Some children are different. As parents, we have dreams and goals for our kids, but they are individuals with minds, lives, and, sometimes, a fate all their own. The Spark is a memoir of a mother, Kristine Barnett, and her son, Jacob, a special-needs child. Kristine is an unusual woman in her own right. Growing up Quaker in rural Indiana, her grandfather was an inventor and successful designer for the automotive industry, and he had a huge and lasting impact on Kristine. Raised in a hardworking and creative environment, Kristine married and opened a very successful, very progressive day care center; then she gave birth to Jake. She took no maternity leave and her son was raised from infancy at the center. However, Jake's development slowed and he was soon diagnosed with autism.

Kristine followed all of the usual treatments for autism and therapies of the traditional approach, but she found Jake, like most autistic kids, was unusual. And she often found that the traditional therapies Jake was receiving focused more on what he couldn't do, rather than his strengths and what he was able to do. Jake stared at the walls (a common behavior for someone autistic) until Kristine noticed that he stuck to a rigid daily schedule and was determining the time by the movement of the shadows on the walls. Jake would string yarn in every room in the house, but in each instance the shapes Jake made were geometric patterns. He would dump hundreds of crayons on the floor only to arrange them in a true representation of the rainbow, again from staring at the prism effects on the wall. On a trip to their local Barnes & Noble, Jake became so obsessed with an astronomy textbook that they had to buy it in order to leave the store. I won't spoil this book for you by revealing what becomes of this astronomy textbook and Jake's fascination with the stars, but I will say that The Spark is a remarkable book about people in remarkable situations.

One of the lessons from The Spark that resonates most has to do with defining a disability. Who are we to judge? People are remarkable and they are different. The popular metaphor for this is that Jake and others are wired differently. We all are. What Kristine Barnett suggests is that no matter how people are wired, it is up to us to make the connection that produces the spark. This book is not a how-to on autism, though it may help; rather it is a story of a creative person whose source of inspiration and learning is different than most. If you are looking for a book that can lift the heart as it pulls on its strings, then The Spark may be the right choice.

In an age where it’s hard to walk two feet without tripping over an article or six about troubled Millennials and their current and upcoming failures, it’s refreshing to stumble upon a book that reminds us that our twenties are meant to be fodder for the cocktail parties of our thirties and forties. Rachel Shukert’s Everything Is Going to Be Great! is a hilarious recounting of her post-collegiate years in Europe, rife with the assorted miseries and hilarities that seem so much worse at the time than they are in hindsight.

Shukert’s earlier book, Have You No Shame? is an equally hilarious recounting of her Jewish childhood in Nebraska, and Everything Is Going to Be Great! picks up after the author graduates college into a post-9/11 New York where opportunities are slim and depression rates are high. Convinced that she’ll “find herself” in Europe, she joins a theatrical production directed by a egoistic director whose sociopathic tendencies would make any less desperate young adult run as quickly as their theater B.F.A. could carry them.

Convinced that the production’s run in Europe will make the abuse worthwhile, Shukert heads to Vienna and Zurich, flailing (to our delight) all the way. When she winds up in Amsterdam at the urging of some friends who promise to put her in a play they’re attempting to get funded, Shukert lives in cramped quarters and learns the adage about guests stinking like fish after too long. Only it’s not just her hosts with whom she’s outstayed her welcome; it’s also with Amsterdam, her short-lived European theater career, and an emotionally destructive affair with a near-married man the likes of which will be familiar to any young woman who has made a terrible romantic decision that seemed like like a great (and important) idea at the time.

Shukert is a manic and hilarious writer (any theater geeks should read her recaps of “Smash” on Vulture, even if you don’t watch the show), and Everything Is Going to Be Great! is an always funny, at times surprisingly poignant commentary on finding yourself in those years when it seems like all you’re capable of doing is screwing up. It’s a book for anyone in search of a quick read and a solid laugh, and for those Millennials who have tired of reading about their bleak futures, or trying to find themselves among the miserable characters of certain much-discussed HBO shows.

Charlie LeDuff's new memoir, Detroit: An American Autopsy, tells of his return home to -- and subsequent exploration of -- the once-celebrated Motor City. At one time, Detroit was the "nation's richest big city." With its profitable factories, its well-paid blue-collar jobs, its widespread home ownership and credit, Detroit's reign, it seemed, would never end. That is until, of course, it did.

Today, Detroit is a much darker and sadder city that suffers heavily from corruption, poverty, and crime. LeDuff shows this firsthand with stories of parents told to send their children to school with toilet paper; firefighters forced to wear coats foggy with carbon and boots full of holes; emergency vehicles too old and few; a skyline full of ghost skyscrapers; the population's drop from 1.9 million people in the 1950s to just 700,000 people now; coyotes and other wildlife reclaiming the emptied city; banks foreclosing on so many houses that whole neighborhoods are left dead; these same abandoned houses and neighborhoods being set on fire and stripped of any value; a man dead in an elevator shaft, a police raid gone bad, and a seven-year-old shot dead; the murder, illiteracy, and unemployment rates all the highest in the nation; and of no one seeming to care. As LeDuff repeats, "This passes for normal in Detroit."

Perhaps most frustrating and "normal" are Detroit's failed leaders. From the "hip-hop mayor" Kwame Kilpatrick to City Council member Monica Conyers to the ever-influential Big Three, LeDuff takes them to task as only a hometown boy can, exposing their corruption, greed, and ineptitude, all of which eventually led to prison, bankruptcy, and victims. And there are numerous victims in Detroit. LeDuff crosses paths with many of them while covering stories for The Detroit News. Everyone, from heroic firefighters to everyday families, is affected by the squalid city. No one is immune. In fact, LeDuff and his own family are victims; his brothers struggle to support themselves; his sister and niece have died untimely deaths; and Charlie is left years later still trying to accept it all.

LeDuff calls Detroit "America's city" -- a place where "America's way of life was built." Yet, LeDuff also says, the rest of the country has ignored Detroit's struggles. Well, in the end, Detroit: An American Autopsy is too strong to be ignored. Its concise stories and observations reveal a precise and local view of where this broken city has been and where it is going. And maybe, if LeDuff is right, it, too, reveals something more: Where America has been, and where it is going.

I’ve been walking around with this book in me since I finished reading it in manuscript form, months ago. Pressing it on friends who ask what to read next, who send stunned e-mails in return; they can’t stop thinking about this story either – the unwinding of the deeply intimate, the un-scrolling of personal history. As beautifully written as it is raw, Sonali Deraniyagala’s Wave is an impossible book to forget because it exists on the razor’s edge between before and after.

I thought nothing of it at first. The ocean looked a little closer to our hotel than usual.

Sonali Deraniyagala survived the unthinkable – her husband, sons, and parents were killed in the 2004  Indian Ocean tsunami – and spares nothing, including herself, as she conjures who and what she’s lost with indelible imagery. Wave could easily be labeled “a brave book” – and yet, the label, brave, feels somehow soft and lacking. There’s a weight and a gravitas to her admissions, her catalogue of injuries and memories, pain and primordial choices (grabbing her children and husband, leaving her parents), and her shame – shame that will not, as she says, “dislodge.” It’s precisely because Deraniyagala holds nothing back that she succeeds in creating a world of universal, emotional truths that’s more than a memorial to a single shocking moment.

This is an impolite, aggressive book, punctuated by rage, disbelief, and dislocation, which is why it’s such a relief when we see Deraniyagala starting to heal, or as she says at one point, “loitering on the outskirts of the life we had.” It’s a poetic portrait of a family that’s all the clearer because we’ve experienced the deeply unsentimental (brutal, even) recollection of her survivor’s guilt and deep-seated desire to die, and her hallucinations fueled by booze and pills. By the last page, there’s no doubt who her young sons were, why she fell for her husband, and how they made a life together.

When I returned previously, I could endure only cautious glances at my family. I looked now and again but mostly wanted to keep them a blur. Now I can hardly take my eyes off them, quite unlike when they were alive. So I investigate, constantly. I am rediscovering them, almost. I amass details of them, and us.

But in the end, this deceptively slim book is hopeful, but never saccharine, ferocious, but not gratuitous. It’s the story of lives lived in a string of befores-and-afters, where, over time, thrashing mutates into pulsing, which gives way to quiet breathing.

Everyone has that one book that instantly becomes a favorite from the first page, the one that makes them feel every emotion, from laughter to tears, intensely, and that leaves them with the urge to reread from the minute the last page is finished. For me, this book was The Joy Luck Club. I could, and have, read that book over and over, and never fail to be moved by the story of mothers and daughters, of cultural identity, and of fate and faith. Given my worship of the book and subsequent devouring of Amy Tan’s other titles, I was surprised to discover recently that there was one book I had not yet read: The Opposite of Fate: Memories of a Writing Life.

This collection of lyrical, thought-provoking and humorous essays chronicles Tan’s life, but not in chronological order. Rather, the essays are arranged artfully to reveal Tan’s life through its influence on her writing. For someone like me – someone in love with her plots as well as her prose – the book is a goldmine. Throughout the essays Tan reveals the themes from her own life that so strongly shaped her work, particularly the mother-daughter relationship. In one essay, someone points out to Tan that almost all her work centers around mothers and daughters, something she hadn’t realized up until that point, and an unsurprising fact, given the emotionally fraught relationship she had with her own (probably bipolar) mother. Some essays, which reveal the manic-depressive and violent aspects of her mother, are visceral and hard to read. Because of this, when you come to an essay like “last week,” and “confessions,” in which Tan reveals the last few weeks of her mother’s life and the healing and love of those days, you might weep involuntarily, keenly feeling Tan’s emotions and the achingly beautiful closure she receives.

Weaved throughout these plot points of Tan’s life are musings on reading and writing. She writes a lot about the therapeutic and exploratory nature of writing. She particularly seems troubled by those who dissect her works in an attempt to extract meanings and symbols. She writes, she says, because she has questions, not because she has some clever answers that she wants to hide in layers of words. Any writer or lover of words will find themselves nodding along to many of her statements throughout the collection. Toward the end of the book was one that particularly struck me: “Reading [is] an act of faith, a hope I will discover something remarkable about extraordinary life, about myself. And if the writer and reader discover the same thing … the act of faith has resulted in an act of magic.” Finally, I understand why Amy Tan has always left me spellbound.

Mother-daughter dynamics are notoriously complex, but Domenica Ruta's relationship with her mother takes this notion to wildly dysfunctional heights. In With or Without You, Nikki (the author's nickname) invites us into her trash-filled ramshackle house next to a salt marsh in Danvers, Massachusetts, where her sad, introspective childhood and teen years unfold while she remains staunchly loyal to Kathi, her needy, manipulative, drug-addicted selfish mother.

Kathi raises Nikki along with a variety of junkies that come into their lives. It's hard to completely condemn Kathi at first, because while she's clearly not the mother of the year, no matter how broke or high she gets she advocates for Nikki, making sure she's always well-dressed, and ultimately encouraging her to get a scholarship to an elite private school. Kathi wants something better for her daughter. There's no doubt the two love each other in a way that is consuming and enabling, in a way that eventually harms Nikki deeply.

Writing with abandon, Nikki pens raw anecdotes that are both depressing and humorous. The aftermath of living in her mother's house is a self-destructive period. Here is just a sampling of what you'll discover in this riveting memoir.

