The ProsenPeople

JBC Bookshelf: Poetry Edition

Thursday, February 03, 2011 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

Poetry collections from Canada, New Jersey, Russia (via NY), New Hampshire, and the Bay Area…

Singing Me Home, Carol Lipszyc (October 2010, Inanna Publications)

from “Hebrew School”, p. 5

We chase pin-point dots
up, down and around
the topography of black, square script.

“Follow the Ni-kku-dot, children,
marry vowels to the consonants,
and sound the words out. . . .”

God’s Optimism, Yehoshua November (November 2010, Main Street Rag)

“How a Place Becomes Holy”, p.25

Sometimes a man
will start crying in the middle of the street,
without knowing why or for whom.
It is as thought someone else is standing there,
holding his briefcase, wearing hist coat.

And from beneath the rust of years,
come to his tongue the words of his childhood:
“I’m sorry,” and “god,” and “Do not be far from me.”

And just as suddenly the tears are gone,
and the man walks back into his life,
and the place where he cried becomes holy.

Russian for Lovers, Marina Blitshteyn (February 2011, Argos Books)

“Э”, p. 34

then
“what can you tell me about the jewish question?”
“do you miss the land or the language the most?”
“whose story are you speaking now?”
“do you know anyone with a soviet fetish?”
“how many friends did you leave there?”
“when did you become a citizen?”
“where is your accent?”
“why did you come?”

Working in Flour, Jeff Friedman (January 2011, Carnegie Mellon University Press)

from “I Did It”, p. 13

I took all the free samples
at the chocolate shop
even though the lady
behind the counter frowned
after my first handful
and tried to wrest
the basket from my grip. I walked out
without buying a single chocolate,
though I had sat there for hours
sipping hot water through a straw.
I know what you think: I give Jews
a bad name, even though I’m small
and furry like a nice pet,
except for the hackles
and jagged teeth,
which sometimes wound my lips.

Chapter & Verse: Poems of Jewish Identity, Dan Belm, Rose Black, Chana Bloch, Rafaella Del Bourgo, Margaret Kaufman, Jacqueline Kudler, Melanie Maier, Murray Silverstein, Susan Terris, Sim Warkov (January 2011, Conflux Press)

Sim Warkov’s “Sabbath at Starbucks in Los Gatos”, p. 23

. . . and lanky fillies in low-slung jeans
swish by my table
Asian tattoos two inches above the cleft
abs taut as all hell–
and I rally to their full-frontal views
and I’m in awe of these fragrant pagans
flaunting their youth arm’s length
from small-town Daddy Mommy
Father Joe and Sister Teresa
and I jazz the secular English
at the very hour my grandfather
the Zaydeh would be studying
a page of Talmud in Hebraic Aramaic
at a shul near Burrows Avenue
when I was a kid in corduroy britches.

Book Cover of the Day: The Ask

Wednesday, February 02, 2011 | Permalink
Coming out in paperback on March 1st…



JBC Bookshelf: Icy Day Edition

Wednesday, February 02, 2011 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

Gosh, it never ends. But, bad weather = more time to read, so we’re not complaining too much! On the book award front–Cynthia Ozick and David Grossman will both be attending the National Jewish Book Awards on March 9th, so come on out to see them. The ceremony begins at 8:00PM at the Center for Jewish History, and space is limited! In other news, spring books are flowing into our office and authors are about to begin to register for our 2011-2012 NETWORK tours, so we’ll have a lot of new books to share with you…bloggers to blog…and books to review.

Today’s lit picks from the desk:


The Oracle of Stamboul: A Novel, Michael David Lukas (February 2011, Harper)
Michael will be blogging for us the week of February 14th, so be on the look out…


Mr. Funny Pants, Michael Showalter (February 2011, Grand Central)                   Writer of one of the greatest movies of all time, Wet Hot American Summer.



Heart of the City: Nine Stories of Love and Serendipity on the Streets of New York, Ariel Sabar (February, 2011)
Ariel’s first book, My Father’s Paradise: A Son’s Search for His Jewish Past in Kurdish Iraq, is a favorite of the JBC team


Modern Jewish Literatures: Intersections and Boundaries , Sheila E. Jelen, Michael P. Kramer, and L. Scott Lerner (December 2010, University of Pennsylvania Press)
Read an excerpt here.

