If electricity was magic, then Edison was its chief magician, at least according to the press. He was the “Wizard of Menlo Park,” a reference to his New Jersey laboratory, as well the “Napoleon of Science,” the “Genius of Menlo Park” and the “New Jersey Columbus.” He was almost certainly America’s greatest inventor. But he was also one of the country’s canniest self-promoters, forging close personal relationships with journalists who could be trusted to write adoring, if not always strictly accurate, copy.
In El Reno, a small industrial town just west of Oklahoma City on Oklahoma's portion of Route 66, Sid's Diner is hopping during lunch. With the sharp smell of crisping onions and burger grease in the air, most of the diners in the joint are munching down on a sandwich that was born out of poverty but made famous by love.
Adam, the second-generation owner at Sid's Diner, taking over from his father Marty Hall, is working the flat iron grill. He presses the patty of beef mince made juicy with a mess of sweet onion slivers onto the searing heat. As meat cooks to a nice crispy crust, he flips the burger onion-side down, letting the grease and the grill cast the magic of caramelisation.
I’m sipping a bitters and soda in an empty hotel bar — empty but for the mixologist, who’s pouring himself one finger, very deftly, of Pernod, then concealing it down by the sink. Soon my long-lost friend arrives, and the two of us will stay here at the bar for the evening. He looks around to make sure no one is listening — it’s clear as a bare stage. He warms to his story: a brother in trouble, red-pilled and creeping around at sinister rallies. I offer some cautions, some questions. Very naturally, we touch on my bad health. Which, as it happens, is why we’re talking here in a hotel bar. And why we’ll be here for hours to come, no plans to move on later to someplace brighter, or hipper, or darker — nowhere to see or be seen.
“The Imposters,” Rachman’s fourth novel, is a spiritual sequel to his first. It too features nearly stand-alone stories of an international cast that intertwine in surprising ways. It’s also about writers and the writing life. But if “The Imperfectionists” had the spirit of a wide-eyed college junior at a study-abroad program, “The Imposters” evinces the disappointment and cynicism of the program’s midcareer chaperones, who took these jobs because they too were once moved by the experience but have since grown bored — and therefore resent their open-minded charges.
As usual, Doiron creates an array of colorful, well-drawn characters, writes in vivid, graceful style, and accurately portray investigative procedures — this time including the handling of underwater crime scenes. He spins his tale with enough twists and turns to keep readers guessing until the end.
This might sound like a raunchier version of a sitcom — “Will & Grace” with a soupçon of “Sex and the City” — but O’Donoghue has something more sophisticated in mind, hidden beneath the shagging and banter. “The Rachel Incident” recalls the fiction of both Sally Rooney and Anne Tyler as the author interrogates the dynamics of power, from academia to publishing houses to bedrooms.
Ultimately, The Crying Room is a reflection on and celebration of love, a powerful and compelling novel that cements Shirm’s position as a writer to be reckoned with.
The air restless with insects
and suddenly lavender, a smothered laugh
down a corridor.
A tree drops fist-sized pinecones