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The author chats with VF about the much-anticipated sequel to her best-selling novel, Bunny, Reddit reader theories, and the horror of the MFA.
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Keziah Weir
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Novelist Mona Awad on Her Dark Impulses: “No Boys Were Axed in the Making of This Book”
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“He’s Not a Refugee, He’s al Qaeda”: The Untold Story of Spin Ghul’s Capture
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All was proceeding well. Morgese’s officers were on the case, and the migrants were behaving in an orderly manner. It was peaceful. A nice cruise in the Mediterranean. No signs of any of the Libyan fighters who Gaddafi threatened would arrive in Europe “like a swarm of locusts or bees.”
At around 11 a.m., a short, middle-aged man—from sub-Saharan Africa, Morgese guessed—approached the Italian Green Beret. Morgese looked like an obvious authority figure—muscular, tan, in camouflage combat fatigues with a green beret and a black holster with a gun.
“Water,” the man said. Part request, part demand.
Morgese had noticed the man before. He had been isolating himself from the others, pacing nervously along a corridor, reading a liturgical book of some sort. He gave the man a bottle of water and a serious look.
The man was thin and short, maybe five feet six inches tall, with heavy-lidded eyes, nostrils that flared, full lips, and a scraggly beard. He had a scar on his arm, one that Morgese recognized as consistent with a gunshot entry wound. In 1998, during an antidrug operation, Morgese had engaged in a firefight with a suspect whose leg was struck by a round from another officer’s Beretta pistol. He was familiar with scars caused by bullets.
Morgese gently grabbed the man’s arm and looked at the other side of it, seeing what looked like a larger, scarred-up exit hole.
“What happened?” Morgese asked him. “How did you get that?” The man looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard him.
“What happened?” Morgese asked again.
Nervously, the man began uttering phrases in Arabic and shaking his book.
Morgese told him to calm down and take a seat. He called for Ismail, a Somali interpreter who spoke Arabic and Hausa, a language used in parts of West Africa.
“Why are you so agitated?” Morgese asked, through Ismail. “How did you get those wounds?”
The odd and vaguely threatening little man explained: his name was Ibrahim Adnan Harun. He was Nigerian. He had recently arrived at Lampedusa aboard a boat.
And the scar?
That was from a gunshot. “American soldiers,” he said.
“Do you have any other wounds?” Morgese asked. “Where did this happen?”
The man who called himself Ibrahim Adnan Harun motioned for Morgese to follow him through a door to another part of the ship. There he lifted his shirt and turned around, displaying even more bullet scars on his back. Harun and Ismail began conversing in Hausa as Morgese watched. With each sentence Harun uttered, Ismail’s face grew more shocked, even horrified.
“What is he saying?” Morgese asked Ismail.
“He says he’s not a refugee, he’s an al Qaeda fighter,” Ismail said. “He fought American soldiers.”
Morgese’s mind instantly went to the threats Gaddafi would make to export the war in Libya to Europe by sending jihadis there. (“Jihad” literally means fight, battle, or holy war. In Islam, the greater jihad is the battle within oneself, while lesser jihad is physical war against others. Contemporary Islamist extremists mean it as holy war against nonbelievers, which is how the term is used here.) “Hundreds of Libyans will martyr in Europe,” the dictator warned. “I told you it is eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth.”
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Is Immigration Really So Lonely?
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Photo-Illustration: Vulture; Photo: Hogarth
Long novels demand respect. Entering a bookstore and picking up a 600-page literary novel, many readers will make an instinctive calculation: This must be serious. No author would spill so much ink without having something essential to say. A reader’s expectations may rise further if the writer were, say, a hermetic celebrity who has not published a book for 19 years — and higher still if that famous novelist were writing about writing, staking her claim on the form of the novel itself.
In this instance, the writer is Kiran Desai, the novel is The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, and the page count is 688. Booker longlisted already, it’s the follow-up to Desai’s 2006 Booker-winning superhit The Inheritance of Loss. And it is a big swing. Set primarily in India and the United States between 1996 and 2002, and told in an omniscient third person that nods to the 19th-century Russian novel, it combines various traditions of realism: It’s part marriage plot, part trauma plot, and part novel of manners. Most ambitiously, it’s a book concerned with Indian identity that levels a metacommentary on the very act of writing about identity. Desai’s protagonists — Sunny, a reporter, and Sonia, an aspiring novelist — are isolated cosmopolitan writers. By choosing as protagonists two people writing about loneliness and identity — perennial themes in immigrant fiction — Desai aims to make well-trodden terrain her own.
