February, 2019

31 Books in 30 Days: John McWhorter on Chris Bonanos’ ‘Flash: The Making of Weegee the Famous’

by John McWhorter | Feb-19-2019

In this 31 Books in 30 Days series leading up to the March 14, 2019, announcement of the 2018 National Book Critics Circle award winners, NBCC board members review the thirty-one finalists. Today, NBCC board member John McWhorter offers his appreciation of biography finalist Chris Bonanos’ Flash: The Making of Weegee the Famous (Henry Holt & Company).

Christopher Bonanos' Flash: the Making of Weegee the Famous offers all of the pleasures and benefits that a solid biography should. It is, for one, the first biography of a figure recognized by a great many more from passing mentions than detailed coverage. We are surprised that the job hadn't been done before, and gratified that it now has been, by Bonanos, City Editor at New York and thus a kind of culture vulture about town well-placed to picture and recreate New York in the way that Weegee would have perceived it.

Moreover, this book gets us behind the eyes of a person who only left so many documents of their inner thoughts to posterity and would largely rather we kept apart from them. In this, Bonanos peels away layers of mythology and reveals the truths underneath, often as intriguing as the longstanding distortions. Along the way, it serves as a primer about the emergence of an art form, journalistic photography, while in the bargain giving us a richer sense of Weegee's art than the usual smattering of grisly little pics we often encounter in meeting him on the fly.

Finally, Weegee's life turns out to have been a great tale in its way, beginning in immigrant poverty he seems to have largely pretended never existed, cresting in a certain renown amidst the general public and fervent respect from fellow and aspiring photographers and artists, and a slow decline in which Weegee never found a viable third act Beethovenian "late stage" and declined into mannerism. At the prime of his life, he resided in near-flophouse conditions voluntarily, spending his nights on calls chasing down opportunities for saleable photos. Predictably, settled romantic relationships and even true friendships were elusive, but this meant little to him amidst his artist's obsession with his trade.

However, a special pleasure of the book is watching Weegee help pave the way to journalistic photos of the vivid sort we now consider normal, in contrast to the stilted or barely readable ones typical of the press before the 1930s. Far from being a mere archive of the gangland casualty shots that get around most, Weegee's oeuvre gives us living persons at work and play in his era with a relatability that makes all but a few media photos before him look like daguerreotypes.

At the end of the day, a biography must be readable, whatever the importance of its subject. Bonanos has written a page-turner about, of all people, a grubby loner scrambling around Manhattan taking pictures of usually humble and often dirtyish goings-on, usually after dark, and with a focus bordering on the compulsive. Some would have trouble getting a magazine article out of such a man, but Bonanos neatly makes Weegee's life more viscerally interesting than any full-length portrayals of Ulysses S. Grant or even Franklin Roosevelt. One takes up Flash grateful that someone finally got to Weegee and, almost surprised, feeling even more grateful when the book is over.

John McWhorter is Associate Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia University, teaching linguistics, Western Civilization and music history. He has written extensively on issues related to linguistics, race, and other topics for Time, The New York Times, CNN, the Wall Street Journal, The New Republic and elsewhere, and is a Contributing Editor for The Atlantic. He is the author of The Power of Babel, Doing Our Own Thing, Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue, The Language Hoax, Words on the Move, Talking Back, Talking Black, Losing the Race, and twelve other books, including three academic monographs and two academic article anthologies. The Teaching Company has released five of his audiovisual courses. He spoke at the TED conference in 2013 and 2016, hosts the Lexicon Valley language podcast at Slate, and has appeared regularly on Bloggingheads.TV since 2006.

Critical Notes: Esmé Weijun Wang, Valeria Luiselli, Elizabeth McCracken, and more…

by Victoria Chang | Feb-18-2019


SAVE THE DATE: This year's annual National Book Critics Circle membership meeting will be on Thursday, March 14, from 10 a.m. to noon at The New School. That's the day of the awards ceremony. All members are welcome. Membership meeting at 10 a.m., with coffee and bagels provided. At 11, we'll have a panel titled  "The Stephen King Solution; Could It Work Elsewhere?" moderated by Carlin Romano. The membership meeting ends at noon, and the board begins awards consideration and voting at 12:30.