Five Not-As-Terrible-As-You-Think Comedy Movies

Wednesday, February 02, 2011 | Permalink

On Monday, Saul Austerlitz wrote about his recent author tour. He will be blogging all week for MyJewishLearning and the Jewish Book Council’s Jewish Visiting Scribe.

In writing my book Another Fine Mess: A History of American Film Comedy, I spent a lot of time concentrating on the greatest films in the history of American comedy: your City Lights, your Shop Around the Corners, your Annie Halls. But often, the most pleasurable films I watched over the course of researching my book were the ones that were surprisingly decent. The mediocre films that turned out to be pretty funny; the supposedly terrible movies that I found myself, to my surprise, enjoying.

In their honor, I’d like to single out five pleasant surprises from among the ranks of American comedies. These might not be movies you’d want at the top of your Netflix queue, but you might find yourself pleasantly surprised if you happened to come across them, anyway.

5. Teacher’s Pet
Instead of being partnered with second-tier stars like Gordon MacRae, or Reagan, by the late 1950s Doris Day was starring opposite Clark Gable in 1958’s Teacher’s Pet. Directed by George Seaton, Teacher’s Pet establishes the template for the Rock Hudson films to come. Day is a professor of journalism attempting to recruit crusty newspaperman Gable to guest-lecture to her class, not knowing he is already enrolled as a student. Gable is a bit elderly for the role—you can see his hands shake when he thrusts a newspaper at Day—but the two work up a nice comic routine, with Day idealistic and sunny, and her foil cantankerous and vinegary, loving women without respecting them: “You mean to tell me that now they’ve got dames teaching unsuspecting suckers?”

Gable is most believable at his most crabbed; when he melts for Doris, the moment is hardly in keeping with the role, or with Gable himself, who never met a dame he didn’t want to push around. Day, meanwhile, struggles to maintain the appropriate distance from her student, but physical contact, like the kiss Gable snatches in her office, leaves her a little woozy, and gasping for breath. We know Doris has sex on the brain because she spurns the advances of Nobel Prize-winning scientist and author Gig Young (this film’s Tony Randall equivalent), preferring something in a more dashing cut.

4. Hardly Working
“JERRY LEWIS IS HARDLY WORKING,” reads the title card to Hardly Working (1980), and the announcement is a suppressed howl of outrage at his career setbacks—how could I not be working? —and a capsule summary of the film. His character—an unemployed clown with a familiarly Lewis-esque proclivity for courting disaster—is ushered into a series of ill-fitting jobs (gas-station attendant, bartender, Japanese chef), each of which ends calamitously. The dialogue was risible, only rarely rising above the insipid, but something—perhaps the time away—had made the old Lewis routines charming once more.

Lewis was scripting his own triumphant return, on his own terms. “I’m not a clown,” his Bo Hooper tells a friend. “Not anymore.” Lewis wants it both ways; he is the clown no longer, but Hardly Working’s triumphant conclusion has him donning the white makeup once more, delivering the mail to an adoring crowd. Never the subtlest of artists, Lewis was having his midlife crisis onscreen, and scripting his own happy ending.

3. ¡Three Amigos!

Steve Martin co-wrote ¡Three Amigos! (1986) with Saturday Night Live producer Lorne Michaels and singer-songwriter Randy Newman, and starred alongside Chevy Chase and Martin Short. The threesome are silent-era stars, pampered, sissified actors given to playing swashbuckling Spanish noblemen in their films. Fired by their studio, they are summoned to the Mexican village of Santo Poco to take on the evil El Guapo and his henchman Jefe. The actors are convinced they have been hired to put on a show, in which they symbolically overcome the local tyrants. Instead, they have been hired to fight, in entirely non-symbolic fashion.

What ¡Three Amigos! lacks in focus, it makes up for with the enormously gratifying chemistry between its three stars, and a script that, whatever its narrative faults, is overstuffed with delirious wordplay. There are some trademark Steve Martin moments, plumbing the depths of his feeble-mindedness. “Not so fast, El Guapo, or I’ll fill you so full of lead you’ll be using your dick for a pencil!” he announces, putting on his most officious white-man voice. “What do you mean?” El Guapo asks puzzledly. Martin pauses, and admits the truth without sacrificing an iota of his empty-headed intensity: “I don’t know.” ¡Three Amigos! has a giddy, rollicking silliness that is catching. Neither a great movie, nor a particularly good one, ¡Three
Amigos! 
is a transcendent, endlessly rewatchable mediocrity.

