Mary-Kay WilmersBesprekingen

Despite the rather long, rambling self-indulgent introduction, Adam Mars-Jones provides yet another delicious LRB-style take-down: the civility of not saying anything at all critical until halfway through always heightens the effect, as is done by talking about oneself for the first page - as if to say "I've set out to be kind, but since there are so few kind things to say about this book, I will just say kind tangentially-related things about myself for a while leading-in so that the thrust of my searing criticism won't seem too unlubricated," which, of course, only makes it burn all the more. He writes "Halperin tiptoes his way into his argument, knowing how resentful gay men are... of being saddled with the old assumptions," and partakes in the same tip-toeing in his review. Although there is one benefit to this - that seemingly vain brandishing of Mars-Jones' lgbt credentials helps him deliver his critique of Halperin's lament more powerfully, without having to say so plainly that not all gay men have the same chips on their shoulders, and that there are a multiplicity of gay experiences, philosophies and adaptations. He is able to "Show, don't tell," in the words of the programme era [more below].

Karl Miller is forthright in his enjoyable argument of praise for Edna O'Brien, although one feels one could only dream of such robust elevation for black and brown writers as a class.

Meek writing on Shishkin is one of those examples of why we read the LRB - those reviews that are grander to read than the books themselves, that decode and give meaning and context to them much as a good curator helps one take in and appreciate an artwork so much more than if approached in a vacuum of understanding.

And Jameson on McGurl's the Programme Era, eight years later, still seems to describe our literary landscape. A fantastic overview with a constructive critique to have in the LRB.

A very good edition.

Adam Shatz, sometimes subtly weaker than I would like, writing here on how Israel's loses by winning - in this case of its "war" on Gaza - is crystal clear in his morality, and sharp in his advocacy. A reminder of the new structural hopes induced by the Arab Spring for a disappointingly brief moment.

Eyal Weizman's take on the blockade of Gaza also is as precise as it is fierce - pulling out what ought to be central details of coverage, in fact scarcely mentioned by most media neither then nor now, bringing into sharp moral relief the choices made and still to be made.

One day would it be too much to ask to read Noura Erekat or Diana Buttu making the same arguments in these hallowed pages?

Owen-Bennett-Jones is on top of his game, incisive and informative, on the assassination of Benazir Bhutto.

With this calibre of writing and moral clarity, in those times and in these times, one can forgive the LRB for having their priorities straight and not having newly published books on which to anchor those important dispatches.

Pankaj Mishra's Flailing States is undoubtedly one of the best essays I have read all year. Completely unpretentious, incredibly knowledgeable, he brings in not just a fresh perspective on India but also a deep understanding about German, American, and East Asian institutional histories of state formation and development - and explains it all simply and accessibly. A wonder to behold, a master at his craft.

Alan Bennett's short story grabs your attention from the start and takes you on a number of gripping surprise turns. Pure Art.

Maglaque on Machiavelli and Hill on Churchill's cook round out this editon with a pair of stand-out reviews.

Any single one of these essays could lead a great edition on their own. This one contains all four of them. Just wow.

This fascinating book tells the story both of several members of the author's remarkable extended family and of a big chunk of the twentieth century's less than savory history. Wilmers's mother was an Eitingon, and that family included Leonid, a Stalinist secret agent whose "special tasks" included organizing the murder of Trotsky; Max, a pioneering psychoanalyst who was one of Freud's closest colleagues; and Motty, a wildly successful (for a time) New York fur importer. Through post-Soviet interviews with some of her Russian relatives, research that included reading some of the Soviet files, and her general curiosity, intelligence, and engaging writing, Wilmers, who is the editor of the London Review of Books, explores the lives of these men, their women, and the connections they may or may not have had with each other. The story focuses more on Leonid, who is both the most obscure and the most compelling, and his work, including the intricate lead-up to Trotsky's killing, is both fascinating and horrifying. Wilmers is willing to speculate where she can't find out what happened, but she plays fair and tells the readers what she's doing. This book called to me from the shelves of a bookstore, and I'm glad I bought it.