Join us also for the Finalists' reading on Wednesday, March 13, also at the New School, the awards ceremony on March 14, and the gala awards after-party, celebrating books and our finalists. Tickets $50 for members in advance.

The 31 Books in 30 Days series begins week 3 today.

SAVE THE DATE: The National Book Critics Circle is an AWP literary partner. Come see our featured reading at AWP2019 in Portland on Thursday, March 28, at 4:30 p.m., with NBCC (and Booker) Fiction Award winner Paul Beatty and NBCC (and PEN/Faulkner) Fiction Award winner Joan Silber, conversation with NBCC president Kate Tuttle. And come see us at Bookfair Booth #4010.

Reviews and Interviews

Andrew Ervin reviewed Same Same by Peter Mendelsund for the NYTBR.

Heller McAlpin reviewed Valeria Luiselli’s Lost Children Archive and Elizabeth McCracken’s Bowlaway for NPR.

Gayle Feldman profiled Penguin Random House US CEO Madeline McIntosh in The Bookseller.

Yvonne Garrett reviewed Sophie Mackintosh's The Water Cure for The Brooklyn Rail and Veronica Chambers' (Editor) Queen Bey: A Celebration of the Power & Creativity of  Beyoncé Knowles-Carter for Publishers Weekly.

Diane Scharper reviewed three books for the National Catholic Reporter: Mary Gordon's On Thomas Merton, Barbara Brown Taylor's Holy Envy, and Jean McNeil's Ice Diaries

Hamilton Cain reviewed Elizabeth McCracken’s Bowlaway in O, the Oprah Magazine and Richard Wrangham’s The Goodness Paradox for the Barnes & Noble Review

Lanie Tankard reviewed Finders by Melissa Scott in The Woven Tale Press.

Gregory Couch reviewed Diane Huckelbridge's No Beast So Fierce for the WSJ. 

Michael Bobelian wrote a review of Jill Abramson's Merchants of Truth: The Business of News and the Fight for Facts for the LA Times.

NBCC Treasurer Marion Winik reviewed Bowlaway, by Elizabeth McCracken, and Parkland, by Dave Cullen, for Newsday.

For her weekly Lit Hub/Book Marks column, NBCC VP/Online Jane Ciabattari interviewed Devi S. Laskar about five books about being "other" in America, including Claudia Rankine's "Citizen," an NBCC award winner.

Kathleen Rooney reviewed Chris Cander's The Weight of a Piano for the Minneapolis Star-Tribune and Joseph Scapellato's latest here.  Rooney also was in conversation with James Charlesworth here.

Julia M. Klein reviewed Jill Abramson's Merchants of Truth for the Forward. 

Tobias Carroll has a piece here: New Watchlist column at Words Without Borders and here.

Robert Allen Papinchak reviewed Elizabeth McCracken's novel Bowlaway for the Washington Independent Review of Books.

Sheila McClear reviewed late Japanese author Yuko Tsushima's novel Territory of Light for New York Magazine's Vulture.

Ellen Prentiss Campbell reviewed The Lost Girls of Paris by Pam Jenoff for the Fiction Writers Review.

Katharine Coldiron reviewed The Collected Schizophrenias by Esmé Weijun Wang for LARB and Tonic and Balm by Stephanie Allen for the Masters Review.  Another piece titled, "Reading in The Horse Latitudes" was published here.




Victoria Chang’s new book of poems, OBIT, will be published by Copper Canyon Press in 2020. Barbie Chang, was published by Copper Canyon Press in 2017. The Boss (McSweeney's, 2013) won a PEN Center USA Literary Award and a California Book Award. Other books are Salvinia Molesta and Circle. Her children’s picture book, Is Mommy?, was illustrated by Marla Frazee and published by Beach Lane Books/Simon & Schuster. It was named a New York Times Notable Book. She has a forthcoming middle grade novel as well. She has received a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Sustainable Arts Foundation Fellowship, the Poetry Society of America’s Alice Fay Di Castagnola Award, a Pushcart Prize, and a MacDowell Fellowship. She lives in Los Angeles and is Core Faculty within Antioch’s Low-Residency MFA Program. She also co-coordinates the Idyllwild Writers Week.

