Leo Robson is the lead fiction reviewer for the New Statesman.
Andy Martin's Reacher Said Nothing: Lee Child and the Making of “Make Me” gives us a fly-on-the-wall view of the crime writer.
Salman Rushdie’s Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-Eight Nights and A Strangeness in My Mind by Orhan Pamuk.
Énard's latest novel, Street of Thieves, has ideas and charisma to burn.
“Billy was a shit,” Bogdanovich told me over the phone from LA.
This novel about the 1992 Los Angeles riots holds itself to a standard of verisimilitude – of the raw, unvarnished, authentic – that is is deeply immersive and deathly dull.
Over the past 30 years, virtually all of Kundera’s innovations have been either imitated or overtaken. Kundera's challenge is to outlive his own novelty.
They crossed paths while living close together in Reno - but the two heavyweights differed more than shared.
Today, Hitchcock is revered for his contribution to cinema. But his reputation as a "serious" director came late, as new biographies from Michael Wood and Peter Ackroyd reveal.
Repeitition is the default mode in The Discreet Hero - an abberation in Llosa's career which confuses quantity with literary quality.
Kazuo Ishiguro's The Buried Giant and Tom McCarthy's Satin Island have opposite problems: one too little stretched long, the other overstuffed.
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