The early years
"My mother had so little attention to give that sharing her with anything else made me mortally pissed off."
A self-deprecating child, Nikki feels ugly, hairy, lonely. Kathi keeps her home from school to watch old movies, or else takes her daughter on vengeful sprees. Kathi is unpredictable, but predictably selfish. When Nikki is molested by a friend of the family, her mother doesn't confront him because it would rock the boat. Just as Nikki exits childhood, she attempts suicide.

The teen years
"My mother was always hounding me to get pregnant while in high school."
Things begin looking up for Nikki -- she becomes captain of the cheerleading team and class president -- until her peers turn cruel. At home, Kathi sells coke and gives Nikki OxyContin. Nikki's grandmother is a source of comfort and home-cooked meals, proving her love with special Italian nicknames for Nikki -- meaning "chickpea" and "whore."

Alcohol and beyond
"My friends in recovery tell me you finally get sober the day before you are supposed to die."
Nikki temporarily moves across the country when Kathi blames her for all her problems and demands money. Nikki finds bittersweet joy working with seniors with dementia, as she indulges in hardcore drinking to stifle her feelings -- and then things spiral out of control.

This is a heartbreakingly honest, emotionally graphic memoir. We root for Nikki's perseverance and recovery, but understand that there may be no resolution. It is Domenica Ruta's voice, with its heat and guts, that makes this such a striking read, a window into a life still being lived one day at a time.

One of my favorite quotes from Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor was featured in a review by the Wall Street Journal: "People who live in difficult circumstances need to know that happy endings are possible." This is a sentiment that emanates from every page of Sonia Sotomayor's memoir, My Beloved World.

We first learn about Sonia's parents, who were Puerto Rican immigrants. Her mother, Celia, grew up poor, but made her journey to America by joining the First Women's Army Corps in Puerto Rico. Once in the States, she became a nurse. Juan, Sonia's father, never finished school, but was clearly talented and smart. Young Sonia grows up looking up to her Abuelita, (her father's mother), mesmerized by her vivacity, but most especially by her Sunday gatherings, filled with food, dominoes, music, and talks about the old country. Unfortunately she also grows up watching her parents fight; both parents united by love and culture, but also divided by their motivations and ambitions, and her father's alcoholism. At the age of eight, Sonia is diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, and recalls an argument between her parents regarding her insulin shots. If she is going to need this shot for the rest of her life, young Sonia reflects, then she best learn how to do it herself, and she does so, with the careful instruction of her mother. Abuelita aptly nicknames young Sonia aji (meaning hot sauce in Spanish), due to her restless and strong nature.

Along the way, Sonia learns about hardships, death, gender bias, and racism. Growing up in the projects of the Bronx, she learns about the "safe" parts of the projects, and where to walk and not walk. Her father dies when she is nine, and she watches her vivacious Abuelita succumb to the pain of losing a son -- the Sunday gatherings end -- and her family is never the same. When she graduates eighth grade, almost the entire female class is sent off with best wishes for marriage and children in the future. Sonia is sent off with best wishes for becoming a lawyer.

At Princeton and Yale, the young woman is confronted with the issue of affirmative action. Though Sonia's mother made enormous efforts to provide the best education for Sonia, once at Princeton she quickly has to "catch up" to her Ivy League peers. Affirmative action got her to Princeton, but it was Sonia's determination and intelligence that earned her a summa cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa graduation.

Supreme Court Justice Sotomayor delivers an unprecedented memoir that is equal parts earnest, humbling, and instantly inspiring. The book ends as she assumes the part of federal district judge in New York; what we take away is her contagious aji-like spirit, and a better understanding of one of the most powerful women in the world.

As a visitor to Orchard House as a younger woman, I was struck by the presence of a rectangular pillow in the Alcott family's sitting room. This pillow, the docent informed my tour, would be left horizontally if the family's breadwinner and author of Little Women, Louisa May Alcott, was in a good mood; in a bad mood, it would be placed vertically, to warn off visitors and family members. Any unhappy adolescent who experienced her share of rages and moods would instantly appreciate Louisa's forthrightness regarding her less-than-sunny disposition. In Louisa May Alcott: The Woman Behind Little Women, Harriet Reisen brings to life more fully than any biographer previously the full range of Alcott's moods, and the often troubling, rarely easy life that spurned the author to fame (and infrequent cheerfulness).

Thoroughly researched and providing heretofore unearthed (or at least, unshared) information on Alcott's life, death, and descendants, Reisen has created an incredibly detailed biography of not only Louisa, but much of the Alcott family. Though readers may find the early portion of the book focuses too intimately, and for too long, on the early life of the Alcott family -- from Bronson and Abigail, Louisa's parents', courtship, to Bronson's failed experiments in breadwinning and Transcendentalism (and there are so many to read about) -- these early experiences in poverty, debt, and progressive educational and life experiences make clear how Louisa May Alcott turned into the intensely hard-working and loyal woman she would become.

"Curmudgeon" is a characteristic too often attributed to Alcott; while she may have sent young fans who made the pilgrimage to Orchard House away in tears of disappointment when they discovered the author was not, in fact, Jo March incarnate, the portrait Reisen paints is of a woman unbearably frustrated with the failings of others, her own lot in life, and the injustices against women during the nineteenth century. When Alcott discovers that she can reverse her family's poverty and discomfort through her own pen and consequent earning power, her story gains momentum; you can imagine Reisen's delight at researching this period in her life. When she notes that her editor "asked me to write a girls book," and she "said I'd try," we know the rest is history, but it's a fascinating one to follow. Reisen has done a beautiful job bringing the author -- and the real-life versions of the March sisters and Marmee -- the kind of research and attention they deserve from readers who may know little of Alcott and her family beyond the pages of their favorite children's books.

Dining one evening in one of the swank new restaurants in downtown Washington, D.C., I brought up the subject of colorism with the two African American women who had joined me -- both women successful in their fields -- and the memories poured forth. We looked back with laughter and regret, but it was with special sadness that they admitted they still see evidence of colorism's hold on the thinking of young people.

"When I was in high school a girl told me I acted like I didn't know I was dark-skinned, and wondered where I got my pride and dignity from," one said. The other told us about her daughter, who is sometimes mistaken for every nationality from Greek to Spanish, "My daughter hears all the time from Black boys that they would never marry a girl darker than she is." This friend's daughter also attends a respected, historically black university and has shared with her mother stories of female classmates physically assaulting one another in the wake of colorist verbal insults.

For generations, there was the infamous "paper bag test" in the African American community. Men and women darker than a paper bag were denied membership in churches, fraternities and sororities, and social clubs, and were not allowed to attend certain parties and social events. Blue-vein societies flourished, as did the orthodoxy that among the sororities, AKA's are light, Delta's are brown, Zeta's are black. Fast forward to today and you'll find a #teamlightskin on twitter and complexion competitions in urban nightclubs. The color complex -- or put simply, the belief in the superiority of light skin and European-like hair and facial features -- is, among African Americans, a legacy of slavery that was once practiced and adhered to with nearly unquestioned fidelity. Though increasingly questioned, colorism persists today.

I grew up in Washington, D.C., and I recall one time as I was playing with friends one summer day outside our house on Harvard Street N.W., my mother called me indoors with the admonition, "Come on inside out of that sun, you're already gonna have to get a light-skinned husband for the sake of your children." I saw colorism everywhere: in my family, on TV, in magazines and books. By the time a male fifth-grade classmate at Harrison Elementary brushed my hand away when I reached for his when we were assigned to be square dance partners, I knew instinctively that he didn't want to touch me not just because I was a Negro (as we were called back then), but also because I was the wrong color Negro.

During the tumult and triumph of the activism of the 1960s while a student on the campus of American University, I got Black and loud and proud, and overcame my color complex. More recently, several years ago when I wrote Don't Play in the Sun: One Woman's Journey Through the Color Complex, a book about colorism and its global impact, I became a color-complex activist.

I have begun more and more to conclude that colorism is the most unacknowledged and unaddressed mental health crisis in communities of color around the world. We speak of the color complex as a problem, as an issue, but its negative emotional impact on people of all hues is so serious that it needs to be called what it is: a disease. I'm gratified by an increasing willingness among scholars and cultural activists to write and talk more about the impact of colorism. Colorism is being challenged in the classroom, in forums, on the internet, in books and conferences. Among the most effective "image activists" working to combat this issue are the writers Michaela Angela Davis and Esther Armah, and CNN's Soledad O'Brien, who recently devoted a "Black in America" series segment to the topic of colorism. We are currently at a watershed moment in the recognition of the real impact of this longstanding legacy of racism.

In my family, when our now-grown children were young, my husband and I wove discussions of colorism into conversations about media presentations of African Americans, African American history, race, and life in general, so that our children would develop the ability to comfortably talk about colorism, recognize it, and reject it. People of all races and hues and across the generational divide are now creating a space where the real costs of colorism can be addressed. It's time for more of us to step into that magic circle and begin the long overdue process of healing colorist thought and action in ourselves, our families, and our communities.

Drinking with Men is the story of author Rosie Schaap’s self-estimated 13,000-plus hours on bar stools and banquettes. The title might suggest to some a certain kind of tale; however, this is not a moralizing fable of addiction and regret. Schaap’s story is a celebration of bar culture at its best, when it is “both civilized and civilizing,” and of the people who make it so.

The book follows Schaap’s coming of age from her days trading tarot readings for beer as a teenager in the Metro North bar car; through an entertaining stint following the Grateful Dead; to her time learning to drink in Dublin, Ireland, the best place in the world to learn what it means to be a regular. Regularhood is a hallowed institution defined as “the practice of drinking in a particular establishment so often that you become known by, and bond with, both the bartenders and your fellow patrons.” Schaap further hones her regularhood and barroom education back in her hometown, New York City.

Many things make New York City a great bar town: our roommates, small apartments, late-night (early-morning) last call, the simple fact that we like to walk. Schaap finds lifelong friends and much more – from employment to a love of the Tottenham Hotspurs – in the bars she frequents. Certainly, there are times when it is distinctly uncomfortable being a woman in the male space of the bar. It’s both great and not so great to be “one of the lads” when you’re a lass. Schaap struggles with what she wants out of the bar in this way at times. The teenager on the bar car wants the freedom of adulthood, but confronting the fear and pain that go with it is jarring. The only woman at the bar wants to be accepted as one of the guys, but she also kind of wants to kiss some of the actual guys.

Schaap makes her fair share of mistakes along the way, and there is pain and grief in this story. There are definitely moments that make your heart heavy and bring tears to your eyes. This is, however, more than that: a story of redemption, of faith, and of finding one’s place in the world. Schaap is a wonderful storyteller, and through the loss and heartache, this is ultimately a joyful book celebrating the people and places that she has called home. The book is more about the people and places than it is about drinking. It is a complete pleasure to spend time at the bar with Rosie.

If you're at all familiar with Kurt Vonnegut, you'll likely appreciate the way he reveals his true self in his fiction writing. Even in his science-fictional worlds far removed from the reality of our humdrum human lives, he reminds us that the narrator and ol' Kurt are never separated by more than an ink stain. To a Vonnegut diehard like myself, who seeks to unmask the man who gave us an anthem of playful nihilism ("So it goes!"), I'm left wanting to go even deeper into his narrative, beneath the tongue-in-cheek invective upon which he's built his career. In order to find the beating heart behind the humor, look no further than his trove of personal letters. All the humanism, jokes, warmth, and avuncular morality that radiates from his fiction is found tenfold in Kurt Vonnegut: Letters.