2. Blades of Glory
The bad-boy outlaw fallen on hard times was Will Ferrell’s bread and butter, with Ron Burgundy and Ricky Bobby followed in short order by Chazz Michael Michaels, whose reign atop the world of competitive figure skating is brought to an unfortunate conclusion by a brawl on the medal platform at the Olympics. Banned for life from men’s figure skating, he is matched with nemesis Jimmy MacElroy (Jon Heder), forming the first-ever all-male pairs team. Ferrell is the star here, but the rhythms are mostly Heder’s; much of the dialogue sounds as if it had been excised at the last minute from Napoleon Dynamite.

In case the men’s figure skating angle had not alerted you, Blades of Glory(2007) is unendingly amused by the homoerotic possibilities of its plot. The skating sequences manage to squeeze references to every possible permutation of gay sex into their brief routines. Ladies, don’t be alarmed; Chazz is no queer, but rather a sex addict with a raging libido. “Are you an official here?” he asks Olympic medalist Nancy Kerrigan (practically the only American skater who doesn’t cameo in Blades of Glory is Tonya Harding). “Because you’ve officially given me a boner.”

1. Norbit

Norbit (2007) was both proof of Eddie Murphy’s diminishment, and a reminder of his still-formidable comic gifts. For his multiple roles in the film, directed by Brian Robbins, Murphy garnished a record haul of awards, taking home prizes for actor, supporting actor, and supporting actress. Pity, then, that his were courtesy of the Razzies, dedicated to honoring the worst performances of the year. Revisiting what by now had come to be a familiar trope, Murphy is both the nebbishy, unhappily married, Jiff-like Norbit, and his demon-bride, Rasputia. Murphy was in an abusive relationship with himself, dominated by his overweight, tyrannical, undyingly crass wife. With its relentless barrage of racial and gender stereotypes, wielded with all the deftness of a polo mallet to the skull, Norbit single-handedly sets the cause of civil rights—nay, the cause of combating stupidity—back by two decades.

Rasputia in particular is a noxious creation, the anti-Sherman Klump. She is, as we first see her, an overgrown child, intent on having her way in all matters: shooting at terminal velocity down a water-park slide, leaping hungrily onto Norbit in a deftly rendered series of bedroom encounters. Her corpulence is taken as symbolic proof of her nefariousness, each undulating ribbon of fat coming in for its own individual ribbing. And yet, accepting its blatantly obvious flaws, Norbit is, at times, a surprisingly funny film. Murphy may not be working with his most vividly rendered material, but with Rasputia (“How you doin’!”), he is at the height of his powers of Nutty Professor-esque inventiveness. She is an untamed rapscallion, and Murphy (who co-wrote the film’s story with his brother Charlie) loves her unquestioningly, political correctness be damned.

Another Fine Mess: A History of American Film Comedy is now in stores. 

Twitter Book Club: The Marriage Artist

Monday, January 31, 2011 | Permalink

Posted by Dani Crickman

Join the Jewish Book Council and author Andrew Winer in a live discussion of the novel The Marriage Artist on Wednesday, March 2nd, 12:30 pm- 1:10 pm EST! Follow us @JewishBook and keep an eye on #JBCBooks for updates.

Publisher’s description: 

Two mysterious deaths unlock one man’s past and another’s future in this moving tale of art, love, and history

When the wife of renowned art critic Daniel Lichtmann plunges to her death, she is not alone. Lying next to her is her suspected lover, Benjamin Wind, the very artist Daniel most championed. Tormented by questions about the circumstances of their deaths, Daniel dedicates himself to uncovering the secrets of their relationship and the inspiration behind Wind’s dazzling final exhibition.

What Daniel discovers is a web of mysteries leading back to pre-World War II Vienna and the magnificent life of Josef Pick, a forgotten artist who may have been the twentieth century’s greatest painter of love. But the most astonishing discoveryis what connects these two artists acrosshalf a century: a remarkable woman whose response to the tragedy of her generation offers Daniel answers to the questions he never knew to ask.

