In order of completion:
1. Benjamin Labatut. When We Cease to Understand the World. A brain-banger of a novel, built upon the genius and madness of post-quantum physics scientists and mathematicians, fact and fiction and you can’t be sure which when where.
2. Jeffrey Toobin. A Vast Conspiracy. (Second time.) Begun while watching the FX series on the Clinton impeachment. No matter his behavioral problems, Toobin is a smart guy and a good journalist, not afraid to make his judgments known: Ex: “(A) prodigious egomaniac, even by Washington standards.”
3. John DiSanto & Matthew Ward eds. Boxing in Atlantic City. Treasure-trove of photos.
4. Danny Lyons. American Blood. Known primarily as a photographer, Lyons turns out to have been writing strong, clear, gutsy, committed prose for decades.
5. Albert Camus. The First Man. Okay, I guess, if you have interest in a boy growing up in post-WW I Algiers.
6. Dan Clowes. Patience. Not for me. I’ll be trading this one in at Moe’s.
7. William Mattews. The Poetry Blues. Ditto. Essays – too many on poetry, too few on the blues.
8. Bob Ingram. Sun Songs. Simple, direct, moving tales of growing up on the Jersey Shore. Wildwood, to be specific.
9. Ernst Pawel. The Poet Dying. Neither bio, nor criticism but some of both in lively, happy-to-pass-judgment prose.
10. Sigrid Nunez. A Friend. Terrific. A must read for striving writers, teachers of writing, those concerned with mortality – and lovers of dogs. Her, I want to read more of.
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.