We have only to look to find instances that show how Vonnegut is one of the most autobiographical fiction writers of the twentieth century. His experience as a POW in World War II informs his reflections on war in Slaughterhouse-Five. The Saab dealership he once owned is reflected in his protagonist's profession in Breakfast of Champions. And of course his recurring character Kilgore Trout still proves to be the ultimate alter ego, there in many of his novels to amplify Vonnegut's musings on the absurdity of living.

This collection of correspondence has brought me as close as possible to the greatest voice of morality the "Greatest Generation" has ever produced, and I'm beaming by the light of its words. This is a man that did not live far from the pen. He pursued money, of course, but only insofar as it kept his family comfortable. When he wasn't nickel-and-diming his way through odd jobs -- teaching classes to disturbed teenagers, failing to pitch a strategic board game he invented, running a book club on Classics -- he was enriched by the one thing that kept him chugging along after the War: his writing. He was humble and modest to the very end.

Be sure to use this book as a compendium of truths, something to refer back to when you need a good laugh or a helping handful of guidance. Vonnegut would often regale his friends with a story about his uncle. His uncle would sit outside on the grass, rocking in his chair, the sun warming the pleasant company he kept, and he'd state matter-of-factly: "If this isn't nice, what is?" You'll find yourself uttering the same words every time you open, close, and reopen this delightful collection of letters.

Grief is hot these days, the market for the grief memoir apparently insatiable. With all due respect, we can’t resist the train wreck, the impossible accident, the ravages of cancer and mental illness, the suicide. We devour the moving testimonies of Joan Didion (twice), Joyce Carol Oates, Anne Roiphe, David Rieff, Meghan O’Rourke, Francisco Goldman, Jill Bialosky, Gail Caldwell, to name only a recent few, excellent books and major sellers all. Sarah Manguso’s slim and stunning The Guardians is not, however, your standard grief memoir. Not by a mile.

The controlled derangement of Manguso’s work, its gorgeous kaleidoscopic race through past and present, here and there, is riveting from the opening lines: “The Thursday edition of the Riverdale Press carried a story that began: An unidentified white man was struck and instantly killed by a Metro-North train last night as it pulled into the Riverdale station on West 254th Street. The train engineer told the police that the man was alone and that he jumped.”

The man’s name was Harris and he was Manguso’s closest friend. He is, at first, a fact. Then a ghost. And then, entirely real. In flashes of color, light, and movement, bits of remembered dialogue, reveries and now-hopeless possibilities, Harris comes into focus. Like a developing Polaroid image, he is the animating presence of Manguso’s world, vivid testimony to what she has lost. A brilliant musician, he wrote software, found math erotic, rode a folding bike, liked whitefish and Manhattans, endured three psychotic breaks, and possessed a gift for friendship, intimacy, and disguising anguish. Or as Manguso puts it: “He timed his jump in front of the train and that’s the story.”

That is not, of course, the story. The Guardians is an anatomy of suffering as well as an elegy. “I want to know about my particular grief,” Manguso writes, “which is unknowable, just like everyone else’s.” How, then, to translate the unknowable? She yearns for dybbuks and psychics, wrestles with language and narrative, remembers the jewel-colored candies filled with lacrime d’amore that she devoured during her fellowship in Rome, the hectic cadence of post-college life in New York, the hilarious mystery of Harris’ reputedly majestic penis, the pain of her own devastating illness, and the side-effects of the antipsychotic Haloperidol that cause akathisia, an unbearable restlessness of the body that often culminates in acts of violence, including homicide and suicide by jumping.

A prize-winning poet, memoirist, and short story writer, Manguso understands that grief can be so stunning, so disorienting that it deranges. We are said to be “mad” with grief, strangers to ourselves. Precise, watchful, and often darkly humorous, Manguso knows too that there is no final accounting, no resolution. There is only the effort to understand herself, to hold onto Harris in spite of the fact that the laws of the universe cannot be repealed, and to acknowledge the nearness of worlds we cannot know. When someone we deeply love dies, we are often at a loss for words. Manguso fortunately is not. An astonishing, beautiful, and devastating work.

February 11, 2013, marks the fiftieth anniversary of the death of poet Sylvia Plath. Plath’s death was premature and tragic – and as most everyone knows, it was self-inflicted. As the story goes, Plath committed suicide after struggling with depression for years. After feeding her children and putting them to bed, she sealed off the kitchen door with wet cloths, turned on the oven’s gas, placed her head inside the oven, and died of carbon monoxide poisoning. What, one may wonder, could lead such a talented writer as Plath to such a demise? One may ponder what went on in her head, not just in the time leading up to her death, but over the course of her entire life. And of course one should wonder more about her experience as an artist, a writer. The answers to all of these are at your fingertips, within the pages of The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath.

Though Plath’s husband, poet Ted Hughes, published her partial journals in the early eighties, he had abridged them heavily. Further, he had sealed other of her journals. Finally, before his death in 1998, Hughes passed all of the material on to the children he had with Plath, and ultimately, the journals found their way to the publisher Anchor Books. In 2000, the publishing house released the unabridged journals to the public. The journals are as thorough a journey into the mind of an American master of poetry as we’ll ever get (though Hughes reportedly did destroy her final journal).

The journals begin when Plath is a mere eighteen years old. She is at Smith College, finding her way socially and scholastically. Her life was seemingly picture perfect; she was editor of the college’s literary magazine and went on to win a prestigious position with Mademoiselle magazine, which brought her to New York City for a full month. Still, it was during her college years that Plath began toying with suicide, inflicting damage upon her own body, finding her way into and out of various forms of therapy, and recounting her thoughts during this time in an unselfconsciously raw voice. The journals follow Plath from here to her relationship with Hughes, their honeymoon, and, of course, the start of their family, taking the reader through professional successes and personal grief the entire way.

The story of Sylvia Plath is an American tragedy. There is much that we can glean both biographically and thoughtfully from the very personal words of Plath. Some of history’s greatest poets were plagued with the darkest of demons, and Plath is no exception. To understand her depression is to understand her work, and in order to do so, dive into The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath and let them stun you.

Editor’s Note: David Shields is the author of books including The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead, a New York Times bestseller; Black Planet, a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award; and Remote, winner of the PEN/Revson Award. His work has been translated into fifteen languages. The Seattle-based author’s latest book is How Literature Saved My Life. In it, Shields explores the power of literature. In her review of the book in O, The Oprah Magazine, Kristy Davis said, “Here is a mind on fire, a writer at war with the page.” Shields was kind enough to share with us here at Everyday eBook five books that did, in fact, change his life.

I’m not sure I can even make a distinction between my life and the books I’ve read – I love a line by Leonard Michaels in which he says there is “influence” and then there is getting pushed out a window – but here are the books that have most directly influenced my life. 

1. Lenny Bruce, How to Talk Dirty and Influence People: A book I read over and over in childhood; I stuttered badly and I lived/I live through Lenny Bruce’s profane joy; he taught me how to convert agony and rage into a voice on the page.

2. Philip Roth, Portnoy’s Complaint: See above.

3. Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past: Everyone pretends to have read this book, but I actually read all seven volumes one year in graduate school; I’m still recovering from it. The book showed me how to think about everything, including thinking.

4. David Markson, his last four books, which form a single book, in a way: Vanishing Point, Reader’s Block, This Is Not a Novel, The Last Novel: These works/this work resurrected writing for me when I was weary of it.

5. Simon Gray, His four-volume The Smoking Diaries: See above.

While inspiration often comes from within, Eddie Huang's new memoir, Fresh Off the Boat, reminds us that it also comes in the form of a chubby Taiwanese high schooler from Florida, hell-bent on proving his mettle. Before the famed restaurateur and vocal vlogger for VICE magazine made it big, he was a "midget Chinaman" standing five-foot-four on a football field, facing down a hulking defensive end named Kwame.

Whenever "hike!" was called, young Eddie got pummeled. But Huang explains how each day during practice he would dig his heels in deeper, working so hard he'd vomit by whistle's end. Only a few months later, Eddie's name was being chanted by his teammates like a Taiwanese remake of "Rudy," the scene climaxing when Coach Rock put him into a game, one in which he helped lead his team to victory.

Today, Eddie Huang's name is still being chanted, this time by restaurant critics dying to get their hands on his gua bao at New York City's Baohaus. He's also still digging his heels into the ground, transferring his grit on the grass to his professional demeanor. But while his style defies a simple explanation, what is gleaned from his memoir is the fire of resilience that simmers within. Fresh Off the Boat is riddled with real-life roadblocks built to hamper the strongest of men -- a manic mother, an abusive ex-gangster father, and minority status taped like a "kick me" sign to his back. Yet at each turn Eddie emerges hardened and resolved. Huang's memoir reveals both heart and hood as he refashions every conventional setback in his life into a step forward.

All of this is put forth without pretense. The memoir demands at the outset that you either accept his flaws or clear out of the kitchen. The slang and irreverent style of writing Eddie employs is at first disarming. But chewing through his chummy vernacular, the "yo!'s," "bro!'s," and "shit son!'s" begin to take on a charm of their own. So comfortably conversational are the opening pages you might as well be kicking it with Huang in the flesh, jamming to Tupac tapes and claiming some urban turf of your own.

To the foodies out there, pay heed. Eddie's references to food are spontaneous, not forced. Don't expect a recipe on every page. Instead, the savory morsels of this memoir are masterfully interlaced with his stories of immigration and upbringing. And let's be frank: Does the genre "food memoir" even exist?

This is a tale of immigration. It's a blueprint of American entrepreneurialism. It's a coming-of-age saga and a family narrative drenched in dysfunction. By writing about all that, Huang proves that food, instead of being showmanship, is a social expression; it's something that assists -- rather than consumes -- our everyday lives. He understands the implicit nature of food better than almost any chef today. "Food at its best uplifts the whole community," he writes. It "makes everyone rise to its standard." Inspiration doesn't get any iller than that.

You slam down your can of Pabst and you look at your fellow bandmates. "Let’s DO this! Rock and ROLL!" Through an opening in the curtain, you can see the house lights go down. You strap on the bass guitar, crank the volume, heart pounding, and you step onto the stage, and … and now you can see that there are only two people in the room, and one of them is polishing glasses behind the bar. Welcome to Hitless Wonder, the hilarious and poignant rock-and-roll memoir by Joe Oestreich about a band that never quite made the big time.

Oestreich is the bass player for Watershed, a power-pop band from Ohio, styled loosely after KISS and Cheap Trick. They've been together for two decades. In that time, they have released half a dozen albums; toured up and down the east coast and the Midwest with bands like Insane Clown Posse, The Smithereens, and Ben Folds; and had a record deal with Epic. Also, unless you're from Columbus or maybe Green Bay, you've never heard of them.

Hitless Wonder works on a number of different levels. As straightforward rock journalism, the book gives us a slightly jaundiced look at what it takes to make it in the music business, and just how glamorous it is to live life on the road. (Hint: playing the 3:30AM show at the legendary CBGB's in New York City is not glamorous. As Oestreich writes, "Crappy high school bands are supposed to break up, like the Bryan Adams song: Jimmy quit. Jody got married.") It's also about what it feels like to chase a dream, regardless of the outcome. It's about growing up in a place like Columbus, feeling like life is happening somewhere else, and yearning to be there -- wherever there is. Ultimately, though, it's a love story: about a group of guys who just really like each other, despite the humiliation and poverty that comes from grinding it out in rock music's minor leagues.

In fact, perhaps that's the point. What matters in life really isn't the gold records and the limousines; it's the connections we make with the people we love, and the passions that we nurture, just because they make us happy. Oestreich seems to be comfortable in his own skin; he can laugh at himself, even as he and the rest of Watershed hold out hope that they might still make it. As he says, "I don't know if that makes us optimistic or delusional." Ain't that America, Joe.