Ambitious, haunting, and stunningly written, The Marriage Artist tells a universal tale of a family dramatically reshaped by the quest for personal freedom in the face of inherited beliefs, public prejudices, and the unfathomable turns of history. It is at once a provocative snapshot of contemporary marriage, the recovery of a passion that history never recorded, and a fierce reminder of the way we enlist love in our perpetual search for meaning and permanence.

Visit Andrew Winer’s website for more.

What is a Twitter Book Club?

A twitter book club provides the opportunity for twitter users to engage in real time conversation about a particular, predetermined book. JBC’s book club aims to provide the tweeple with an opportunity to discuss Jewish interest titles with other interested readers electronically.

To participate…

If you aren’t already a Twitter user, please join twitter here. (Confused about Twitter all together? Visit the twitter twitorial. Follow the Jewish Book Council (@jewishbook). During the designated time and date of the book club follow the conversation by searching for #JBCBooks. If you would like to actively participate, please include #JBCBooks at the end of any comments or questions you wish to contribute.

(Note: New twitter users may have to wait up to a week before their tweets get saved in hashtag searches. Open a twitter account at least a week and a half before this discussion in order to join us!)

Read transcripts from past book clubs.

So pick up a copy of this month’s book club title, read it, and join us for a conversation online! If you have something to say or a question to ask, feel free to jump in, and don’t forget to include #JBCBook at the end of any tweet so that other participants can engage with you.

Messing Around on Tour

Monday, January 31, 2011 | Permalink

Saul Austerlitz is the author of Another Fine Mess: A History of American Film Comedy. He will be blogging all week for MyJewishLearning and the Jewish Book Council’s Visiting Scribe.

Being on tour for a book is simultaneously an exhilarating and a terrifying experience. Exhilarating because, after toiling so lengthily in the mines of authorial solitude, it is a pleasure of no small import to emerge to the surface, book in hand, and talk about it with friends, family, and total strangers. Terrifying because, as all authors who have ever done a book tour can attest to, the midnight panic that occasionally bubbles up, convinced you’ll give a reading and no one—literally not a single person—will show up.

Thankfully, that did not happen to me during my tour for my new book Another Fine Mess: A History of American Film Comedy, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t something I occasionally broke out into a cold sweat at the prospect of.

Some writers are also good talkers, but many writers — myself included — would prefer to gather their thoughts in front of a computer, with unlimited time to gather my ideas and refine them before releasing them to the world at large. Speaking in public offers no such assurances. Like an actor, you must deliver on the spot. Acting is actually a fairly good comparison to giving a reading; there were times where I felt like an actor of whom a performance was required, and like an actor, there were times when I felt like I was playing a role, playing “the author.” But I ended up surprising myself at times with my capacity to perform. Shakespeare, here I come!

The thing about a book tour is that each stop is completely different from the previous one, even if the talk you give is the same every time. Some of my readings, like those in my hometown, Los Angeles, and New York, where I live, were filled with friends and family, while others were composed entirely of people I didn’t know. (Weirdly, I felt more confident in front of the strangers.)

The best part of the tour, hands down, was the people I met along the way. In San Diego, I got to hang out before the reading with the shop’s owner and some of his friends, who were devotees of 1940s comedy, and had some terrific recommendations for films I hadn’t even heard of. In Philadelphia, I had a long talk after the reading with a guy planning a blog devoted to the television shows his wife watched. In Raleigh, I got quizzed thoroughly by the wonderful students at North Carolina State University, who wanted to talk about Tyler Perry and whether I thought The Hangover was any good (I loved it, in case you’re wondering). Best of all, in New Haven, I got to share the stage with one of my favorite teachers from college, whose class on comedy had helped to inspireAnother Fine Mess.

Touring for Another Fine Mess was a wonderful opportunity for me to engage with comedy fans of all stripes — everyone from college professors teaching courses on Charlie Chaplin to casual fans of Will Ferrell, and all points in between. I surprised myself by especially enjoyed the question-and-answer sessions after my readings, when I faced a virtual firing squad of rapid-fire questions on everything from the importance of Preston Sturges to the comedic canon to the charms of Bill Murray.

