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I've been talking up some upcoming releases, but here's one a lot farther down the road, though it should be of great interest for Richard Flanagan fans like me: his new novel, his first since his Booker-winning (and Phinney-beloved) The Narrow Road to the Deep North, will be released in the U.S. in about a year, in April 2018. (It comes out in Australia and the UK this fall.) First Person sounds like a useful story for our truth-challenged times, about a young writer offered a much-needed payday to ghost-write the memoir of a con artist, an outline that echoes Flanagan's own experience writing Codename Iago with John Friedrich, later known as "Australia's greatest con man." When Flanagan mentioned that story when he was in Seattle for The Narrow Road, hoax-lover that I am I tracked down an Australian copy of the out-of-print Codename Iago, which should make for good reading alongside First Person.

Speaking of award winners, the always-well-chosen National Book Critics Circle Awards were announced this week, and the winners included some of our favorites: Fiction: LaRose by Louise Erdrich (which Kim is reading and loving right now), Nonfiction: Evicted by Matthew Desmond, Autobiography: Lab Girl by Hope Jahren, Biography: Shirley Jackson by Ruth Franklin, Criticism: White Rage by Carol Anderson, and Poetry: House of Lords and Commons by Ishion Hutchinson, as well as the previously announced John Leonard first novel award to Yaa Gyasi for Homecoming

And lastly, I'd like to note that the title of the new posthumous collection of Jim Harrison's essays on food and life, A Really Big Lunch, refers to an event celebrated on one of our very own bookmarks, a 37-course, 11-hour lunch in France that Harrison memorably chronicled in the New Yorker. We can assure you that if you purchase A Really Big Lunch (or any Jim Harrison), we will make sure you get the proper bookmark.

Thanks—Tom, Laura, Kim, Liz, and Haley
Dock Street Salon: My Old Man and the Mountain
A last reminder that tonight at 7 pm Leif Whittaker visits, as part of our Dock Street Salon reading series, to discuss his memoir of mountaineering and family, My Old Man and the Mountain. It should be great fun!
NARAL Book Discussion: May Cause Love
Next week, on Thursday, March 30, from 6 to 8, we're hosting a discussion, organized by NARAL Pro-Choice Washington, of May Cause Love, Kassi Underwood's memoir of the conflicted emotions and the path of discovery that followed her own abortion.
New Book of the Week
by Keggie Carew
Tom Carew was something else, a charismatic and fearless commando who parachuted in to prepare the French Resistance for D-Day and then by age 25 was known as "Lawrence of Burma" for coaxing the anticolonialists there to side with the British against the Japanese. Those days, though, are long distant when his daughter Keggie begins to unravel his history: his wartime heroism as well as the decades of peace that proved far more difficult. With her dad almost fully consumed by dementia, Keggie weaves stories of war and family strife into an intricate, imaginative, and unsparing memoir that has been compared to H Is for Hawk but more closely resembles a surprising amalgam of Ben Macintyre's true-spy tales and Roz Chast's Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant? —Tom
Old Book of the Week
by Franz Kafka
This week, someone absconded (yes, it happens, especially in that corner of the store) with almost our entire Kafka section, but they left this one behind, which is somehow fitting. It's the forgotten one of Kafka's novels, and for that reason and many others I often say it's my favorite of his books, or of any books. My flip description is that it's Kafka's "happy novel," but if you know Kafka, you know it could never be that simple. Despite every dark turn it takes, it's still suffused with an immigrant's wide-eyed optimism, all the way to the bizarre, delightful ending, when Karl signs up for the infinite Theater of Oklahama (that's how Kafka spelled it). It's up to you, dear reader, whether you find it his most disturbing tale of all. —Tom
The Girl Who Drank the Moon
Kids' Book of the Week
The Girl Who Drank the Moon
by Kelly Barnhill

