Reagan Arthur Books

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Meet Kate Atkinson when she hits the road for LIFE AFTER LIFE.  Check the store website before you go-a few of the events have been moved to off-site venues!
 
4/16 Brooklyn, NY
Community Bookstore
 
4/17 New York, NY
Barnes & Noble Upper East Side
 
4/18 Naperville, IL
Anderson’s Bookshop
 
4/19 Milwaukee, WI
Boswell Books
 
4/20: Wichita, KS
Watermarks
 
4/21: Austin, TX
Book People
 
4/22: Beaverton, OR
Powell’s Beaverton
 
4/23: Pasadena, CA
Vroman’s
 
4/24: Corte Madera, CA
Book Passage
 
4/25: Half Moon Bay, CA
Bay Book Company

-MB

Meet Kate Atkinson when she hits the road for LIFE AFTER LIFE.  Check the store website before you go-a few of the events have been moved to off-site venues!

 

4/16 Brooklyn, NY

Community Bookstore

 

4/17 New York, NY

Barnes & Noble Upper East Side

 

4/18 Naperville, IL

Anderson’s Bookshop

 

4/19 Milwaukee, WI

Boswell Books

 

4/20: Wichita, KS

Watermarks

 

4/21: Austin, TX

Book People

 

4/22: Beaverton, OR

Powell’s Beaverton

 

4/23: Pasadena, CA

Vroman’s

 

4/24: Corte Madera, CA

Book Passage

 

4/25: Half Moon Bay, CA

Bay Book Company

-MB

storyboard:

The Last Book I Loved: ‘The Unnamed’
The Last Book I Loved is an ongoing series with The Rumpus to highlight emerging Tumblr writers (and the books they love). Want to have your essay considered? Submit it here.
When you go to the website for Joshua Ferris’s 2010 novel, The Unnamed, your screen fills with static for a second. Then it resolves into a grainy gray video of the main hall of Grand Central Terminal, like security camera footage, commuters walking to and from their trains. And then fuzzy blue circles appear over a handful of heads. When you click on one, the video pauses, and a small text bubble comes up. One says, “I look around, I wonder if I’m just sick.” Another quotes a poem by Percy Shelley. “Art thou pale for weariness / Of climbing heaven and gazing on earth/Wandering companionless / Among the stars that have a different birth.” They feel like a little of what each person has inside them, a bit of story or sorrow they keep inside themselves.
This is what Joshua Ferris’s work is — a song of this secret world. He writes about the isolation of modern life, our disconnect from the world at large and from the people around us. And he writes of the small, beautiful hopes of connection — through love, through hope, through body-breaking exertions.

Read More

storyboard:

The Last Book I Loved: ‘The Unnamed’

The Last Book I Loved is an ongoing series with The Rumpus to highlight emerging Tumblr writers (and the books they love). Want to have your essay considered? Submit it here.

When you go to the website for Joshua Ferris’s 2010 novel, The Unnamed, your screen fills with static for a second. Then it resolves into a grainy gray video of the main hall of Grand Central Terminal, like security camera footage, commuters walking to and from their trains. And then fuzzy blue circles appear over a handful of heads. When you click on one, the video pauses, and a small text bubble comes up. One says, “I look around, I wonder if I’m just sick.” Another quotes a poem by Percy Shelley. “Art thou pale for weariness / Of climbing heaven and gazing on earth/Wandering companionless / Among the stars that have a different birth.” They feel like a little of what each person has inside them, a bit of story or sorrow they keep inside themselves.

This is what Joshua Ferris’s work is — a song of this secret world. He writes about the isolation of modern life, our disconnect from the world at large and from the people around us. And he writes of the small, beautiful hopes of connection — through love, through hope, through body-breaking exertions.

Read More

imageI can say that when the box full of finished copies arrived recently at my house, I did kind of stare at them in amazement. Most of that is probably because I’m about halfway through a new novel, at about the exact moment in the process where it feels nearly impossible that I’ll ever finish, and inconceivable that I’ve ever finished anything. So, to be able to see and hold a physical copy of Wise Men is a nice reminder that the stress and doubt and loss of faith and the endless, endless false-starts and scrapped drafts do eventually end, and that optimally, what’s left over is a book.” Stuart Nadler in Conversation with Emma Straub on the Barnes &  Noble Review

It’s Ursula Todd’s birthday! Celebrate with us by sharing this birthday card.


11 February 1910
An icy rush of air, a freezing slipstream on the newly exposed skin. She is, with no warning, outside the inside and the familiar wet, tropical world has suddenly evaporated. Exposed to the elements. A prawn peeled. A nut shelled.
No breath. All the world come down to this. One breath.
Little lungs, like dragonfly wings failing to inflate in the foreign atmosphere. No wind in the strangled pip. The buzzing of a thousand bees in the tiny curled pearl of an ear.
Panic. The drowning girl, the falling bird.

Read more on Facebook.

It’s Ursula Todd’s birthday! Celebrate with us by sharing this birthday card.

11 February 1910

An icy rush of air, a freezing slipstream on the newly exposed skin. She is, with no warning, outside the inside and the familiar wet, tropical world has suddenly evaporated. Exposed to the elements. A prawn peeled. A nut shelled.

No breath. All the world come down to this. One breath.

Little lungs, like dragonfly wings failing to inflate in the foreign atmosphere. No wind in the strangled pip. The buzzing of a thousand bees in the tiny curled pearl of an ear.

Panic. The drowning girl, the falling bird.

Read more on Facebook.

Best. Day. Ever.

Today it was announced that our own beloved, adored, treasured Reagan Arthur will be the publisher of Little, Brown. We can’t imagine a sharper, savvier, funnier person to helm the ship. It’ll mean some changes for us, but today we celebrate! And so many are celebrating with us. Here is the woman of the hour herself, hard at work, glass of wine to toast with handy, and surrounded by flowers from a generous, welcoming industry full of her fans!

 

Caption: Laura Tisdel did NOT write this on the white board on the fridge in the pantry. She’s not being sarcastic. She really didn’t. She fielded calls today and had no time to dawdle at the white board!