31 Books in 30 Days: Kate Tuttle on Adam Winkler’s ‘We the Corporations’

by Kate Tuttle | Feb-18-2019

In this 31 Books in 30 Days series leading up to the March 14, 2019, announcement of the 2018 National Book Critics Circle award winners, NBCC board members review the thirty-one finalists. Today, NBCC president Kate Tuttle offers her appreciation of nonfiction finalist Adam Winkler’s We the Corporations: How American Business Won Their Civil Rights (Liveright).

When the Supreme Court issued its 2010 Citizens United ruling, many were stunned at the wide array of political and speech rights being granted to corporate entities. Then-President Barack Obama expressed his disagreement with the majority opinion, even going so far as to offer a public rebuke at the State of the Union address. On the political left, Citizens United was seen as setting a dangerous precedent, allowing for an unacceptable level of corporate incursion into our electoral process. The backlash extended into that year’s Occupy Wall Street movement, where protest signs could be seen that read, “Revoke Corporate Personhood.”

These arguments might have seemed bizarre to most of us – how could a corporation be, legally or in any other way, considered a person? – but for Adam Winkler they constitute a long-running, if relatively unknown, narrative in American jurisprudence. In We the Corporations, Winkler, a professor of law at UCLA, traces this history back to the nation’s founding. Looking at the earliest European settlements in Virginia, for instance, he concludes that “in the beginning, America was a corporation.” Not only were the first colonists typically employees of capitalist ventures undertaken to enrich investors, the language of corporate charters found its way into our original founding documents, including the U.S. Constitution.

Still, the notion that American corporations deserve unfettered power – either in terms of property rights or civil rights – is hardly uncontested. Nor do the arguments tend to fit neatly into partisan schematics. Over the years, Winkler writes, “what has often united justices across the left/right spectrum is a tendency to side with business.”

In fact, Winkler argues, there are corporations (mostly nonprofit, such as the NACCP) that “have been among the unsung heroes of civil rights.” Winkler knows that readers might receive that last sentence skeptically, but as he chronicles a series of court battles, he begins to make his case. It helps that he writes with verve and humor. “Ronald McDonald and the Pillsbury Doughboy never marched on Washington or down Main Street demanding equal rights for corporations,” he quips. Nevertheless, over the past several centuries, for better or worse, they have often prevailed – aided, of course, by their human representatives, including fascinating characters from Daniel Webster to Roscoe Conkling – and they have often also lost. Many of the cases associated in the popular mind with corporate overreach, such as 2014’s Hobby Lobby ruling, actually rested on the court’s argument about the rights of a corporation’s human members, not on corporate rights per se.

A tour de force of legal history, deftly told, We the Corporations encourages readers to see things from different angles, and provides a kind of road map to help understand some of the big questions likely to face the courts in coming years.

Kate Tuttle is president of the National Book Critics Circle. Her reviews, as well as profiles of literary figures ranging from Salman Rushdie to Leslie Jamison, have appeared in the Los Angeles Times, New York Times, Washington Post, and Newsday.She writes a weekly column about books and authors for the Boston Globe. Her essays on childhood, race, and politics have appeared in DAME, Salon, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. 


Washington Post 

Wall Street Journal 

31 Books in 30 Days: Mark Athitakis on Robert Christgau’s ‘Is It Still Good to Ya?’

by Robert Christgau | Feb-15-2019

In the 31 Books in 30 Days series leading up to the March 14, 2019, announcement of the 2018 National Book Critics Circle award winners, NBCC Board Members review the thirty-one finalists. Today, NBCC board member Mark Athitakis offers an appreciation of criticism finalist Robert Christgau’s Is It Still Good to Ya?  (Duke University Press).

For decades now, Robert Christgau has been known as the Dean of American Rock Critics. He gave himself the title, but it’s one that perhaps hasn’t served him well, or at least mischaracterizes his value as a critic. That “dean” business suggests that Christgau serves as rock and pop’s lead tastemaker, and that all other critics are simply following his lead. It suggests an overly persnickety manner. Lastly, it suggests somebody who’s no fun---did you aspire to hang with your college dean?---in a genre that’s all but defined by joy and pleasure, licit and otherwise.

