MFA Theatre

In his ninth book of poems (after Ballistics), Collins recalls a boyhood passion for collecting: "lantern, spyglass, tomahawk...in the order you would need them in," a sweet beginning with ominous implications. And there is a sharp edge to his fabrications in this volume, which begins with a verbal prank at his parents' grave, ends with the last poem he will ever write, and includes a catalog of his unborn children. His Florida is not Paris; his friend does not have cancer, nor is she human; and the dead don't do anything that appears here in their absurd, generic horoscopes (nor would they have even when alive). In the empty lawn chairs, "no one is resting a glass or placing a book facedown," and the most delightful companions are the cemetery dead. As if feeling naughty, the poet lounges poolside and regards a floating rubber version of himself: "a cool ducky, nonchalant/ little dude on permanent vacation." Ultimately, these absorbing games can't deny the fundamental calamity: grief seeps between the cracks. (Library Journal)

At this point in her career, Meg Wolitzer deserves to be a household name. Every few years she turns out a sparkling novel that manages to bring the shine back to big, tarnished issues of gender politics, such as women's pull between work and family, or the role of sexuality in family dynamics....Wolitzer is both playfully mocking and compassionate toward her characters, several of whom are named for beloved writers - Willa, Heller, Stegner. She's at once amusing, sympathetic and trenchant on the men's peevish reactions to sexual deprivation, overprotective parents and adolescents, "the generation that had information, but no context." (San Francisco Chronicle)

For more than forty years, distinguished author Roger Rosenblatt has also been a teacher of writing, guiding students with the same intelligence and generosity he brings to the page, answering the difficult questions about what makes a story good, an essay shapely, a novel successful, and the most profound and essential question of them all—why write?

Unless It Moves the Human Heart details one semester in Rosenblatt's "Writing Everything" class. In a series of funny, intimate conversations, a diverse group of students—from Inur, a young woman whose family is from Pakistan, to Sven, an ex–fighter pilot—grapples with the questions and subjects most important to narrative craft. Delving into their varied lives, Rosenblatt brings readers closer to them, emotionally investing us in their failures and triumphs. (Publisher)

Morris, a writer for the New York Times, mixes humor and social commentary in this courageous book, revealing the bitter grief of his mother's death and the joyous re-emergence into life of Joe, his widowed father. Hapless and lacking in social graces, the author's 79-year-old father, a former New York judge for the state department of motor vehicles, loves off-color jokes and appreciates the late pop icon Dinah Shore. Morris, a lonely gay journalist, acts as senior adviser and moral chaperone to his dad's girlfriends, who include lovely Edie, low-carb Ann, nutty Rita, egghead Roz and serviceable Gracie. Never losing sight of the complex relationship between aging parents and adult children, the commitment-phobic son conquers some key intimacy issues to wade into a love affair with a man, while learning tolerance and openness from his father's juggling of female companions. Ultimately, the inspirational memoir captures all the needed laughs and emotions that go with love and life in the waning years of parent-child bonding. (Publisher's Weekly)

This thoroughly charming novel wraps Old World sensibility around a story of multicultural conflict involving two widowed people who assume they're done with love. The result is a smart romantic comedy about decency and good manners in a world threatened by men's hair gel, herbal tea and latent racism…If Simonson can keep this up, she could be heir to the late John Mortimer, and if the "Masterpiece Theatre" people aren't already sending out casting calls for Major Pettigrew, they should get a move on with decorous haste. (Washington Post)

[Gorokhova's] exquisitely wrought, tender memoir of growing up in the Soviet Union…could be taught as a master class in memoir writing: the key is not to collect facts and recollections but to truthfully reimagine one's life…Gorokhova writes about her life with a novelist's gift for threading motives around the heart of a story, following its plot with a light touch and unwavering honesty. Each chapter distills a new revelation in poetic prose. (New York Times Book Review)