I had expected to find the barrage intimidating, and tongue-tying, and was pleasantly surprised to find the air of nervous expectation (what will they ask next?) deeply enjoyable. Even the guy in North Carolina who asked me, apropos of nothing, about my feelings about Schindler’s List (and later revealed himself to be a Jew for Jesus), managed not to throw me entirely off my game. Bring on the questions!

Another Fine Mess: A History of American Film Comedy is now in stores.

JLit Links

Tuesday, January 25, 2011 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

  • The National Book Critics Circle announced the finalists for the 2010 Awards. The list includes: To the End of the Land (David Grossman), Comedy in a Minor Key (Hans Keilson), Crossing Mandelbaum Gate (Kair Bird), Simon Wiesenthal (Tom Segev), Hitch-22 (Christopher Hitchens), and Half a Life (Darin Strauss). Read the full list here.
  • Altie Karper, editorial director at Schocken Books, has a conversation with brand channel: “…Altie Karper paves the way for Jewish publishing. Although there are other American Jewish publishers, none is under the auspices of a global publishing powerhouse like Random House…” Continue reading here.
  • Judges have been announced for the 2011 Jewish Quarterly-Wingate Prize: Lisa Appignanesi, Michael Prodger, Emily Kasriel, and Dr. Daniel Glaser. Read more here.
  • Jewlicious 7 has been announced: February 24-27.
  • Erika Dreifus & Malamud’s “German Refugee” on Beatrice.com

Mark Twain, “Mishpocha,” and Me

Thursday, January 20, 2011 | Permalink

In her previous posts, Erika Dreifus blogged on her upcoming panel at AWP, “Beyond Bagels and Lox”, and the inspiration for Quiet Americans. She has been be blogging all week for the Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.


The online literary world has been atwitter (please pardon the pun!) about the changes—some are calling it censorship—that appear in a new edition that presents “updated” versions of Mark Twain’s classic novels, Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. The change that has attracted the most discussion is the new book’s replacement of the word “nigger” with “slave”; a second modification is the substitution of “Indian” for “injun.” (For general summaries, I’ll point you to news items from The New York Times and Publishers Weekly; for a sample of some of the commentaries, I recommend an AOL News column by Tayari Jones, a blog post by The Christian Science Monitor‘s Marjorie Kehe, and the multiple contributions featured within the NYT Room for Debate forum.)


I’ve followed the flurry of articles and commentaries with interest for many reasons. But here, I want to focus on one. It is both personal and professional, and it involves “Mishpocha,” the concluding story in my new collection of short fiction, Quiet Americans.

In “Mishpocha,” protagonist David Kaufmann, a son of Holocaust survivors, recalls an incident:

It had happened a few years earlier, when [he and his wife] had been visiting [their daughter] at school and spent an extra day and night in Boston on their own, and as they’d walked down a relatively quiet yet decidedly urban street after dinner, a group of teenagers—teenagers whom he’d instantly imagined must cause nightmares for their parents, tattooed teenagers with heads shaven and clothing ripped—strode up alongside them, their ringleader chanting, “KILL THE KIKES, KILL THE NIGGERS, KILL THE FAGS.” And David had seen his wife’s head turn toward them in outrage; he knew that in about one second she would open her mouth with the confidence of a woman with bloodlines rooted in the land of the free and the home of the brave, and so he’d yanked her arm—hard, harder maybe than he’d really had to—because what you learned from immigrant-survivor parents like his was that it was better to be quiet, better not to give crazy people any reason to get any crazier.

Many opponents to the changes to Twain’s work have argued that the word substitutions distort the historical record. As a nervous debut author in an era when using certain words can destroy a career, I draw encouragement from that stance. Because, despite the fact that fiction writers are often instructed not to counter criticisms of their work with the protest that “it really happened that way!”, I will say this about the fictional incident in “Mishpocha“: It really happened that way.

Photo credit: Lisa Hancock

Not to David Kaufmann, of course. To me. And not in the 1880s. During the 21st century. And it happened in one of the most politically progressive communities in the United States: Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Recall, from yesterday’s post, that I am a granddaughter of German Jews who immigrated to the United States in the late 1930s. There’s little doubt that just as this family background has permeated my writing, it has influenced my personality and worldview. Which helps explain why, when those teenagers strode up beside me, and their ringleader recited that awful litany, I, an educated grown-up in her thirties, said nothing. Not one word.