An exquisite cache exists of 264 Japanese netsuke -- tiny extraordinarily detailed figures, hand-carved in ivory, boxwood, or bone: a tiger on a bamboo pole, a monk asleep over his alms bowl, a hare with amber eyes. It is their mystery, their hiddenness, what they reveal about the people who collect them, who touch them and treasure them, that seduces. For nearly a century, the fabulously wealthy Ephrussi family of secular Jews rivaled the Rothschilds as bankers, shippers of grain, builders of chateaux, collectors of art. In The Hare with Amber Eyes, Edmund de Waal, the distinguished English potter and great-grandson of Viktor Ephrussi, takes us on a picaresque journey, back in time and across continents, to uncover the history of his family and the secrets of their fabled netsuke collection.

From the pogroms of Odessa to fin-de-siècle Paris, from occupied Vienna to postwar Tokyo, Edmund follows the trail of his extraordinary family. Charles Ephrussi, connoisseur and patron of Manet, Degas, and Renoir, acquires the netsuke in the late nineteenth-century, when Japan's borders open and vast amounts of Japoniserie flood Paris. Later, the netsuke pass to Viktor Ephrussi, Charles' cousin, friend of Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Arthur Schnitzler, in Vienna. In 1937, when the Nazis invade, they are quick to decimate the Ephrussi empire; De Waal's account of this historical nightmare, about which we may think we already know everything, is powerful and deeply affecting. It is, ultimately, Anna, the Ephrussi's devoted maid, who squirrels away the netsuke in her mattress, carrying them off one by one, in her apron pocket, under the eyes of the Nazis for whom she is forced to catalogue and pack every stick of furniture and article of clothing, every carpet and book and work of art, in the Ephrussi palace.

At the heart of de Waal's memoir sits his eighty-four-year-old great-uncle, Ignace "Iggie" Ephrussi, Viktor's son, dapper, sophisticated, and rootless, who flees Vienna for New York, and finally Tokyo. It is Iggie, with his beautiful herringbone jackets, pale shirts, and stylish cravats, who welcomes seventeen-year-old Edmund when he arrives to study pottery with the Japanese masters. It is Iggie who serves him his first whiskey sour, introduces him to opera, reveals to him the magical perfection of the netsuke, and in the end leaves him the entire collection about which he has been so curious and which represents perhaps the essence of his family's tumultuous history.

"Netsuke are small and hard," de Waal writes. "They hold themselves inward: a deer tucking his legs beneath his body; the barrel-maker crouching inside his half-finished barrel … a monk asleep over his alms bowl, one continuous line of back." As well as the drama of an illustrious family devastated by the convulsions of history, de Waal gives us a story of hiddenness. Who discovered and bought these "tiny tough explosions of exactitude" that sit in the palm of your hand, he asks? Who held and touched them? What does it mean, that they were saved, treasured, passed along? Why is it that these most humble of objects are so important to our sense of ourselves?

The answers lie in both this sensitive and unsentimental portrait of an amazing family, and in de Waal's own small porcelain vessels, as precise and elegant as the netsuke, glazed in white, cream, and celadon, now in museums and galleries the world over.

Kristen Iversen had what many would consider an idyllic childhood, in a suburban house with avocado appliances, a horse, and parents who liked each other. Each afternoon after school, she would ride out to the edge of town. There, at the barbed wire, kicking the metal "No Trespassing" signs with the toes of her cowboy boots, she would look to the west. There: where the chinook winds came racing, swirling dust, past the eerie lights of the plant that made … something secret. In Full Body Burden, her gripping memoir, Iversen unravels the secrets of what it meant to grow up in the shadow of Rocky Flats. Unfortunately, it's our story, too.

The Rocky Flats plant made the triggers at the heart of every atom bomb made in America from the 1950s to the 1980s. These coffee-cup sized lumps of plutonium, one of the most deadly materials ever discovered, could be made to set off a mushroom cloud of destructive energy. But nobody talked about this, because it was the Cold War, and it meant jobs for the community. "I don't know what he does, exactly," one wife says. "He's an engineer. It's too complicated to explain."

Similarly, nobody talked about the self-destruction of Iversen's father, an attorney who sank deeper and deeper into alcoholic despair. The family closed ranks in denial, as so many troubled families do. The stories are integrally linked, as they go to the heart of a kind of collective amnesia. There are things that we just don't want to know.

Sooner or later, though, we have to face them -- or do we? As one child after another in Iversen's school developed testicular cancer, and as one plant worker after another died of lymphoma or a brain tumor or lung cancer, it became clear that something was very wrong at Rocky Flats. Like the deadly fire and explosion in 1957, and again in 1969, that sent a plume of radioactive dust toward Denver. Like the hundreds of rusting steel drums, filled with toxic, radioactive slurry, leaking into the groundwater, because nobody knew where else to put it. In some areas downwind of the plant, the soil was found to be more radioactive than "Ground Zero" at the Nevada nuclear test site. But this went on for decades, and nobody stopped it.

Full Body Burden is so powerful because it is personal. Iversen, who directs a Creative Writing MFA program, knows how to tell a story. But she also speaks with honesty about her childhood friends and neighbors, and the tension between knowing and willfully not knowing. We accept the nuclear weapons that protect us without asking about the thousands who died as a result of their manufacture, or about land near Denver that will remain deadly and radioactive for hundreds of thousands of years. This is an important story about an American tragedy, but it's also about growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, when our country's innocence began its slow meltdown.

There are few cultures more extrinsically opposite in nature than those belonging to Americans and Arabs. Sophia Al-Maria knows this firsthand, as her formative years were spent making the leap back and forth between the two. In her brilliant coming-of-age memoir, The Girl Who Fell to Earth, Al-Maria recounts these near-surreal experiences.

The Girl Who Fell to Earth begins as a love story: A Middle Eastern man, Matar, makes a pilgrimage to America from his home in Qatar. Alone and clueless as to how to go about finding his way in the foreign landscape of the Pacific-Northwest United States, he is taken under the wing of Gale Valo, a quirky, Washington-born, farm-bred young woman. The two fall in an unlikely sort of love, start a family (enter the author), and get married. Matar finds work driving a big rig and enjoys his life. Yet, three years after arriving in Seattle, he hears the call of home and heads back to the Arabian Gulf. And when our narrator is five, she and her mother and younger sister finally hear from him, when he calls for them to join him overseas.

In spite of the size of Matar’s family, Gale is lonely in Qatar and it isn’t too long before she returns to the states, daughters in tow. All goes well until Sophia is well into the fifth grade. The preadolescent's preoccupation with sex – and her creative way of displaying this preoccupation – cause her mother to lose patience, call her husband, and arrange to have Sophia sent to live with him. Sophia arrives in her new home – a home packed with cousins, the multiple wives of uncles, and more, and moves into her room with her Aunt Falak. And so begins her new life, surrounded by gender divides, abayas, and the unfamiliar dynamics of her new family. For every piece of Sophia’s new world that is different, however, there is another that is the same. There are still adolescent crushes, an inherent desire to compete with the boys, a longing to be accepted, and a bending of the rules.

Coming of age is a universal fact of life, and in Al-Maria’s memoir, she demonstrates this with the keen observations of an anthropologist, the beautiful language of a writer, and the truth and passion of a storyteller. From her first period to her first love, and later to her rebellions and her own pilgrimage of self-discovery, there is one theme that will doubtless ring familiar with all readers: the quest for independence, the independence that comes from knowing who you are and where you are going, no matter where you come from.

Editor's Note: The history of sugar in America is among the bloodiest on record, comprising instances of greed and social disruption that made many rich and ripped many more from their native homes. In Sugar in the Blood: A Family's Story of Slavery and Empire, Andrea Stuart uses her own family history -- from the seventeenth century through the present -- as the pivot for an epic tale of migration, settlement, survival, slavery, and the making of the Americas. Andrea's research process for the book took her far beyond the expected destination, and led to five discoveries she never counted on uncovering.

1) The plantation system was born in Barbados. Barbados in the seventeenth century was described as a "nursery for planting other places" -- not just because so many immigrants began their New World career there, but because it was the place where the plantation system was first pioneered and shaped. It was the planters of this small island who created the legal model that would later be adapted by many of the planters in mainland America, providing the blueprint on how to structure, manage, and police a slave society.

2) The horrors of slavery began before anyone set foot on a slave ship. The infamous "Middle Passage," which documents the horrors of the sea journey to the New World, was just one part of the ordeal for captured slaves. Most would have spent many months trekking across the African continent after their capture, only to arrive at slave forts, where they were imprisoned for a further few months before they were even put aboard a slave ship.

3) The historic cruelty of Caribbean plantation owners was nonstop. The average plantation had at least sixty punishments a day, ranging from ad hoc beatings to torture and forced amputations; the sound of screams and groans was the soundtrack of the plantation. New World planters reached their barbaric peak with the resurrection of burning "by slow fire," an ancient punishment previously confined to those accused of witchcraft.

4) The abolitionist movement began with the slaves themselves. Conventional history credits the white abolitionist movement with the end of slavery in the Atlantic world. In truth, the slaves of the region worked constantly for their own emancipation, consistently resisting their own enslavement. By the latter part of the eighteenth century, slave rebellions were so frequent that authorities considered cutting their losses. The most impressive instance of resistance was the twelve-year-long rebellion in Haiti, in which the poorly armed slaves of the island eventually defeated both British and French forces, creating the first free society in plantation-era America.

5) I was a descendant of this system. My first slave ancestor, John Stephen Ashby, was listed on a slave return as '14 years old,' 'colored,' and 'a laborer.' I was so thrilled by this discovery that I burst into spontaneous tears. By identifying him and bringing his story to life, I felt that I had managed to defy the slave system, which made it almost impossible to track and name slave ancestors. My later discovery that John Stephen was one of seventeen slave offspring born to his planter father also took me aback, as did the discovery of my own grandfather's extramarital affairs, which produced a raft of new relatives.

At a time when aging pop and rock stars continue to record and perform well past their best-by dates, who would have thought a somewhat cantankerous, outspoken, old hippie like Neil Young would be the one to produce a refreshingly genuine and candid memoir? Waging Heavy Peace is a book full of surprises and good humor, honesty, modesty, and personal revelation.

Most know Neil as a legendary musical artist, having recorded thirty-four albums over four decades. This memoir includes the juicy details of his early days as a Canadian troubadour, his serendipitous success with the revered folk-rock group Buffalo Springfield, the soaring, vocally harmonic CSNY (Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young), the gritty, rock edge of Crazy Horse, and dozens of additional solo projects. For those less familiar, you may unknowingly recognize his high, nasally vocals on such songs as "Only Love Can Break Your Heart," "Southern Man," "(Four Dead in) Ohio," "Rockin' in the Free World," and "Long May You Run." His music has run the gamut from folk and country to rock and grunge. Neil has played or recorded with a virtual who's-who of the rock world.