Each year, the rulers of a sorrowful town at the edge of a forest sacrifice a baby to the forest's witch. Little do the rulers know that the witch saves the babes and delivers them to adoptive families in happier towns. When she accidentally feeds moonlight to one such infant, though, the girl is steeped in magical powers that become harder to control as she grows up. Meanwhile, one resident of the gloomy town begins to uncover its secrets. Barnhill nimbly weaves together multiple storylines and perspectives and creates memorable characters (my favorite is a poetry-quoting bog monster) in an imaginative fantasy that will delight lovers of fairy tales (and that recently won the 2017 Newbery Medal). (Ages 10 to 14) —Haley
Robert Silvers
Links of the Week
Robert Silvers, 1929-2017
Whatever formal education I had has been dwarfed by my years of subscribing to the relentlessly informative New York Review of Books, which for its entire lifetime has been edited (along with the late Barbara Epstein) by Robert Silvers, who died this week, working his 20-hour days up to the end. Backscratchingly insular and typographically hidebound as the NYRB sometimes could be, no little paragraph could sum up its importance or the tireless curiosity, sophistication, and encouragement of Mr. Silvers himself, but you can read his New York Times obituary, a Guardian profile, an earlier NYT piece that wondered who could possibly replace him, and appreciations by various NYRB contributors, Claire Messud, Cass Sunstein, and, most entertainingly dishily, James Wolcott. Unfortunately, it looks like Martin Scorsese's documentary on the NYRB, The 50 Year Argument, is not streamable anywhere for the time being.
Cover Quiz #43
Cover Crop Quiz #43
Another vintage cover, with one hint: it is, among many other things, a Seattle book.
Cover Quiz Answer #7
Last Week's Answer
The blockbuster 1977 bestseller, and one of the only books I read so much the cover fell off: The Book of Lists, by David Wallechinsky, Irving Wallace, and Amy Wallace.

Phinney Books
7405 Greenwood Ave. N
Seattle, WA 98103
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New on Our Resist List
(See this week's full list.
20% of sales go to the ACLU.)

The Third Reconstruction: How a Moral Movement Is Overcoming the Politics of Division and Fear by Rev. William J. Barber
When We Rise: My Life in the Movement by Cleve Jones
New in the Store

Our Short History by Lauren Grodstein
The Tea Girl of Mockingbird Lane by Lisa See
Mississippi Blood by Greg Iles
The Collapsing Empire by John Scalzi
Frontier by Can Xue
The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman by Denis Theriault

A Colony in a Nation by Chris Hayes
Ice Ghosts: The Epic Hunt for the Lost Franklin Expedition by Paul Watson
A Really Big Lunch by Jim Harrison
The Really Quite Good British Cookbook by William Sitwell

Being Elvis: A Lonely Life by Ray Connolly
The Novel of the Century: The Extraordinary Adventure of Les Miserables by David Bellos

Kids and Teens:
Warren the 13th and the Whispering Woods by Tania Del Rio
Tidy by Emily Gravett
Grow: A Family Guide to Growing Fruits and Vegetables by Ben Raskin
Amina's Voice by Hena Khan
Bird, Balloon, Bear by Na Il Sung

Secondhand Time by Svetlana Alexievich
For a Little While by Rick Bass
The Translation of Love by Lynne Kutsukake
The Waters of Eternal Youth by Donna Leon
32 Yolks by Eric Ripert
This Month in the Notebooks of Henry James

Wednesday, March 29, 1905
(age 61, in California, during his return to America)
"I sit here, after long weeks, at any rate, in front of my arrears, with an inward accumulation of material of which I feel the wealth, and as to which I can only invoke my familiar demon of patience, who always comes, doesn't he?, when I call. He is here with me in front of this green Pacific—he sits close and I feel his soft breath, which cools and steadies and inspires, on my cheek. Everything sinks in: nothing is lost; everything abides and fertilizes and renews its golden promise, making me think with closed eyes of deep and grateful longing when, in the full summer days of Lamb House, my long dusty adventure over, I shall be able to plunge my hand, my arm, in, deep and far, and up to the shoulder—into the heavy bag of remembrance—of suggestion—of imagination—of art—and fish out every little figure and felicity, every little fact and fancy that can be to my purpose."
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