders illness, specifically the metastatic cancer that spread from eye to liver and in doing so foreclosed any possibility of treatment. His brief reflections on that unfortunate development give way to, yes, gratitude as he examines the good things that he has experienced over what, in the end, turned out to be a rather long life after all, lasting 82 years. To be sure, Sacks has regrets about leaving the world, not least of them not being around to see “a thousand…breakthroughs in the physical and biological sciences,” as well as the night sky sprinkled with stars and the yellow legal pads on which he worked sprinkled with words. Sacks works a few familiar tropes and elaborates others. Charmingly, he reflects on his habit since childhood of associating each year of his life with the element of corresponding atomic weight on the periodic table; given polonium’s “intense, murderous radioactivity,” then perhaps 84 isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. There are some glaring repetitions here, unfortunate given the intense brevity of this book, such as his twice citing Nathaniel Hawthorne’s call to revel in “intercourse with the world”—no, not that kind. Yet his thoughts overall—while not as soul-stirringly inspirational as the similar reflections of Randy Pausch or as bent on chasing down the story as Christopher Hitchens’ last book—are shaped into an austere beauty, as when Sacks writes of being able in his final moments to “see my life as from a great altitude, as a sort of landscape, and with a deepening sense of the connection of all its parts.”
If that promise of clarity is what awaits us all, then death doesn’t seem so awful, and that is a great gift from Sacks. A fitting, lovely farewell.Pub Date: Nov. 24, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-451-49293-7
Page Count: 64
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: Oct. 31, 2015
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2015
© Copyright 2025 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
