Word: holt
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...half-sister who . . . T.R. Pearson's skilled and artful variant moves in great, loopy spirals of anecdote, so that every now and then the apparently aimless stagger of narration swirls briefly to within sight of the original, stated objective. In the case of CRY ME A RIVER (Henry Holt; $22), this is the murder of a cop in a Southern town, told bemusedly by one of his colleagues. This sixth novel by the author of A Short History of a Small Place assays out at about one-fifth exasperation and four-fifths eye-rolling, down- home comedy...
BOODIL MY DOG by Pija Lindenbaum, retold by Gabrielle Charbonnet (Henry Holt; $14.95). Here is a bull terrier with real star power. As the perky illustrations demonstrate, she sleeps all day, hogs the best chair, is afraid of rain and regards the vacuum cleaner as an enemy. Yet the child narrator looks upon her pet as a blend of heroine and best friend. Boodil would agree, and so will any reader with a lazy and lovable mutt...
...CATARACT OF LODORE by Robert Southey, illustrated by David Catrow (Henry Holt; $15.95). The author, who lived from 1774 to 1843, is one of England's forgotten poet laureates. Yet Southey's story The Three Bears has endured for more than 100 years. Now another of his children's tales is resurrected, thanks to David Catrow's lively paintings. The rhythms and sights of a waterfall should lull and delight young readers well into the next century...
...subtitle of Eliot Berry's shrewd and knowledgeable TOUGH DRAW (Holt; $25), an account of the 1990 and '91 pro tennis tour, sounds like Dink Stover at Yale: The Path to Tennis Glory. Ignore this; Berry, who was a good tournament player as a junior, writes about tennis almost as well as Roger Angell writes about baseball. Here's his take on Jean Fleurian, losing a tough one to Pete Sampras: "If the Frenchman could have imagined winning, he would have won." He nails Ivan Lendl's monstrous adequacy: "Antonio Salieri in a sweatsuit." And he quotes...
...PLACE TO MURDER A WOMAN IS IN THE home. On the day after Christmas, when Isabelle Barney looked through the peephole of her front door, someone shot her in the eye. A considerate death: painless and not much damage to the door. In "I" IS FOR INNOCENT (Henry Holt; $18.95), her best-crafted alphabetical mystery yet, Sue Grafton sends p.i. Kinsey Millhone around the small city of Santa Teresa, Calif., as if her 1974 VW were the pencil in a follow-the-dots puzzle. Armed with matchless powers of observation ("I pictured . . . his nose pierced, a tiny ruby sitting...