Books

A stack of books balances on a fluffy white Michael Aram bedspread: Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Lisa Taddeo’s Animal, Candice Carty-Williams’s Queenie and Lily King’s Writers & Lovers all touted as “sad-girl lit-fic book recs.” Lana Del Rey’s lugubrious melodies play on repeat; “I’m pretty when I cry” and “baby blues / baby blues,” in particular, are favored lyrics. This is a specific quarter of TikTok (or BookTok), the lachrymose world of “sad-girl lit.

My first reaction, on tipping this vast compendium — soaring toward 600 pages — out of its padded bag onto the kitchen table, was straightforward envy at the thought of anyone being paid what, you infer, was quite a reasonable sum of money to spend several years on the intoxicating trail of the children’s book. My second was intense curiosity over the procedural approach employed, which is to say that there are a variety of well-worn pathways into the heart of the genre; it would be fascinating to see which ones Leith, the literary editor of The Spectator in the UK, had chosen to follow. The first path, exemplified by Francis Spufford’s 2002 The Child that Books Built, involves writing a memoir that broadens out into a consideration of the form as a whole.

Rachel Kushner’s ambitious, intelligent and gripping latest novel, Creation Lake, concerns the eternal human capacity for delusion, while wondering whether utopian ideals can ever be realized without serious compromise. And it manages all this within the form of an expertly slick thriller, set against the backdrop of contemporary rural France, its history, politics and class system, all carefully woven in alongside an account of the rise and fall of the Neanderthals. Sadie, the first-person narrator, used to work as an undercover intelligence agent in the United States; she was discharged after entrapping a young man who was engaged in animal activism.

The Watergate scandal already commands a wide bookshelf. In the fifty years since Richard Nixon fell on his sword, we’ve had the big-ticket books by the tag-team of Woodward and Bernstein, and others, by contrast, seeking to exonerate Nixon and pin the whole thing on his adversaries; tales about secret sources and White House interns and plucky whistleblowers like the oleaginous John Dean and that human hand grenade Martha Mitchell; not to mention self-serving memoirs from all the principals, some now on their second or third helping at the table; or the ones saying it was all a conspiracy involving an unholy alliance of the FBI, MI6 and KGB, with the little green men from Mars thrown in.

James Shapiro, a distinguished Shakespeare scholar, has turned his attention to the seeds of today’s culture wars in this fascinating, timely and deeply researched book. He unearths them in the demise of the New Deal’s Federal Theatre Project, brought down by a Red-hunting congressional committee. Shapiro’s is an unexpectedly gripping tale, as he exposes the “playbook” of the Texas Democratic congressman Martin Dies, a white supremacist and glory hound who seems to have settled on destroying the Federal Theatre simply as a means of boosting his profile, while also exploring the relationships between politics, plays and propaganda. The Federal Theatre was a utopian project of galactic size, of a kind which, in these days of funding cuts, now seems impossible.

In 1831, while the slave rebel leader Nat Turner sat in jail awaiting trial in Southampton County, Virginia, he was visited by a local lawyer named Thomas Gray. Turner spoke at length to Gray, who subsequently published his record of their conversations. At one point Turner said he had been visited many years before by the spirit. “What do you mean by the spirit?” Gray asked. “The Spirit that spoke to the prophets in former days,” Turner replied. Gray was unmoved by Turner’s claims of divine inspiration and concluded that he was a “gloomy fanatic” moved to mass murder by religious delusions.