Jason Reitman’s Up in the Air (2009) is a quietly devastating, sharply intelligent film that blends timely social commentary with an intimate portrait of loneliness and disconnection in the modern world. Adapted loosely from Walter Kirn’s 2001 novel of the same name, the film takes the broad premise of the book (a corporate downsizer addicted to life in airports and hotels) and refines it into a more focused and emotionally resonant exploration of what it means to be untethered in a world that values efficiency over connection. George Clooney delivers one of the most nuanced performances of his career as
Tag: books (Page 1 of 3)
Few literary friendships have been as influential as that between J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Both were Oxford scholars. Both were devoted Christians. Both loved mythology, fairy tales, and medieval literature. Both helped shape modern fantasy. Yet when one compares their major works, The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia, the differences are so striking that it is difficult to believe they emerged from the same intellectual circle. The contrast begins with the most obvious question: how does Christian belief appear in the fiction? For Lewis, the answer is straightforward. Christianity appears directly, almost openly. Narnia is
Ted Lewis’s Jack’s Return Home (1970) occupies an interesting position in crime fiction history. It is not as famous as the film it inspired, yet it is arguably one of the foundational texts of modern British noir. Before Lewis, British crime fiction often retained traces of the gentleman detective, the police procedural, or the thriller. Lewis dragged the genre into something nastier, more provincial, and more psychologically damaged. His England is not the picturesque England of village mysteries but a decaying industrial landscape full of petty criminals, corruption, class resentment, and moral rot. It begins with the blunt, almost absurd
One of the most persistent questions in aesthetics is whether it is possible to appreciate a work of art created by someone whose actions or beliefs we find morally reprehensible. The debate is hardly new, but in the age of social media and cancel culture it has acquired renewed urgency. Every few months, a novelist, filmmaker, musician, philosopher, or painter becomes the subject of public controversy, and the same question returns: should their work still be read, watched, heard, or admired? The issue is often framed as a choice between two extremes. One side argues that art should be judged
The life of William Lindsay Gresham reads like a prelude to the novel that would define him. Before becoming a writer of dark Americana, he was a man drawn to causes, extremes, and self-destruction. In the late 1930s, he volunteered to fight for the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War, joining the International Brigades. He saw the collapse of that cause firsthand. It left its mark politically, psychologically, and spiritually. Back in the USA, Gresham struggled. He attempted suicide more than once. His personal life was not steady. He married the poet Joy Davidman, a brilliant and restless figure
- House of Leaves (2000), by Mark Z. Danielewski
- Perdido Street Station (2000), by China Miéville
- The Three-Body Problem (2008), by Liu Cixin
- The Yiddish Policemen’s Union (2008), by Michael Chabon
- The Martian (2011), by Andy Weir
- Ancillary Justice (2013), by Ann Leckie
- Annihilation (2014), by Jeff VanderMeer
In chronological order.
- Jurassic Park (1990), by Michael Crichton
- A Fire Upon the Deep (1992), by Vernor Vinge
- Doomsday Book (1992), by Connie Willis
- Snow Crash (1992), by Neal Stephenson
- The Children of Men (1992), by P.D. James
In chronological order.
I just saw the new Guardian’s 100 Best Novels of All Time list, created by “170 authors, critics and academics from around the world”, and I was appalled. The top of the list leans heavily toward what might be called “prestige seriousness”: books that are endlessly taught, endlessly written about, and endlessly admired partly because admiring them signals cultural literacy. So you get the almost ritual elevation of Pride and Prejudice, Anna Karenina, and In Search of Lost Time near the summit. Now, are these important novels? Obviously. But “important” and “greatest reading experiences for actual human beings” are not
- Timescape (1981), by Gregory Benford
- Neuromancer (1984), by William Gibson
- Contact (1985), by Carl Sagan
- Consider Phlebas (1987), by Iain M. Banks
- Hyperion (1989), by Dan Simmons
In chronological order.
- Tau Zero (1970), by Poul Anderson
- The Dancers at the End of Time (1972), by Michael Moorcock
- Time Enough for Love (1973), by Robert A. Heinlein
- The Forever War (1976), by Joe Haldeman
- The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1979), by Douglas Adams
In chronological order.