From Publishers Weekly
According to Talese, "Writing is often like driving a truck at night without headlights, losing your way along the road, and spending a decade in a ditch." Reading his first substantially new publication since 1992's
Unto the Sons is like being in the passenger seat of that truck while it's in motion. Talese begins with a World Cup women's match between China and the United States; the game gives him a story idea, which he then abandons for roughly 300 pages for elegant digressions on, among other things, the civil rights demonstrations in Selma, the Lorena Bobbitt controversy and a string of flopped restaurants in an Upper East Side building. Somehow, he also works in a memoir of his early life, including perfectly etched memories of the
New York Times newsroom (without directly reflecting on his prominence as one of the first New Journalists). This sort of thing can drag for long stretches unless you're willing to simply follow along as Talese pursues his impulses wherever they lead him. No matter how frustrating it is as memoir, though, this is a near-perfect expression of Talese's inquisitive personality, an inquisitiveness that has led to some of the outstanding journalism of the past few decades.
150,000 first printing. (Apr. 25) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From The New Yorker
In a culture of success and celebrity, Gay Talese has always found his best subjects in failure and decline: Joe DiMaggio in his lonely eclipse; Joshua Logan in the midst of terrible depressions; Floyd Patterson struggling to express what it is to be knocked flat in front of a filled stadium. Talese's lapidary style and impeccable reporting standards have endured far better than the work of some of his more histrionic New Journalism contemporaries, but he has also known failures: long periods of struggle and silence, abandoned stories and books. Much of his memoir is about frustration and dead ends. When the U.S. women's soccer team defeated the Chinese in a shootout at the Rose Bowl, in 1999, Talese was interested in the young woman who had given up the deciding goal. A natural story for Talese, but he couldn't complete it. This book is a less polished construction than Talese's early profiles or "The Kingdom and the Power," but there is something distinctly moving about his decision to think through the workand the yearsthat did not quite cohere.
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker
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