The marriage plot forms the spine of the novel and is largely successful. The love story is an arranged-marriage tale, something Sonia’s first boyfriend calls a cliché in Indian fiction. Yet Desai offers a twist: The novel opens with the protagonists’ families attempting to matchmake; however, the initial proposal fails because Sunny secretly has a white girlfriend. Later, Sonia and Sunny get together on their own terms. Desai’s multipart meet-cute lets her challenge neat old-world–new-world dichotomies. Her marriage plot is about the complex ways immigration inflects intimacy and how the romantic is political. Sonia, who studied in the U.S. but cannot get a visa to return, feels like a burden to Sunny, who guards his green card jealously. “She was giving Sunny too much bad news, like a Third World relative whom your only choice is to ditch before their problems disrupt your First World life,” Desai writes. When the couple travel to Italy and Sunny can’t stop talking about refugees, they have a rare fight. Sonia tells Sunny, to his dismay, that she wants to enjoy her trip to the First World without worrying about “other Third-Worlders.” Here, Desai intelligently recasts the 19th-century marriage plot as a 21st-century story of global identity.
The romance, however, competes with the tale of trauma. Early on, Sonia falls into an abusive relationship with an older painter, Ilan — a romantic dynamic that Desai acknowledges as “a tedious stereotype of older, monster male artist and younger, aspiring female artist.” Desai tries to write past this stereotype by introducing a surreal plot point: Sonia literally loses her creative powers to Ilan when he steals her family heirloom, a protective amulet. Then, when she and Sunny get together, they are both haunted by a “ghost hound,” a manifestation of Sonia’s trauma. Such a high-concept literalization of trauma is, in 2025, about as clichéd as the stereotype it attempts to represent.
In the case of the novel of manners, Desai’s metanarration offers up as intertext Anna Karenina, which a rapt young Sonia reads. Desai does have a Tolstoyan talent for both empathizing with and skewering the upper classes from within. Sonia, Sunny, and their kin — people who can afford to vacation in Europe, though only after being humiliatingly interrogated to get a visa — are case studies in uneven privilege. When Desai writes into these complications, she triumphs. Sunny, for example, feels solidarity with his working-class immigrant neighbors in Queens while repressing the fact that his family funded his education with black money. Desai especially shines when rendering Sunny’s mother, Babita, a petty widow who raised her son to immigrate yet resents him for leaving her in India; her trip to London is ruined by the shameful sight of a desi cleaning a toilet, and she seeks out an exhibit about maharajas (the impressive kind of Indian) to inflate her sense of self. Through Babita, Desai puts forth many cogent observations about cosmopolitan Indians: “this striving to escape India felt patriotic,” she writes. “If you were a worthy Indian, you became an American.”
Material details are Desai’s specialty. Her gaze captures everything from a bobby-pinned henna toupee to a potato-chip bag floating downriver. At times, though, Desai goes too far, and those “millions of observations” make for purple prose. A kurta is “woven in the red of coconut husk, the khaki under a banyan, the purple of sea monsters drawn from the depths by monsoon tides and cast upon the beach.” The sentences get sloppier as the book nears its conclusion, a sure sign it is straining under the weight of its many competing elements.
The reason for the strain may lie in the novel’s least convincing preoccupation: the loneliness of migration and the difficulty of articulating one’s identity in a world that erases Indians. Because these themes form the framework that holds it all together, Desai must make the most of them for the novel to cohere. This task requires her to dramatize the concepts of loneliness and identity to say something original and surprising. This is challenging, in part because loneliness is such a familiar theme in the 21st-century Indian American novel (blame Jhumpa Lahiri and her literary inheritors). Of course, with precisely sketched social worlds, deep character development, and plots that turn ideas into narrative, novelists can always find new riffs on old themes. Indeed, with her well-imagined side characters and subplots, Desai does make loneliness specific: Babita’s loneliness leads to an intriguingly bloody (albeit rushed) crime story line, while Sunny’s friend Satya’s loneliness sends him on a comically meandering quest for an Indian bride.
The protagonists’ many plotlines, however, do not advance the concepts at stake in Sonia and Sunny. Desai’s attempts to relate Sonia and Sunny’s love story to her wider themes lead her to indulge in cliché. When they meet, they are immediately infatuated because they have both been lonely Indians in the West and because they are both fleeing relationships with shallowly characterized racists who sling insults about curry. In trying to capture the comfort of being with a fellow Indian, Desai uses essentializing platitudes: Sonia imagines Sunny and herself bound by “a culture so deep” with its “eternal waters”; Sunny, too, enjoying Sonia’s company, reflects that “dusk in India felt always settled, ancient, a civilization that had come to fullness.” These are uncritically written descriptions of immigrant nostalgia that readers of immigrant fiction will have encountered many times before — two people flattening a country and a culture, making it easier to imagine and easier to yearn for. A 2025 novel about immigrant identity, especially one that aims to say something about the representation of immigrant identity, owes its readers a bit more nuance.