Shortly thereafter (but still about two years before I began writing “Mishpocha“), I received a scholarship and traveled to Prague for a writing workshop. At some point—I no longer recall what prompted the discussion—I mentioned this deeply disturbing incident in class. My classmates, whose backgrounds reflected at least two and quite possibly all three of the groups targeted in the list of epithets, were outraged. But some of them seemed almost as upset with me—for having remained silent—as they were with the person who had uttered the words in the first place.

Absolution came from our remarkable workshop leader: Arnošt Lustig. He listened to me, and he listened to my classmates. And then, this man—who survived Theresienstadt, Auschwitz, and Buchenwald—said that yes, one must fight back. But, he said, one must also live. (I cannot mention Arnošt Lustig without recommending his extraordinary novel, translated as Lovely Green Eyes, which I read in Prague that summer. I treasure my autographed copy.)

Six of my collection’s seven stories have been published previously. Only “Mishpocha” is appearing for the first time, which means that no magazine or journal editors (or paying readers) have yet bothered to take issue with my choice to repeat the same terrible words on the page that I heard on the street. My publisher raised no objections, so to some extent, I had stopped worrying about how this element of the story might be received, and how I might respond to any criticisms it might evoke.

Until now. I harbor no illusions: I’m no Mark Twain, protected partially by virtue of my historical reputation. I’m just a debut author with a book of short stories published by a brand-new press hardly anyone has heard of. But I hope that the support that Twain is receiving now from those who, for a variety or reasons, don’t want to see his writing expurgated will extend to my work, and to me.

Erika Dreifus‘ first book, Quiet Americans, is now available.

Book Cover of the Week: The Mighty Walzer

Wednesday, January 19, 2011 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

Howard Jacobson’s The Mighty Walzer will be available from Bloomsbury USA in April:


A Birthday and An Anniversary: A Book and Its Inspiration

Wednesday, January 19, 2011 | Permalink

On Monday, Erika Dreifus discussed her upcoming panel at AWP, “Beyond Bagels and Lox.” She will be blogging all week for the Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning‘s Author Blog.

Today is a special day: It’s the official “pub date” for my debut short-story collection, Quiet Americans, which is being released by Last Light Studio, a new, Boston-based micropress.

It is also a special day on an even more personal level: It is the 70th anniversary of the date on which my paternal grandparents, Ruth and Sam Dreifus, German Jews who immigrated to the United States in the late 1930s and met here in Manhattan, were married.


In this wedding photograph, my grandparents are pictured front and center, cutting their cake. Although I can’t help being struck, as I always am when I look at this photo, by the many absences—of parents and siblings, aunts and uncles—and by the evidence that my grandmother had no money to spare for a traditional wedding dress (the fancy cake might have been a benefit of my grandfather’s job as a baker), I’m equally moved by the presence of family and friends celebrating with the bridal couple. For my grandparents were, indeed, surrounded by family and friends, including Rabbi Herbert Parzen, who officiated that January day in 1941 and performed my parents’ wedding ceremony 25 years later as well.

Rabbi Parzen (second from the left, standing next to the bride) was family andfriend: His wife, Sylvia (front row, second from the right, beside the groom), was a cousin of my grandmother’s. As an American, Aunt Sylvia, as my sister and I called her, helped facilitate my grandmother’s immigration to the United States in 1938, just months before the Kristallnacht. It was in New York that my grandmother found her groom, who had emigrated from Germany the previous year.


In fact, my grandparents met through another émigré present in this photograph: my great-uncle Berthold (“Bob,” seen in profile on the far left). My grandmother had become friends with Bob, and when she went to his boarding-house to pay him a get-well visit while he was recovering from pneumonia, my grandfather—Bob’s older brother—was there, too.

Without the people you see in this photograph, then, many lives would have been dramatically altered, and some (mine included) would not have come to be. Without them, there would be no book, either, because Quiet Americans is inspired so profoundly by the stories that have come to me from my father’s family, and by my preoccupations with the historical legacy I have inherited as a granddaughter of two Jews who were lucky enough to escape Europe in time, and marry in New York City seventy years ago today.

Erika Dreifus‘ first book, Quiet Americans, is now available.