As for the writing in Waging Heavy Peace, it quickly becomes apparent that Neil is not a professional author; his book reads more like a personal journal. Overall, this is a good thing; however, it's a bit untidy and, at times, could have used some judicious editing. But unlike celebrities who use ghostwriters or co-authors to pen their memoirs, Neil's affecting and naive way of expressing himself grows increasingly endearing as you settle in and travel the journey. What is revealed is the man behind the ego and rock persona: the way he thinks and feels and lives, his strengths and passions, regrets and weaknesses, with an abiding love and dedication to his children, one of whom is quadriplegic. His philanthropic involvements include the co-founding of Farm Aid, an annual benefit concert begun in 1985 to help raise funds for struggling family farmers. He and his wife, Pegi, were also founding members of The Bridge School, an internationally recognized leader in the field of augmentative and alternative communication for children with severe physical and speech impairments. For these and other efforts, Neil was named The MusicCare Foundation's Person of the Year in 2010, an annual award to commend musicians for their artistic achievement in the music industry and dedication to philanthropy.

I was happy to discover Neil Young is doing fine, alive and well, clean and sober, with many active projects and plans. His current passions include his involvements in LincVolt, an environmentally savvy solution for large automobiles, and PONO, a high-resolution technology for vastly improving digital music. These and other projects keep Neil active and fully engaged until the muse comes calling again. In a recent interview, Neil was asked about his book writing. Having broken his toe at the pool, he explained, "I just wrote this because basically I didn't have anything else to do and I couldn't walk." That's Neil just being Neil, honest and straightforward. And by the sounds of it, nowhere near his expiration date.

In April 2012, Dara-Lynn Weiss was featured with her young daughter, Bea, in Vogue's "Shape" issue. The article focused on their struggle to bring Bea's weight down to a healthy, normal range. Naïvely, Weiss believed if she shared their challenge she would help other mothers with overweight children. Instead, she became the center of a vicious media maelstrom. While I followed the coverage and was riveted by it, a part of me suspected there was much more to the story. In her controversial memoir, The Heavy, we get the real story.

At seven years old, Bea was four feet four inches tall and ninety-three pounds. Her blood pressure was 124/80. Her BMI was in the ninety-eighth percentile. Her mother was told she was clinically obese. As Weiss explains, "My reaction was the same as if I had been told Bea had a potentially fatal allergy, or diabetes. Her weight pattern was no longer a simple parenting hurdle; it was a medical crisis." The decision to intervene forced Weiss to confront her own painful issues surrounding food and weight.

But Weiss is no mommy dearest, trying to slim down Bea to reach some unrealistic goal. After reading The Heavy, I believe Weiss is a mother who loves her daughter so much that she went to extremes that most of us cannot fathom in order to protect her child. Early on, Weiss enlisted the help of a doctor, but there was very little concrete information available to guide her; she had to make much of it up as she went along. And like any parent, she made mistakes. She writes openly and honestly about these mistakes, including letting her daughter be photographed for the Vogue feature. She admits to making controversial choices, but she is unapologetic about them. Weiss's role in her family is "the heavy" -- the one ultimately responsible for the toughest decisions. She writes: "As for Bea, I wasn't trying to make her slender. That wasn't my job. I just needed her to be healthy."

Agree or disagree with Dara-Lynn Weiss's choices, but read her entire story before passing judgment. She made what she believed were the best decisions for her daughter, given the information available to her at the time. Will these choices end up being in Bea's long-term best interest? The jury is still out, and will be for many years.

In this group biography, Daisy Hay brings to life a truly tangled circle of friends and their complicated, sometimes devastating relationships. The creative coterie that included Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, Lord Byron, and John Keats generated some of the Romantics' best-loved works, including Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Young Romantics takes a vivid look at these writers' lives; addictive tales of scandal, heartbreak, sacrifice and friendship are complimented by Hay's intelligent exploration of their poems, novels, journalism, and radical credos.

Leigh Hunt stands at the center of this group of friends. Not as well known today as some of his contemporaries, Hunt was a highly acclaimed liberal journalist, who spent two years in jail for libel from 1813 to 1815. Hay uses Hunt's jail time as a jumping-off point, since Hunt was behind bars when he first met Byron. Hunt was twenty-eight at the time, Byron was twenty-five and already a celebrated poet. Shelley and Mary come into the picture soon after, along with Mary's half-sister, Claire Clairmont who (spoiler alert) will eventually have a brief affair with Byron. Like most things involving Byron, the fling will have disastrous results.

The affairs in the book are numerous and torrid indeed, and relationships of all kinds are messy. When twenty-one-year-old Shelley meets sixteen-year-old Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin in 1814, he is already married with a child. When he "elopes" with Mary to Europe, sixteen-year-old Claire comes with them. If this sounds like a terrible idea, it's because it was. The strange threesome spent a tortuous month attempting to cross post-war France on foot before heading back to England. Yet despite these inauspicious beginnings, their story was long from over: The infamous retreat to Lake Geneva, where Byron would propose the ghost story competition that spawned Frankenstein, would not happen for another two years.

The focus of Young Romantics is not a single meeting or incident but the very fact that these coteries existed, thrived, and were so influential. Previous works on the Romantics have focused on their notion of the solitary poet-genius. Hay destroys this conception in demonstrating just how crucial these personal relationships were to producing great works. She does a remarkable job of balancing her own insightful literary criticism with the devilishly enticing literary gossip. She thoughtfully explicates the texts that the respective poets/writers were working on, demonstrating how the narrative of their lives affected or even conflicted with what they were writing. What evolves is a deeper understanding of their works, and of their personages.

You don't have to be a fan of the Romantics to fall under the spell of this stranger-than-fiction recounting of literary history. Don't worry if you haven't read their poetry or picked up Frankenstein. But be forewarned: Young Romantics will leave you hungry to do so. The Shelleys! Byron! Keats! Oh my.

Happy 2013! This year it's all about making realistic resolutions. We know that despite best intentions it's hard to stick to goals, so now Everyday eBook is here to help. Here's how -- Resolution number one: Read more ebooks! For every goal, there's an ebook that can teach, entertain, or motivate while you tackle your personal promises. We have eleven excellent recommendations that we hope you'll find useful. So, set reasonable expectations for yourself, read to get inspired, and do your best. With this plan, we think come next year you won't be making these same resolutions again. Everyday eBook wishes health and happiness for you and your loved ones!

May Cause Miracles by Gabrielle Bernstein
Transform your life in forty days. Gabi Bernstein explains how simple, consistent shifts in thinking and actions can lead to the miraculous in our daily lives. Here is her plan for releasing fear and experiencing gratitude, forgiveness, love, and joy.

The Unapologetic Fat Girl's Guide to Exercise and Other Incendiary Acts by Hanne Blank
Proud fat girl and personal trainer Hanne Blank understands the physical and emotional roadblocks that overweight women face in the world of exercise. In this unique guide, she shows how to choose workout options, avoid sports injuries, and get proper nutrition, all without fat-bashing.

Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin
The author of The Happiness Project returns with a passionate study of domestic bliss. Breaking down everyday life into manageable monthly goals, Gretchen Rubin focuses on home-related themes such as marriage, parenthood, time and possessions, testing strategies to boost joy on the home front.

Super Brain by Rudolph E. Tanzi and Deepak Chopra
Use your brain in a revolutionary new way to achieve health, happiness, and spiritual growth. By increasing self-awareness and conscious intention we become open to the brain's limitless potential, improving the mind-body connection, promoting well-being, and reducing the risks of aging.

Running with the Kenyans by Adharanand Finn
Whether running is your hobby or your religion, Adharanand Finn's journey to the elite training camps of Kenya will amaze you. Part travelogue, part memoir, this incredible quest to uncover the secrets of the world's greatest runners combines practical advice, a new look at barefoot running, and fresh spiritual insights.

Drop Dead Healthy by A. J. Jacobs
The true and hilarious story of a man with an epic goal: to achieve maximal health from head to toe. From diets of raw foods and extreme chewing to gadgets and sex clinicians and sleep experts, A. J. Jacobs did it all and lived to tell about it in this extremely entertaining story of transformation.

The Science of Yoga by William J. Broad
William J. Broad examines an ancient practice and gives a fascinating objective evaluation. He illuminates how yoga can lift moods and inspire creativity, exposes moves that can be dangerous, and presents evidence about our capability for entering states of sexual bliss, while offering a vision of how the practice of yoga can be improved.

Lessons from Madame Chic by Jennifer L. Scott
As a foreign exchange student, California girl Jennifer L. Scott met a Parisian mentor who taught her about the art of French living and that chic sense of style and charm. Each chapter reveals a secret about grooming, dressing, entertaining, and more. Ideal for one who wants a bit of je ne sais quoi in her life.

Mindfulness by Mark Williams, PhD, and Danny Penman, PhD
Find peace in our frantic world with this eight-week plan. You can live a happier and less anxious and exhausting life with the techniques in this book. Practice these simple and straightforward forms of mindfulness meditation -- and it can take just ten to twenty minutes a day for the full benefits to be revealed.

Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon
In this profound book about family, Andrew Solomon writes about parents who have children living with dwarfism, Down's syndrome, autism, schizophrenia, with children who are criminals, who are conceived in rape, and other exceptional situations. While it might initially seem tragic, Solomon documents the triumphs of love these families experience.

Heads in Beds by Jacob Tomsky
Read this before spending your next night in a hotel bed. Jacob Tomsky's enthralling, indiscreet memoir tells of his life spent working in the hotel industry. He shares the unwritten code of bellhops, the antics in the valet parking garage, housekeeping's dirty little secrets, and tips to get free stuff and upgrades. Happy travels mean a happy new year!

What better time than New Year's Eve to reminisce about a few of our favorite books about partying people and decadence of the most vice-like kind? Authors over the years have certainly nailed down the literary brilliance of laughing and schmoozing, canoodling and boozing. So herewith, before your day-after hangover, some of our favorite eBooks about big parties and the people who frequent them.

Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney
Jay McInerney knows how to write about parties. And with Bright Lights, Big City he demonstrated exactly how to take the tale of one young man, wandering through his life in Manhattan, and turn it into what became known as the voice of a generation. If you fly through Bright Lights wanting more, check out Story of My Life.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
East of Manhattan lies East Egg, holiday home to NYC's elite. It is here that the relatively unworldly Nick Carraway meets a cast of characters including Daisy and Tom Buchanan, and the one and only Jay Gatsby. In Fitzgerald's classic tale, though, a lifestyle consisting of party after party can only lead to disaster, which Gatsby and the rest eventually meet. Bonus: Watch for Baz Luhrmann's film adaptation this spring starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, and Carey Mulligan.

A Ticket to the Circus by Norris Church Mailer
The late Norris Church Mailer turned grief into a timeless tale when she penned her memoir of her marriage to literary legend Norman Mailer. The parties were never-ending for the pair, and the stories that Norris recounts will make you wish that 1) you were there with them, or 2) that she'd lived long enough to tell a thousand more.

Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh
Partying never appeared so grotesque as it did in Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting. Trainspotting, a collection of stories chronicling the lives of heroin-affected Scottish youth, is a little bit cautionary tale, a little bit voyeuristic disgust, and a whole lot of punk. If the book just wasn't vivid enough for you, check out Danny Boyle's 1996 adaptation starring the one and only Ewan McGregor.

The Beautiful and Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Fitzgerald does it again with the beautiful and heartbreaking tale of newlyweds Anthony and Gloria Patch, babes of the golden age, in The Beautiful and Damned. Life is fabulous for the two, who seemingly have everything two young lovers could want in life. But all that is gold is not glittering, as we soon come to learn in Fitzgerald's novel, which some say is based on his life with his beautiful and troubled wife, Zelda.

Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis
What list of party tales would be complete without Bret Easton Ellis? Another '80s literary great, Ellis is the twisted mastermind behind American Psycho – but it's his mid-1980s-penned Less Than Zero that first launched him onto the literary scene. Set in Los Angeles, Less Than Zero is the story of a disillusioned college student who returns from his East-U.S. campus to his home on the West Coast. Partying ensues, as do the resulting lessons involving corpses, prostitution, and addiction. Party on, literati.