To be sure, Christgau has handed out a lot of letter grades over the years, and he’s been dinged for his fussiness and presumed authority of his assertions. “I dunno why / You wanna impress Christgau,” Sonic Youth ranted on its song “Kill Yr Idols.” (“I wasn’t flattered to hear my name pronounced right,” Christgau coolly retorted.) But if that “dean” title gets it right, it’s because of this: He does the work, the rigorous yet open-minded work of understanding an artist as deeply as possible, and understanding as much music around the world as possible. Is It Still Good to Ya?, a career-spanning collection of his longform reviews, is a testament to vigorous, big-eared listening. You might have thought he’s been stingy about handing out A-pluses to records in his capsule reviews, but the book makes clear he’s trying to earn one himself.

The book’s subtitle---Fifty Years of Rock Criticism 1967-2017---is somewhat misleading. Most of the book’s essays were written after 2002. At a time when most critics of his generation are either retired or failing to keep up, comfortable with covering warhorses, Christgau has remained an intrepid writer---his appreciations of Lil Wayne, Brad Paisley, M.I.A., and Eminem, are rooted in genuine enthusiasm while skeptical of how the winds of publicity, fandom, and critical consensus have moved perceptions of those artists. And yet, Christgau is also a consistently inviting and generous critic. (“It’s fine not to like almost anything, except maybe Al Green,” he writes.) Across the pages of this book, you can see him being open to different perspectives on musicians, wrestling with his understanding of Thelonious Monk and coming to terms with Sonic Youth, who he once dismissed as “impotent bohos” but now “loves to pieces.”

But while the book speaks to the breadth of Christgau’s journalism, there is also a thematic specificity to the book: Practically every piece is rooted in the notion that music is a prism through which we can better understand race, society, and politics, especially in America. For Christgau, artists old (Billie Holiday, Woody Guthrie, Frank Sinatra, Chuck Berry) and new (Gogol Bordello, Lady Gaga, Jay-Z) evoke a vision of American life that’s been embraced or attacked over time, and will continue to shift. “It was Chuck Berry who had the stones and the cultural ambition to sing as if the color of his skin wasn’t a thing,” he writes, not to deny Berry’s race but to comprehend the cross-cultural fusion he pushed pop music toward. Rock, however you define it, continues to speak to a political ideal we’re still working toward.

This is complicated work, but for a dean it’s plenty fun, and joy to dip into or explore in depth, both for full appreciations and single lines. Offering some tips for “growing better ears” on the book’s first page, he suggests you “spend a week listening to James Brown’s Star Time.” The ensuing pages will keep you listening and thinking for many, many more weeks besides.

Mark Athitakis' reviews and essays have appeared in the Washington Post, LA Times, Humanities, Virginia Quarterly Review, and many other publications. He is the author of The New Midwest: A Guide to Contemporary Fiction of the Great Lakes, Great Plains, and Rust Belt. He lives in Arizona and tweets at @mathitak.



Times Literary Supplement

No Depression

Library Journal


31 Books in 30 Days: David Varno on Lacy M. Johnson’s ‘The Reckonings’

by David Varno | Feb-14-2019

In the 31 Books in 30 Days series leading up to the March 14, 2019 announcement of the 2018 National Book Critics Circle award winners, NBCC board members review the thirty-one finalists.  Today, NBCC board member David Varno offers an appreciation of criticism finalist Lacy M. Johnson's The Reckonings (Scribner).

We live in a world full of both punishment and injustice. What if, rather than continue along with the belief that the former cures the latter, we were to recognize that punishment actually perpetuates injustice? Outside the bounds of the long-held (though glacially affecting) discussion around criminal justice reform and structural racism, this can become a radical proposition. After all, it is human nature to punish, to shame, to seek retribution, to destroy our perceived offenders.

Lacy M. Johnson’s essay collection The Reckonings, a follow-up to her unblinking, transcendent memoir The Other Side (NBCC finalist in 2015), works outward in response to a question she often faces: “What do you want to have happen to him, to the man who did this to you?” “This,” Johnson knows, refers not just to the nightmare she survived and wrote her way out of in her last book, but to “all of the therapy, the nightmares and panic attacks, the prescribed medication and self-medication, the healing and self-harm.” The women who ask her this question understand what she is carrying, and they assume she must want him dead, her ex-boyfriend with whom she was in love, and who raped her, kidnapped her, threatened her with murder, and now lives free in a foreign country with a new life. Johnson’s answer surprises: “I want him to admit all the things he did…and then to spend the rest of his life in service to other people’s joy.”

