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      These Two Books Ask, Was the Movie Better?

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      The French novel that was adapted into “Vertigo”; Cameron Crowe’s nonfiction account of a year inside a public high school.Dear readers,I once went on a coffee date with a man who, early on, confided that he had based the décor of his studio apartment on the sets of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s lurid psychodrama classic, “The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant.” I found this confidence so mortifying (and the prospect of white fur rugs so alarming) that I did not see him a second time, thereby saving me from having to admit that my own studio’s décor had been inspired by Midge’s apartment in Alfred Hitchcock’s lurid psychodrama classic, “Vertigo.”I was reminded of this terrible thing by the fact that the Paris Theater here in New York just showed “Vertigo” as part of its highly-recommended BIG LOUD 2024 series, and in turn, I revisited the novel on which it was based.Often, it’s true, the book really is better. Other times, an adaptation takes workmanlike text and transforms it into something transcendent (hello, “Godfather”). Occasionally, a filmmaker and their subject are so perfectly matched that the result is more than the sum of its parts — looking at you, “The Road.” And sometimes, movies are just perfect reflections of the texts; I’d put “The Remains of the Day” in this category (although of course we could debate it for years).What I want to talk about today are two cases where the movie made me aware of the source book — a book I might otherwise have never read.— Sadie“The Living and the Dead,” by Boileau-NarcejacFiction, 1956NoneParis, 1940. A lawyer named Roger Flavières — who has a morbid fear of heights — is approached by an old friend whose wife, Madeleine, has been acting strangely; she seems to be possessed by the spirit of an ancestor who died by suicide at the same age. Roger begins to tail the beautiful Madeleine and ultimately saves her from drowning in the Seine. The two bond; she explains her melancholy obsession. Ultimately, Madeleine feels drawn to a remote village, where she throws herself from a bell tower. Roger, paralyzed by his phobia, can only watch helplessly.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Can You Identify These Books By Their Bad Reviews in The Times?

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      “The author undoubtedly meant her to be queer, but she is altogether too queer. She was only 11 years old when she reached the house in Prince Edward’s Island that was to be her home, but, in spite of her tender years, and in spite of the fact that, excepting for four months spent in the asylum, she had passed all her life with illiterate folks and had bad almost no schooling, she talked to the farmer and his sister as though she had borrowed Bernard Shaw’s vocabulary, Alfred Austin’s sentimentality and the reasoning powers of a Justice of the Supreme Court.” More

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      Tom Brown Jr., World-Renowned Survivalist, Is Dead at 74

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      For decades, he ran a school in the New Jersey wilderness that taught thousands of students how to survive and even thrive in the great outdoors.Tom Brown Jr., who was considered the country’s foremost authority on wilderness survival, and who taught thousands of people how to track deer, fletch arrows, forage for food and generally thrive in the great outdoors, died on Aug. 16 in Neptune, N.J. He was 74.His son Coty confirmed the death, in a hospital. He said his father had recently been in failing health.Though Mr. Brown’s trim, sturdy build and neatly coifed mustache were more reminiscent of the media magnate Ted Turner than John Rambo, he was in every way the quintessential outdoorsman.His preferred wilderness was the Pine Barrens, a vast, unpeopled expanse of sandy forest that stretches across the middle of New Jersey. He would disappear into the woods for weeks at a time, often with nothing but the clothes on his back, and emerge ruddy in health and even a few pounds heavier.“If you have clothes or a knife, then you aren’t really surviving,” he told The Maine Times in 1998.By way of income, Mr. Brown ran Tracker School, a series of weeklong courses in the intricacies of bare-bones wilderness living and what he referred to as “the wisdom of the track.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Hettie Jones, Poet and Author Who Nurtured the Beats, Dies at 90

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      She and her husband, LeRoi Jones, published works by their literary friends. After he left her and became Amiri Baraka, she found her own voice.Hettie Jones, a poet and author who with her husband, LeRoi Jones (who later became the incendiary poet and playwright Amiri Baraka), made her household a hub for Beat writers and other artists — but who was often described as a footnote in the rise of her famous spouse as “the white wife” he disavowed — died on Aug. 13 in Philadelphia. She was 90.Her daughter Kellie Jones confirmed the death.Raised in a conventional middle-class Jewish household in Queens, Ms. Jones was musical, rebellious and ambitious, uninterested in tweedy academia or suburban domesticity. She dropped out of graduate school at Columbia University, where she was studying drama, to work at The Record Changer, a jazz magazine, for $1 an hour. There she met a charismatic young poet named LeRoi Jones, and they fell in love.They hung out at the Five Spot on Cooper Square, listening to jazz musicians like Thelonious Monk. Though they were the rare mixed-race couple in Greenwich Village in the late 1950s, theirs was a mostly colorblind world, Ms. Jones thought — until it wasn’t.She recalled the day they were walking together and heard jeers and racial slurs from behind. She wheeled around to protest, but Mr. Jones held her back.Ms. Jones in the 1960s. She was musical, rebellious and ambitious, uninterested in tweedy academia or suburban domesticity despite her conventional upbringing.via Jones familyThe situation was more dangerous for him, she realized, struck by her own naïveté and ignorance. (At the time, more than half the country had laws criminalizing interracial marriage.) She also realized, as she later wrote, that “to live like this I would have to defer to his judgment.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      New York Is Huge. These Books Help Cut It Down to Size.