"Camelot,” the 1960 Broadway musical, is a medieval tale based on the folklore of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, including Guinevere and Lancelot. It is the glamorous, romantic yet tragic story of courage and gallantry, passion-fed betrayal, chivalry, love and loyalty. In Killing Kennedy by Bill O’Reilly and Martin Dugard, we come to understand the magical aura of the Kennedy years’ affinity with Camelot, through the authors’ superb accounting, explanation, and meaning of this national tragedy.

On November 8, 1960, Americans went to the polls and replaced one of their oldest presidents, Dwight D. Eisenhower (70), with the youngest (43) president ever elected. A handsome and charismatic Massachusetts senator with a beautiful, eloquent wife and two adorable children, John (and Jacqueline) Kennedy offered a youthful idealism, not only in the direction of our country but our identity as a nation. JFK inspired and challenged Americans to serve their country, setting a prime example through his leadership and hard work. JFK and Jackie’s marriage portrayed a romantic love story: he a confident, former war hero and dedicated father; she of elegance and style, poise and grace. When she wasn’t enchanting Parisian and American audiences, Jackie restored and elevated an undistinguished White House with historical antiques, fine art, impeccable decorating, and fashionably sophisticated yet lively social events. Through black-and-white television broadcasts, all became available to U.S. audiences. America fell in love with their First Family.

At the opposite end of Killing Kennedy, we meet the lone assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, a former U.S. Marine with communist leanings who defected to Russia for a period before returning to American soil. We learn much about Oswald’s earlier years, whereabouts, associations, and violent personal activities. The book’s pulse-raising track traces the steps of the President and Oswald in the months and days leading up to the killing of the President like two trains hurtling toward each other on a deadly collision course.

O’Reilly and Dugard are masterful in recounting and revealing exquisite details of these events. But as they did in Killing Lincoln, the authors omit the irrelevant clutter, allowing the narrative to move at a driving pace. Their scintillating reporting actually places the reader inside the president’s car with Jackie, when terror arrives and bullets strike. It is simply heart wrenching. Meanwhile, Americans watched the horror on national TV, Camelot crumpling and dying before their very eyes.

Killing Kennedy also includes the aftermath: Jackie’s grace-filled handling of an unthinkable situation and her efforts to insure JFK’s lasting legacy, including his extraordinary list of accomplishments as President. It later became known that JFK’s preferred bedtime listening was the musical cast recording of Camelot. His favorite lines were spoken in the final number: “Don’t let it be forgot. That once there was a spot, For one brief shining moment … That was known as Camelot.”

From 1962 to 1981 -- during the assassinations of JFK, RFK, and MLK; the Vietnam War; the Civil Rights Movement; NASA's Apollo missions; the Watergate Scandal and more -- Walter Cronkite was there. Each night, Americans invited him into their homes, and each night, in his objective yet caring voice, he told them the news. Further, he not only told Americans the news; Cronkite became the paternal figure, the healer of the nation, “the most trusted man in America.” Now, a few years after his death, Douglas Brinkley brings us the life of the legend in the fascinating biography, Cronkite.

No doubt, Walter Cronkite is best known for the CBS Evening News and his famous sign off, "And that's the way it is." But, as you'd expect, and as Brinkley displays, there is much more to Cronkite than those years and that line. Brinkley is able to navigate Cronkite's personal life and professional development -- from his childhood as a Kansas City paperboy to his big stories in WWII (e.g. "Assignment to Hell"), from his marriage to Betsy Maxwell to his early TV jobs ("You Are There"), from his feud with Murrow to his feud with Rather -- all the while sprinkling in small touches, such as his love of dirty jokes and sailing. True, Cronkite never needed any humanizing; he was as human as your next-door neighbor or coworker, as wise and warm as your grandfather; that's how he made you feel. But for the first time, now, Brinkley reinforces that human feeling Cronkite always projected through the television screen. For the first time, Brinkley fleshes out your image of Uncle Walter.

Still, Cronkite isn't just the story of an anchorman. The man lived a history-book life, and within his life are a million other stories -- twentieth-century American politics; the rise and fall of communism; the emergence of radio and then television news, and much more -- so that as you read, not only is Brinkley telling Cronkite's story, but also the story (the history) of the world and beyond.

In reading Cronkite, it's evident that Brinkley loves his subject, and, as a biographer, he should. But as you find out, it's not without reason, as Cronkite isn't like so many childhood heroes who fall from grace as they grow up. Brinkley's book doesn't leave you feeling disillusioned or tricked. Rather it impresses and validates your trust in Mr. Walter Cronkite.

It's not often a writer can relate a painful memoir with unabashed good humor, wit, and most especially, freedom from self-pity. In The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls does just that, leaving us with some of the most memorable scenes and eccentric characters to come from a modern memoirist in the last decade.

Jeannette is the second of Rex and Rose Mary Walls' four children: after Lori, and before Brian and Maureen. Rex is a charismatic man, an entrepreneur of sorts, who happens to indulge in "a little bit" of drinking; his wife is a smart, free-spirited artist. We quickly realize Rex and Mary are ill-equipped to parent -- or to fend for themselves for that matter. As they continuously fail to define their own lives, they invariably define the lives of their children as a seemingly never-ending struggle to survive.

The story unfolds with a heartrending scene in which three-year-old Jeannette is trying to cook some hot dogs, and in doing so, sets herself on fire. After spending some time in the hospital, with burns requiring skin grafts, Rex decides to "rescue" Jeannette from the hospital, and the family sets off for life on the road. For a time, they live in the desert, often moving from small town to small town; the children are considered outsiders and struggle to fit in.

Christmas is a holiday they celebrate a week after everyone else, gathering tossed Christmas decorations, and taking advantage of after-holiday sales. One of the most touching passages in the book is when Rex takes his children out to the desert and lets each pick out a star to claim as their Christmas gift. Jeannette points out that stars are not tangible, and therefore can't belong to anyone and can't be gifted. Rex romanticizes her logic by pointing out that stars are the best gifts, as no one has claim to them, and stars will outlast any gift other children might receive.

Unfortunately, as time goes on, Rex's drinking only gets worse. Rose Mary resents the idea of taking a job. And as the children grow older, they realize their parents are never going to change their ways. The siblings begin to plot their escape. From here, Jeanette traces her path toward achieving success against the odds and coming to terms with her past.

It is striking and inspirational to read about someone who has lead such a turbulent life and still managed to make it out the other end, all the better.

Beth Raymer doesn't have a plan. And she's not entirely and consciously sure about what she's searching for. After her job as a youth counselor goes awry, she moves from one sanity-testing gig to another, following the nearest path to quick cash. After answering a Help Wanted ad that makes no apologies for its offer of work, Beth's life post-counseling finds her posing as a nude dancer who makes housecalls. Though the work's moral foundation is questionable at best, the money is good, and so Beth stays on -- that is, until a delusional man with a rifle threatens her life. Beth Raymer's memoir, Lay the Favorite, picks up shortly after, as she's waiting tables at a Las Vegas hole in the wall. And it's here that she first hears the name "Dink."

Dink makes his living in the high-stakes, fast-paced, often dangerous, man's world of professional sports gambling. On the day Beth walks into his office after getting a tip that he's hiring, she's prepared to stretch the truth to whatever length necessary to find her way into the world -- and Dink eats it up. After all, all he's looking for is someone who shows up with an honest work ethic. So begins one of Beth's most exciting unplanned journeys of all.

From the betting office to the Caribbean and back again, Beth accompanies Dink, his omnipresent wife Tulip, and his ragtag group of employees on the roller coaster ride through their world, earning their respect and Dink's confidence. Beth proves her mettle even further during a run through the amateur female boxing circuit. Through it all, Beth and Dink form a unique bond. There is something almost paternal in Dink's treatment of Beth, but yet they still give Tulip cause for pause and mistrust. Drama ensues. Beth's non-planned life proves anything but idle.

In spite of the excitement, the drama, the dirt, and the romance, Lay the Favorite is, at its heart, a story about the search for personal freedom -- and the myriad ways we can mess up along the way. Raymer struggles, makes questionable choices, lies sometimes, connives at others, uses her looks to her advantage -- and the reader roots for her through it all. Because personal freedom is a beautiful thing, even when it's found in the gross underbelly of Vegas sports betting.

Beth Raymer's Lay the Favorite was adapted for the big screen earlier this year, directed by Stephen Frears, screenplay by D.V. DeVincentis, and starring Rebecca Hall, Bruce Willis, Vince Vaughn, and Catherine Zeta-Jones. I, of course, recommend you read the book first.

One woman, two men, three eras, and one magical city: a memoirist's dream! Onto this dazzling but well-trod stage strides the fearless Kati Marton, whose Paris: A Love Story is an exciting and elegant paean to the city that is ever at the heart of her high-pressure life as a successful public woman married to two very successful public men.

"Why did no one tell me that we have love on loan?" an inconsolable Marton cries, early in her memoir, as she mourns the sudden death of her adored second husband, the brilliant and indefatigable Richard Holbrooke, architect of the Dayton Peace Accords (which ended the war in Bosnia), and Obama's special representative for Afghanistan and Pakistan. Marton is famous in her own right, of course -- an international human rights activist, an award-winning foreign correspondent for ABC News, and the author of seven acclaimed books. Still, adrift and devastated, she retreats once again to an apartment in her beloved Latin Quarter, where she resolves to reinvent her life.

Thus begins her immersion in memories both intimate and thrilling: her family's flight from Budapest in 1957 and their perilous journey to America, the sudden shocking discovery that her maternal grandparents were Jewish and had been murdered at Auschwitz, her youthful romance with the Latin Quarter where Marton studied at the Sorbonne, fell in love, witnessed the violent and exhilarating student uprisings of May 1968, discovered Montaigne, French cinema, and Parisian chic. She returns in 1978 as ABC's foreign correspondent and bureau chief, but this time to the Right Bank; she meets and marries the famous and dashing Peter Jennings, the father of her two children, and begins a fifteen-year love story, played out against the backdrop of world events, "a roller-coaster ride of passionate reunions and agonizing separations." Torn between her love for Jennings and her ambition to become a great journalist, Marton finally divorces him. Soon afterward, she meets the irrepressible Holbrooke, her great and lasting love. They marry in Budapest in 1995, just before the savage summer of Srebrenica and Holbrooke's posting to Sarajevo. Later, when Holbrooke is appointed Ambassador to the UN, they travel together throughout Asia and Africa where, as Marton puts it, "Richard talks to the torturers, I talk to the tortured." During this dramatic period, they retreat often to Paris, which comforts and renews them both.

It is in the final chapters, however, after Holbrooke's tragic death, that Marton gives us the heart of this moving memoir, an exquisite portrait of the city where "sorrow and pain are deemed part of life." This time, the city is hers alone, a magical place where she "no longer live(s) in a protected world of waiting cars and drivers, fixers, first-class travel, and smiling customs officials" but where, once again on the Left Bank, she rereads Proust, takes hot mint tea in the shaded garden of the Paris mosque, discovers the revelatory Musee Nissim de Camondo, and buys her first pair of dangerously high-heeled raspberry pumps. And it is in the cafes, those "fine places for people alone not to feel lonely," where she is once again able to write.