This vision of atonement, of our global supply of joy restored and sustained by those who have taken from it, forms Johnson’s definition of a proper reckoning in our search for justice “where the crime is not intimate and personal but massive and public.” The essays in The Reckonings address racism, rape culture and misogyny, gun violence, and violence against the environment, building from the core of her own experience and impulse toward self-reflection and growth. The book is a revelation after another dark year of endless blockbuster books that are quick to capitalize on the problems we face but fail to show a new way forward.

If you read The Reckonings, you will begin to contemplate what it might really take for us to reach a reckoning with any one of our massive devastations. In “What We Pay,” she looks at the aftermath of the Deepwater Horizon explosion and oil spill to show that we need more than a payout from BP. All of us who are complicit in the endurance of the fossil fuel industry, she writes, must learn to “give at least as much as we take [from the Earth], to repair all that we’ve harmed.” In “Against Whiteness,” Johnson tracks her initial reaction to Audre Lorde’s critique of white feminism in "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House." As an undergraduate poetry student who saw herself on the margins of whiteness rather than the peak of privilege, she bristled at the definition of whiteness that was meant to encompass her. Johnson’s candor opens up a space to contemplate the scope of white identity that many whites would prefer to simply reject. Nothing is accomplished by denying that one is a racist, but something could come from recognizing how one is complicit in “violences, large and small, that I am asked to accept,” that whiteness also means “power and privilege [that] depend on this acceptance, and also on the condition that I keep silent about it all my life.” Rather than prompt readers to perform or reject wokeness, Johnson invites them to see the truth for themselves.

Johnson is a writing professor at Rice University, and the classroom often becomes ground zero in her essays’ desire for artists of all backgrounds to create a space for reckoning. In “Art in the Age of Apocalypse,” a student claims, after the 2016 presidential election results, “There is nothing we can do.” “What is art for,” Johnson responds, “if not precisely this moment?” It can feel like an impossible order, but Johnson has heeded the call herself. “Speak Truth to Power” is one of the strongest works to emerge in the wake of recent college and juvenile sexual assault cases and #metoo, and in “The Precarious,” she examines her own relationship with gun culture in the wake of post-Columbine mass shootings. In all of these works, the writing is just the beginning. Art also means seeking opportunities for activism. The book is a work of artist activism of the highest order. Rather than anger, it is fueled by love, compassion, empathy, and self-examination, with the goal to empower the thousands of young developing artists who come up in “suburban garages and church basements…under bridges and on street corners with spray cans, in after-school programs and on playgrounds…putting their hands and voices to work each day trying to remake the world.”

David Varno is the VP of Tech for the NBCC and Digital Editorial Associate at Publishers Weekly. He is a former Dispatches editor for Words Without Borders, and his writing has also appeared in BOMB, the Brooklyn Rail, the Cleveland Plain Dealer, Electric Literature, Minneapolis Star-Tribune, Newsday, Paste, Tin House, and other publications. 

Selected Reviews:

Lisa Grgas, The Literary Review

Lily Meyer, NPR

Doni M. Wilson, Houston Chronicle


31 Books in 30 Days; Laurie Hertzel on Richard Beard’s ‘The Day That Went Missing’

by Laurie Hertzel | Feb-13-2019

In the 31 Books in 30 Days series leading up to the March 14, 2019 announcement of the 2018 National Book Critics Circle award winners, NBCC board members review the thirty-one finalists. Today, NBCC board member Laurie Hertzel offers an appreciation of autobiography finalist Richard Beard’s The Day That Went Missing (Little, Brown).

Richard Beard’s memoir, The Day That Went Missing, is an excruciating read in parts, but it is an enthralling one.  The book opens with Beard’s memory of his younger brother Nicky’s death, vivid in its terrible details. Beard was 11 when he and Nicky, 9, went to the Cornish coast with their family on summer holiday. The two boys found a private cove where they played, leaping over big waves as they crashed on the shore.

One powerful wave came with an undertow, and it dragged both boys out to sea. Beard’s description of what follows is unforgettable—his last glimpse of Nicky, mouth clamped tight against the water, ligaments in his neck straining to keep his head above the sea, a whimper coming from his throat. Beard turned away and thrashed toward shore, abandoning Nicky, desperate to save himself.

