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...mass murder remains, more than ever, a collage of personal tragedies. The names are read out one at a time, people march with buttons bearing the face of the one they lost, lay a wreath at a memorial. Thirteen candles lit in the church that lost 13 members. People make mourning small enough to capture and coax into service: myGoodDeed.org was launched as the micromemorial, a vehicle for people to use the day to do something for someone else. So far 284,185 people have pledged a good deed, to donate blood, take clothes to the Goodwill, knit socks...
Shakespeare's Wife is as much a social history as a biography. In some of its most fascinating passages, Anne becomes the vehicle to convey Elizabethan rituals and beliefs. During her labor, midwives likely drew the curtains and lit the fire: bright light, they thought, might drive a laboring Anne insane, and locals construed the birth of her twins as the result of "inordinate sexual desire." When Anne's son died at age 11, perhaps of cerebral palsy, mourners carried his body through town on a tabletop. Respectful townspeople laid down their tools as the procession, led by Anne, passed...
...opening shots of "Vive Le Screwcap," Bonny Doon Vineyard's online video extolling the virtues of screwcapped wine, a faceless sommelier prepares for an evening at work, fastening his flashy cufflinks in a dimly lit boudoir. He reaches into a drawer full of corkscrews, scoops them up, and casts them into the trash. "Le cork est mort! (The cork is dead!)," the sommelier proclaims in a campy French accent. "Vive le screwcap...
...watched a grown man dissolve into a whimpering mass of clothing and car keys, I wondered why even those city dwellers with license to drive seemed uncomfortable doing so outside of the well-lit grid of the city. A few times I’ve even worried that when I finally drive again for the first time in almost a year, I will have forgotten how. I’m reassured, however, by those who tell me that learning to drive is something you never forget...
...After Dark, 2004 In this novella, Murakami's most recent book, the author drops the cool, first-person narrator of his previous work for a wide-angle look at a single night in Tokyo's neon-lit Shinjuku district