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      A starry group biography focused on a single Brooklyn Heights brownstone; a novel centered on one Upper West Side block.Librado Romero/The New York TimesDear readers,I have a sprightly white-haired neighbor who has lived in the garden apartment next door since Lyndon B. Johnson was president, more or less, and most days you will find her out there on her little patch of tulips and concrete, holding court in two languages. (The better gossip, I deeply suspect, is in Polish.)I love her consistency, and I also love how specific her territory is. Whatever’s going on beyond this block: not her business. Her purview is strictly whatever falls between the co-op, the cosmetic dentist and the mosque. That chic spot on the corner serving “contemporary Americana with a flair for sustainability”? She knew it when it was a French bistro and before that, a deli selling glorious pre-Ozempic piles of kielbasa and goulash.Which brings me to the picks in this week’s newsletter, both of which zoom in on chunks of urban real estate so finely parsed you could probably cover them with a large tarp. These books, like the lady next door, are living histories: loyal keepers of their own neighborhood flames, and other goulash ghosts of old New York.—Leah“February House,” by Sherill TippinsNonfiction, 2005We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Book Review: ‘Orange Blossom Trail,’ by Joshua Lutz and George Saunders

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      In “Orange Blossom Trail,” the photographer Joshua Lutz and the author George Saunders pay tribute to the hard living across one stretch of American highway.With an austere frankness, the 62 photos by Joshua Lutz in ORANGE BLOSSOM TRAIL (Image Text Ithaca Press, $40) document the hard living, low-wage jobs and big-box landscapes along a single stretch of highway that runs 400 miles from Georgia to Miami, cutting right through Orlando, Fla.High shutter speeds hide road workers’ faces in shadow. Corporate storefronts and commercial vans appear without ceremony, as if snapped from a camera phone. Commuters wait for a bus, reduced and sad, while a sign for “Mighty Wings” floats mockingly above them.Though not without dignity — see Lutz’s portraits of fruit inspectors, as they glance up from a conveyor belt of tumbling oranges — his photos lack any social agenda. They find an unlikely manifesto in the three previously published texts by George Saunders, our Chekhov of suburban realism, threaded through the book.Joshua LutzJoshua LutzSaunders’s 2022 allegory of death and hope, “My House,” casts a certain entropy over Lutz’s close-ups of oranges — the region’s alleged cash crop — overtaken by rot and snails. In “Exhortation” (2013), a story told in the voice of an embarrassing middle manager trying to psych up his employees, Saunders expertly confuses the objects of our allegiances. In a sincerely Buddhist essay from 2007, he asks us to view misfortune “with clarity, rather than judging.” It’s almost a caption for Lutz’s images, as attuned to ironically pleasing harmonies of shades of orange — across workers’ safety vests, loan shark signs, a child’s slightly tragic coloring book — as they are to any drama of the working class. Mindfulness, often prescribed for happiness, can be brutal.Joshua LutzNot quite an illustrated Saunders, nor an annotated Lutz, this bizarre almost-collaboration confronts the demoralizing American grind with an attitude between sympathy and resignation. An attitude that’s rare in art because we seldom admit it to ourselves. More

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      5 Books to Make Caregiving a Little More Manageable

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      Health care professionals and other experts shared recommendations for anyone providing and receiving care.Tina Sadarangani, a geriatric nurse practitioner in New York City, has spent years working with older adults and their families. She counsels patients on the medications they should take, the eating habits they should change and the specialists they should see.But it wasn’t until her own father became seriously ill — requiring a slew of medications, deliveries, physical therapy and more — that she understood the experience from what she calls “the other side of the table.”Dr. Sadarangani, who has a doctorate in nursing, comes from a family of medical providers. But most of the people who care for loved ones don’t have this expertise.“If it was this complicated for our family,” Dr. Sadarangani said, “how were people with no medical backgrounds doing this every day in America?”Resources like books aren’t a panacea, she said. But they can help validate experiences, offer advice and make us feel less alone. Here are five titles, recommended by health care providers and other experts, to help those who help others.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Can We Talk? The Characters in These 2 Books Can, and How

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      Evelyn Waugh’s garrulous embalmers; Deborah Eisenberg’s urban neurotics.Daniel Arnold for The New York TimesDear readers,We all have our own literary love languages, the places behind the ears we like books to scratch. Fellow eavesdroppers, this newsletter is for you.Nothing tanks my enjoyment of a novel quite like bad dialogue — stilted, unbelievable, unnecessary. It borders on authorial malpractice. But on the flip side: What a thrill to encounter nonpareil conversations in fiction, where all the voices are fully formed. Reading such exchanges is like watching the Apollonian ideal of a badminton match.If you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll be persuaded by no less than Barbara Walters. Her insanely idiosyncratic book “How to Talk With Practically Anybody About Practically Anything” has not aged especially well — it is from 1970, and as anachronistic as macramé — but she understood the timeless appeal of good dialogue: “Conversation can be such pleasure that it is criminal to exchange comments so stale that neither really listens.”Co-sign, Barbara. And I promise, these books keep their shuttlecocks aloft.—Joumana“The Loved One: An Anglo-American Tragedy,” by Evelyn WaughFiction, 1948We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More