It is a terrible memory. And it is all that Beard can remember. Not what happened before, and almost nothing that happened after. Nicky’s death was something his family—stiff-upper-lip Brits that they were—simply never discussed. He did not even know the date his brother died.

And so in mid-life he set out to re-learn the past and re-discover the facts and emotions of that time. He questions everyone he can think of who knew about the day—his mother, his brothers, the first responder, the schoolmaster at the boarding school he and Nicky attended. He reads coroner’s reports and news articles; he roots around in the attic and finds Nicky’s things—his school papers, his books, his sports jersey.

One story conflicts with another, the facts sometimes butt up against someone’s recollections, and piecing together what actually happened through the thicket of flawed memory and revisionist history is not an easy task.

The Day That Went Missing is a nearly perfect memoir, with a compelling story, deep introspection, fine writing and an unflinching quest for factual and emotional truth. Beard interrogates himself as fiercely as he interrogates others.

He unearths not just the facts of Nicky’s death and its aftermath, but his own emotions, as well – his pain at losing his brother, his terrible guilt at “goading” Nicky into the water in the first place and then abandoning him.

He also discovers a terrible rage for his late father, who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer at the time of the holiday and so, Beard reasons, had nothing to lose and should have tried to rescue Nicky himself. He is also furious at his father for forcing the family carry on as usual—even to the point where, after Nicky’s funeral, they returned to the Cornish coast to finish their holiday.

It was a lesson, he says, he learned well.

“I haven’t mourned him, and I did not cry at his funeral. … I knew when my dad died to carry on as if nothing awful had happened. A lesson he taught me himself.”

This haunting book is a profoundly moving study of remembering and forgetting, of denial and grief.

Laurie Hertzel is the senior editor for books at the Minneapolis Star Tribune and the autobiography committee chair for the NBCC.


The Guardian

The New Statesman

Publishers Weekly

The New York Times


31 Books in 30 Days: Michael Schaub on Jane Leavy’s ‘The Big Fella’

by Michael Schaub | Feb-12-2019

In the 31 Books in 30 Days series leading up to the March 14, 2019 announcement of the 2018 National Book Critics Circle award winners, NBCC board members review the thirty-one finalists.  Today, NBCC board member Michael Schaub offers an appreciation of biography finalist Jane Leavy's The Big Fella: Babe Ruth and the World He Created (Harper).

George Herman "Babe" Ruth Jr. "wasn't a baseball player," argued the broadcasting legend Ernie Harwell. "He was a worldwide celebrity, an international star, the likes of which baseball has never seen since." Since then, the sport has featured its share of celebrities, from Hammerin' Hank to A-Rod, but the Bambino still remains the brightest star in the baseball firmament.

Jane Leavy's fascinating new biography of Ruth, The Big Fella, follows Ruth and his Murderer's Row teammate Lou Gehrig as the two Yankees went on a barnstorming tour across the country. The reader learns about Ruth's charisma, sometimes hot temper, lavish lifestyle, which included a predilection for drinking, and his outsize personality, in addition to his impressive skills of fielding and hitting.

Leavy's approach is not a straightforward one. She uses the 1927 barnstorming tour as something of a frame, which allows her to dive into Ruth's childhood, baseball career, and death of cancer at the age of 53. Her research is beyond impressive; not simply relying on previous biographies, but on varied primary sources including newspaper archives, genealogical records, interviews with Ruth's family, legal documents and more.

The result is a fuller picture of Ruth than other writers have managed to paint. But Leavy doesn't just do an admirable job tracing Ruth's life and baseball career, she also uses the athlete to ask fascinating questions about the nature of celebrity, both in the early twentieth century and the present. By the end of the book, the reader has learned much about Ruth, but also about how his career shaped the American dream, and the American concept of fame, as we know it today.

Intelligent, absorbing, and written with a keen eye to detail, The Big Fella is a book worthy of Ruth's remarkable life, as well as one of the best sports biographies to be published in quite a while.

Michael Schaub is a regular contributor to NPR and the Los Angeles Times. His journalism has appeared in the New York Times Book Review, the Washington Post, the San Francisco Chronicle, and the Guardian, among other publications. He lives in Austin, Texas.



Aram Goudsouzian in the Washington Post

Neil Best in Newsday

Scott Detrow in NPR


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About the Critical Mass Blog

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