Long before the masked crusader donned his cape, before there was a visitor from a planet called Krypton, or before Captain America found his shield, there was The Black Count -- a real superhero if there ever was one. The biography of Alexandre Dumas is an amazing portrayal of a true action hero of the eighteenth century. In The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal and the Real Count of Monte Cristo, Tom Reiss tells the fascinating and incredible story of General Alex Dumas, the father of famed author Alexandre Dumas.

Alexandre Antoine Davy, the Marquis de La Pailleterie, a fun-loving French nobleman who lived off his brother in what is now Haiti, had a son with a black slave named Marie Cessette Dumas. Their son, Alexandre, ultimately became the fabled Alex Dumas, a count and general in the French Army during the French Revolution. Brought to France by his father as a slave, Alexandre was freed under French law and received a classical education. Young Alexandre (Alex) grew to be an imposing physical presence at six-foot-one in a world of men at least a half-foot shorter. His legendary courage, strength, and agility were matched by phenomenal prowess with his sword, guns, and horsemanship. He was referred to as "the black devil" by his enemies because he literally scared the hell out of them. While he was "feared by his enemy, he was loved by his men" -- he was a "soldier's general."

Alex's rise paralleled some incredibly exciting times in France. The French Revolution had just started when he entered the military and it was because of events immediately before and during the early revolution that as a black man he was able to advance in the army -- "liberty, equality (especially), and fraternity." This general believed in leading from the front. He literally charged into battle and his men followed even when badly outnumbered. In one notable battle, General Dumas climbed the ice-covered Alps on metal cleats in front of his men to take out an enemy outpost protecting an important pass. He took prisoners, many prisoners. He was a fantastic fighter for his ideals, his country, and his comrades.

There was another side to him that earned the General the nickname, "Mr. Humanity." Alex Dumas would not permit the victors to torment the conquered. He believed in the rights and dignity of people even in war. Treading carefully, Alex dealt with and survived a bloodier and bloodier French government. The complexity of the French Revolution -- a revolution that inevitably leads our Alex to serve under Napoleon, who barely saw beyond General Dumas's chest both literally and figuratively -- is wonderfully described and attended to through the context of this man's life.

Serving Napoleon led Alex on an ill-fated adventure into Egypt. Abandoned there, General Dumas had to try to find his way home and instead ended up a prisoner in an Italian dungeon for years. Finally, at home with his wife and children, the weary but valiant General was forgotten and ignored by the government for whom he had risked his life. The rights and fortunes of blacks were lost under Napoleon, a step backward for the ideals of the Revolution. Fortunately, his son ultimately helped pick up the cause in literature, just as Tom Reiss has through his research and excellent storytelling about this real-life superhero. A remarkable true story, packed with adventure.

People have strong feelings about some of our lifetime’s greatest minds, often willing to defend personal opinions to the death (or, at least, to an uncomfortable height of tension during cocktail parties). There are some whose minds, though, are undebatedly brilliant: Steve Jobs, Richard Branson, Stephen Hawking, Marissa Mayer, Maya Angelou, and many others. Add to this list Christopher Hitchens, whose own brilliance remained evident even through his dying days, as he wrote his last work, Mortality.

Leave it to Hitchens to take a diagnosis of death – an incurable, semi-treatable cancer – and turn it into an opportunity for shared reflection, conversation about the afterlife, and a reason to give thanks. With both eyes wide open, Hitchens confronted his fate and in a slim volume published this year, not quite one year after his December 15, 2011 death, shared his unabashedly upfront thoughts on religion, the experience of sickness, the struggle of reconciling one’s pride with one’s condition, and more. Mortality could just as easily be called “What It’s Like for a Man to Die” – though somehow, that feels more morbid than the actual nature of the book.

There’s a moment in Mortality during which Hitchens talks about the joy he and his friends used to find in gathering over great meals to take part in great conversation. So much seemed about the food, the meal, the nourishment. When his esophageal cancer eventually took the pleasures of eating away from Hitchens, his friends still came, and still conversed. It took this experience for Hitchens to realize that it wasn’t actually about the food for his friends – it was about him: his company, his conversation. And how wonderful of a realization is that?

From the awkwardness of being confronted by a stranger who feels compelled to share a “similar” story (Even though it was a cousin. Whose cancer was in the liver. And who went into remission. And then eventually died anyway.) to his fabulous and succinct advice for writers, Hitchens fits so much into a mere 104 pages. Mortality. It’s what so many of us fear, what so many of us speak of only objectively, and it’s what makes all of us human. Mortality. It’s what Christopher Hitchens faced head-on as one of his life’s greatest events. And we, mere mortals, are lucky enough to be able to revisit that event.

In 2007, documentary filmmaker R. J. Cutler set out to capture the world between the covers of American Vogue. His aim was to shadow legendary editor-in-chief Anna Wintour -- which he did -- but while doing so he found an additional subject worth his attention: the delightfully outspoken and equally passionate Grace Coddington, who thus stepped out from behind Wintour and into the spotlight. As the story goes, and this is corroborated by Ms. Coddington in her memoir, Grace, the feisty creative director had no desire or intention to take part in Cutler's production, but the camera loves her. (It always has.)

“The September Issue,” Grace admits, “[is] the only reason anyone has ever heard of me.” The documentary may be the reason she's now penned a memoir, but it isn't the thing that made her. No, Coddington has had an enduring and thrilling career. She grew up on the northwest coast of Anglesey in Wales. Her family owned the modest Trearddur Bay Hotel, where she spent the first eighteen years of her life. From there she moved to London, which is where it all began. Coddington recalls the "model bag" she toted around with her on shoots and go-sees at the start of her career. Models, she explains, carried their own makeup, pushup bras, wigs, and hairpieces, "and heated hair rollers. You had these if you were madly up-to-date and avant-garde, which I was."

Though the references and figures she invokes are of course appreciated by the fashion minded, her memoir has a broader appeal. Ms. Coddington speaks with such candor, such honesty, we forget we don't actually know her. But of course we don't, because Coddington ran with London's most fashionable elite. She married Michael Chow -- as in Mr. -- and had "a quick fling with Mick Jagger." She had confidantes in Manolo Blahnik and photographer Norman Parkinson. And that was only in London; she met their American counterparts once she found her way to New York City. Coddington  knew everybody. And for a moment, while reading her memoir, it's like we do, too.

But it was always Vogue Coddington had her eye on. Even as a young girl, it was her magazine of choice. So we read on, knowing where she'll ultimately end up, but there are countless twists and turns along the way. Coddington cites affairs and infidelities, tragedies and miscarriages, a car accident that nearly ended her career. But her life is something of a marvel. Her clothes may have always been fashion-forward and a marker of the time, but it's the woman inside the couture that's worth reading about.

Grace is adorned with whimsical pen-and-ink sketches, drawn bewitchingly by Coddington. She confesses she's “barely read two books in my life that aren’t picture books,” but, even still, what's she's offered us is a winning, delightful memoir ... with pictures. Ms. Coddington does not have R. J. Cutler to thank for her career; no, we have R. J. Cutler to thank for the introduction.

In his New York Magazine review of “Lincoln,” directed by Steven Spielberg, written by Tony Kushner, based on the book by Doris Kearns Goodwin, David Edelstein said, “By the time the movie ends, you don’t feel as if you know Lincoln – few, in his own time, claimed to know him. But you feel as if you know what it was like to be in his presence.” The sixteenth president of the United States is indeed reputed to have been hard to get to know personally. Thankfully, numerous biographers and journalists have delved deep into the history books and further, working wholeheartedly to uncover not just one of the greatest presidents in history – but also a most interesting man. Here’s a look at a few of those works worth checking out if you're interested in knowing the man behind the presidency.

A. Lincoln, by Ronald C. White, Jr.
Princeton PhD Ronald C. White, Jr. conducted meticulous and expansive research to write his comprehensive biography of Abraham Lincoln, touching on Lincoln’s personal, political, and moral evolution. From who he was at home, in the public eye, as commander-in-chief, and more, White’s biography is where you should start if you’re looking for an all-encompassing portrait of Abe Lincoln.

Lincoln: How Abraham Lincoln Ended Slavery in America, by Harold Holzer
Harold Holzer’s Lincoln is written as a companion to Spielberg’s “Lincoln,” which stars Daniel Day-Lewis, and is appropriate for a young adult audience – but still holds appeal for adults. Holzer is the chairman of the Lincoln Bicentennial Foundation and one of the country’s leading authorities on Lincoln. His book focuses on the months leading up to Lincoln’s assassination – but works backward, too, to tell a fuller story of Lincoln’s life. For a kid-friendly look at the life of Lincoln, Holzer's book is one to read.

Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, by Doris Kearns Goodwin
Doris Kearns Goodwin’s tome, on which the Daniel Day-Lewis-starring “Lincoln” is based, focuses on the politics of Abraham Lincoln. If you’re hungry for an in-depth chronicle of the very dramatic – and wildly interesting – political history and shaping of Lincoln, Goodwin’s biography is where you want to head.

The Lincolns: Portrait of a Marriage, by Daniel Mark Epstein
They say that behind every great man is a great woman. Whether you choose to believe that sentiment or not, the relationship dynamics of power couples past and present are intriguing, to say the least. The goings-on of Mary Todd (portrayed by Sally Field in “Lincoln”) and Abe were no different. Epstein’s portrait of the couple is likely the most honest look you’ll get into the private lives of President Lincoln and his First Lady.

The Life and Writings of Abraham Lincoln, edited by Philip Van Doren Stern
Abraham Lincoln was many things, including a talented writer. His Gettysburg Address – “Four score and seven years ago…” – considered widely to be one of the greatest speeches in American history, is one of many pieces of writing penned by this brilliant man. If you’re curious about his lesser-known works, you’ll want to check out this vast collection of Lincoln’s writings.

Happy Birthday, Everyday eBook. On November 15, 2011, we welcomed EverydayeBook.com into the digital space. Since then, we’ve covered hundreds of books, recommending to you, our dear followers and readers, some of the best of what we’re reading -- through prose, interviews, author-penned pieces, and more. In honor of our first birthday, we’d like to take a look back at some of the posts from our early days that we think you may have missed and that we’re particularly fond of. Happy eReading!

10 Things You Didn’t Know About Tom Brokaw
By Tom Brokaw
Tom Brokaw has been delivering the news in his distinctive style for decades. His career has taken him all over the world, and has brought him into countless American living rooms nightly. Now, Brokaw gets a little personal on Everyday eBook.

An Introduction to The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, by Alexander McCall Smith
By Alexander McCall Smith
Beloved author Alexander McCall Smith welcomes us into the fantastic world of Precious Ramotswe and The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency.

On the Success of Stieg Larsson’s Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
By Edward Kastenmeier
With over sixty-five million copies sold, and fans worldwide spanning ages, classes, and sexes, it’s clear that the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy is not only an enormous commercial success, it has directly impacted our culture. But why?

How to Read Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace in 5 Easy Steps
By Jennifer Ridgway
Is it worth it? What’s it actually about? Here are a few recommendations for those on the fence about whether or not they should read what may be the most famous Russian novel.

Gone Girl: A Q&A With Gillian Flynn About Her Sharpest Object Yet
By Kristin Fritz
Gillian Flynn, author of Sharp Objects and Dark Places, sat down with Everyday eBook upon the release of her latest mind-blowing novel to talk about inspiration, the dark side of marriage, playing favorites, and more.

A Murakami Primer: The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
By Courtney Allison
With the widely publicized release of 1Q84, it’s worth taking a look back at Haruki Murakami’s earlier works. Let's start with The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, a rabbit-hole into Murakami’s world. It’s kind of like "Lost." But in book form. And weirder. Think raining fish.

Lee Child’s Jack Reacher: Rogue Shark or Jack the Knife?
By Christine McNamara
Lee Child's main man is like a shark in more ways than one. Oh, you've not tested the waters he swims in yet? Well get ready to dive in.

6 Must-Read Books for ‘Downton Abbey’ Fans
By Juliet Simon
If you’re taken with the drama, history, and romance in this series and are craving more, try capturing that feeling in book form; it lasts longer than an episode and will transport you just the same.

Perfectly Paired with Wine and Cheese: Julia Child’s My Life in France
By Richard Callison
'Last Saturday, I conveniently found myself at home opening a bottle of wine and tackling one of my favorite dishes, Coq au Vin, from the Mastering the Art of French Cooking cookbook. Nothing gets me in the mood for French cooking more than spending a couple of hours revisiting France through Julia Child's eyes, so before I rolled up my sleeves, I cracked open my well-worn copy of her memoir, My Life in France.'

Remembering Lois Lowry’s The Giver
By Naina Sharma
'I was nervous when I picked up Lois Lowry’s The Giver recently. I was worried that what had seemed profound and poetic as a child would become trite and lack depth as an adult. Luckily, the book, and my memory, did not disappoint.'

In honor of Rod Stewart's Rod: The Autobiography, here are eight life lessons and playlist suggestions I took away from this fun, juicy, honest book.

1. "Blondes (Have More Fun)": There's no shame in extreme hair maintenance.
Rod devotes the second chapter of his book to his hair, which, let's face it, we all want to hear about. And, as he says, maybe he is a bit extreme with his hair, but how many other people can say they're recognizable for the spiky tips on the top of their heads?

2. "Maggie May" and "Mandolin Wind": Stay true to yourself, and you'll go far.
Both of these songs were hits from Rod's "Every Picture Tells a Story," and also have a very Celtic quality that speaks to Rod's Scottish heritage.

3. "Rhythm of My Heart": Most definitely the rhythm Rod has followed for most of his life, so follow your heart.
Rod is known for being something of a philanderer and womanizer -- something he regretfully cops to in Rod. While I will agree with him that he behaved quite despicably to many of his girlfriends over the years, reading his book gave me more of an understanding of his actions -- he was quite simply in love with being in love!

4. "Forever Young": Sometimes you have to trust your gut … and sometimes, run from it!
Rod almost threw out two of his most famous songs: "Maggie May" and "Forever Young," for being "not good enough!" Always have confidence in yourself and your talents.

5. "Downtown Train": Everyone has a quirky hobby.
And Rod's is building elaborate model trains, railways, and landscapes. Go figure.

6. "Do Ya Think I’m Sexy": You can't please everyone.
Rod's take on disco was a tribute to the Rolling Stones, who had managed to mix disco and rock successfully. While the song gave him many new fans, it also disappointed many of his old fans, who felt he had sold out. Out of embarrassment, he took it out of his show, but then found that people were disappointed.

7. "Infatuation": Dive into what you're passionate about.
Rod is the master of infatuations -- with blondes, model trains, cars, football, and art -- and, lucky for us, he devotes a chapter to each in his book. It's inspiring (for the most part, leaving out the womanizing) to see the passion with which Rod approaches his interests.

8. "I Don't Want to Talk About It": Don't be coy. This is a phrase Rod has never uttered …
Because he lays it all bare in this autobiography -- every sex, drugs, and rock and roll moment -- with humor, candor, and humility.

Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. Maybe you don't know him by name, but certainly if you saw him you'd smile and say, "Oh, him! Yeah, I know him." That's because, besides The Last Supper and the Mona Lisa, da Vinci's most famous, most recognizable work is the Vitruvian Man -- a drawing of a nude man spread-eagle in both a circle and a square, two paragraphs (one above the drawing, one below) written in da Vinci's unique mirror handwriting. It's an image that's been used in advertisements and been spoofed countless times. Yet, what does it mean? What's it telling us? And what's its story? Well, for the stories and the answers, you now have an authoritative text: Toby Lester's book, Da Vinci's Ghost.

As Lester points out, da Vinci's Vitruvian Man has two stories: "one individual [da Vinci] and one collective [the history and philosophy that led to him to draw it]." And so, Lester takes us on a journey throughout history, from the Italian Renaissance to ancient Greece -- and everywhere in between. He tells of da Vinci's life as a child and how he taught himself to write (the probable reason for his mirror handwriting); of his move to Florence, and then Milan, and his rise as an artist, architect, and inventor; of Augustus's reign, the reemergence of Rome, and Vitruvius; of Hildegard of Bingen and her religious visions; of other Vitruvian Man drawings by other artists; of ancient beliefs on anatomy and the soul; of human proportions and geometry and cathedral building in the 1200s; of the human ideal; and most importantly, of man as a microcosm of, and therefore a measure of and guide to, God and the universe. Da Vinci's Ghost covers all of that and yet, like a good mystery novel, somehow connects everything back to that single moment in time, when da Vinci sat down and drew the definitive Vitruvian Man.

Much to Lester's credit, despite so much storytelling, so much information, Da Vinci's Ghost never bogs down or overwhelms. On the contrary, the book is concise and flows along without skimping.

Perhaps for some people, Da Vinci's Ghost has come late to the party. After all, it's been almost ten years since The Da Vinci Code was published and the world exploded with interest in everything da Vinci. Nonetheless, Lester's book delivers even more, following that explosion ten years ago in both its stories and lessons.

Susan Conley's reflections of the two years she spent with her family in Beijing, as told in The Foremost Good Fortune, initially appear to present as a simple travel memoir -- but her story is so much more than a travelogue. As a transplant from Maine, Conley's descriptions of modern China transport us to a crowded, exotic city, awakening our senses with the smells, tastes, and customs as she struggles to help her two young sons adjust. But it is when Conley is diagnosed with cancer that we begin to experience the unexpected: a literal and metaphorical journey to finding one's true self while in a foreign land.

As Conley feels more and more unfamiliar with her own body, she equates China and cancer with cultural isolation. While temporarily back home to receive treatment, she realizes: "I’m struck then by how cancer is itself a kind of cultural dislocation. I feel more removed from myself -- more distanced now from the people I love than I ever did in China." This type of introspection, in this instance about the exile she felt in Beijing and the dire challenges ahead of her, is common in Conley's prose, which is often philosophical.

Still feeling disengaged, Conley returns to Beijing to complete her stay with her family, determined to rebuild her family connections. The opportunity to visit the Great Wall and share the ubiquitous meal of dumplings and Sprite with her children is bittersweet, as she is distracted by fear and the term "reoccurrence," but slowly Conley manages to exhale and be present. When she finds herself bonding with her husband, Tony, in a flea market, haggling over a Buddha statue that she thinks will provide spiritual help and healing, we know that China has transformed into a place that can offer her comfort.

Ultimately, The Foremost Good Fortune is an unflinching memoir of travel, motherhood, and recovery that speaks to anyone with a passion for exploration, both of the world and of the self. We do come to care about Conley and her family throughout her journey, during which she learns a lesson that can be of value to us all: It is indeed possible to be at home wherever you are.

On June 22, 2012, it was reported that Penn State football coach Jerry Sandusky was convicted of forty-five counts of sexual abuse. Immediately following the breaking of this news, the questions began: How did he get away with it? What kind of person could do such a thing? How could the boys’ mothers not know? What must it have been like for those boys? This fall, Aaron Fisher, aka Victim Number One, released his memoir of the ordeal, and this memoir, Silent No More, co-written with his psychologist Michael Gillum, MA, and mother Dawn Daniels, addresses each of these questions.

Silent No More is written from three points of view: Aaron, Dawn, and Mike. The true story plays out from the perspectives of each of these people. Aaron begins with his perception of the great football coach, Jerry Sandusky, a man who took an interest in him and made him feel like a special kid. Dawn, a single mother trying to do the best she can, is at first appreciative of the role Jerry plays in Aaron’s life. He takes the time for kids, both formally through his charity, Second Mile, and on a more personal level, too: Sandusky brings the kids to a local swimming pool, has them over to play video games. Mike enters the story shortly after Aaron breaks down at school at the age of fourteen, finally coming forth with the truth of what had been happening.

This telling of the gut-wrenching story of a powerful pedophile and predator and his prey is at once matter-of-fact and steeped in the harshest and deepest of emotions. Dawn’s feelings of guilt as a mother who “let this happen” to her son are evident all along. Aaron’s own feelings – fear of how much farther Sandusky would take the abuse, fear of being ostracized, fear of people not believing him, and even fear of the repercussions for Sandusky – are woven throughout his narrative in such a way that leaves room for pity, but plays more so off of a certain hope. Mike’s telling is from the vantage point of someone who cares so much about kids and wants what’s best for them – and also knows all too well the difficulties a kid faces when up against a monster.

We all know by now how the story ends, and Aaron, Dawn, and Mike get us from the beginning to conviction in a way that is as thoughtful as it is straightforward. From the politics that affected the investigation, to the psychological toll the terrible experience took on Aaron, from the cover-ups that had taken place years earlier to the final conviction and sentencing of Jerry Sandusky, Silent No More answers the above questions and more.

The soulful man who gazes out at the reader from the cover of the must-read memoir Who I Am may seem at odds with the enfant terrible, guitar-smashing version of Pete Townshend the public might envision. In fact, in the course of this remarkably touching and very naked self-exploration, this photo of the man who takes you in beyond blue eyes is the perfect image of Townshend.

Townshend begins his mesmerizing story with his earliest memories, beginning with his parents, his mother a singer and father a horn player. He then introduces his grandmother Denny, a complex and dark character with whom he was sent to live for a year in an attempt to “sort her out.” (Needless to say this was an impossible task for a six-year-old.) Of course, later on, sex, drugs, and rock and roll all appear -- in abundance. The other members of The Who, The Rolling Stones, Paul McCartney, Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Springsteen, Eric Clapton, Eddie Vedder, and many more all make appearances. Most stirring are Townshend’s characterizations of the people to whom he was close and about whom he cared most. Keith Moon, Roger Daltrey, and John Entwistle along with his family comprise the most evocative portraits. But Townshend has clear moments of insight about many others, including Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp (The Who’s managers) and other longtime associates.

Still, it is Townshend's reticence to see himself in the way others might see him that is most alluring. In detailing his days as an art student, enthralled by Gustav Metzger and his theories of auto-destructive art, to his struggles and successes with creating songs for The Who, along with full-length song cycles and what is probably the most successful rock opera of all time, Tommy, Townshend is in many ways cerebral and unexpectedly measured in his self-evaluation.

It is often difficult to round out a memoir, to connect the pieces so that the life appears whole on the page, but Townshend's account of his early experiences and his musings about them help to bring this memoir full circle as they surface throughout the book. This is not to say that Townshend presents himself as someone who has it all figured out – not at all. This is the emotional pull of the narrative: he transports you within his head to his doubts, fears, creative processes, and his very strong romantic streak.

Townshend left rock and roll for a while (actually he tried to leave The Who any number of times) to work as an editor at Faber & Faber, where he mingled with many of the literati and held his own in conversation and through his editing work. Quite apparent in this memoir, and in a lovely way, is a mixture of strong intellect, sensitivity and high flown ideas along with a gentle self-mockery. As you read the last word, you will find yourself cheering what appears to be, at sixty-seven, Townshend’s long-sought achievement of artistic and emotional fulfillment – he knows who he is.