It is a pity that the metacommentary in Sonia and Sunny is so inchoate, because, as an author and public figure, Desai is well positioned to sort through the rubble of our often inane representation discourse (and to articulate its wider social consequences). In addition to being a respected Indian novelist in her own right, Desai is a genetic heir to the postcolonial novel as a daughter of three-time Booker-shortlisted Anita Desai. She is also no stranger to the sensitivities and stakes of representing India for a western audience. While many global readers celebrated The Inheritance of Loss, the novel incited controversy on the subcontinent for its representation of Nepalis; there were threats of book-burnings in Kalimpong. Yet the essayistic musings in Sonia and Sunny read more like armchair postcolonialism than a major writer laying muscular claim to the novel as form.
Had Desai wished to more deeply explore such sociopolitical themes through the lives of her subjects, her ingeniously imagined secondary characters are waiting in the wings. In addition to Babita and Satya, there is Sonia’s aunt Mina Foi, a Hindu-raised woman besotted with Christianity. Desai might also have engaged more explicitly with politics. Sonia and Sunny takes place between two historic moments of anti-Muslim violence: the 1992 razing of a mosque in Ayodhya and the 2002 riots in Gujarat. The Hindu majority behind much of this violence also invoke the idea that a nation-state has a soul. It would have been fascinating to see Desai do more to contrast Sonia and Sunny’s perhaps “legitimate” desire to capture the truth of India with the logic of the conservative movements that lurk at the edges of the novel.
It is tempting to admire long novels solely for the sheer labor that goes into crafting them. And long novels are sometimes even more pleasurable for their glorious mess, assuming they add up to something fresh. But upon reaching page 688, it is disappointing to feel, despite Desai’s many talents, that Sonia and Sunny is ending very close to where it began.
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Sanjena Sathian
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The Book Club: Another Lynley crime novel, ‘The Barn,’ and a fresh take on ‘P&P’
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Editor’s note: The opinions of the smart, well-read women in my Denver book club mean a lot, and often determine what the rest of us choose to pile onto our bedside tables. So we asked them, and all Denver Post readers, to share their mini-reviews with you. Have any to offer? Email bellis@denverpost.com. – Barbara Ellis
“A Slowly Dying Cause,” by Elizabeth George (Viking, 2025)
George follows her typical, successful formula, but with intriguing new details in her latest Lynley crime novel. A murder in Cornwall. Too many potential suspects. A distracted lead investigator. Inspector Lynley and loyal sidekick Sgt. Havers swan in to show the locals how to run a murder investigation. Did I also detect a potential rekindled love interest for Lynley? Can’t wait for the next installment to find out. — 3 1/2 stars (out of 4); Kathleen Lance, Denver
“Alfie & Me: What Owls Know, What Humans Believe,” by Carl Safina (W.W. Norton & Co., 2023) “Alfie & Me: What Owls Know, What Humans Believe,” by Carl Safina (W.W. Norton & Co., 2023)
The tiny creature originally looked like a wet washcloth and was not expected to live, but it survived and over time became identifiable as an Eastern screech owl. Luckily for us, the chick’s feathers were damaged and an early release back into the wild was impossible. So, Carl Safina listened, watched, and took meticulous notes as this little being gradually became a free-living owl spending most of its time a few feet from the author’s back door. His masterful telling of Alfie’s story would have been enough for me, but Safina, well established as one of the world’s best science writers and author of the acclaimed “Beyond Words,” has turned this story into something grand and monumental. Alfie’s coexistence with the author’s family and the progress she makes in her recovery inspires Safina to tap into his background in philosophy, religion, world literature and traditions. He lays out the most sensible and persuasive explanation as to how we got away from connection and onto the path of destruction that I have ever read. — 4 stars (out of 4); Michelle Nelson, Littleton
“The Barn: The Secret History of a Murder in Mississippi,” by Wright Thompson (Penguin Press, 2024)
This is a deeply researched account of the 1955 murder of Emmitt Till, the cultural circumstances that led up to it, and the resulting cover-up. Thompson argues forcefully about the South’s determination to forget its history rather than to learn from it. He grew up just miles from the barn in which Till was killed, and meticulously re-creates the horror of the times, the crimes, and its lessons. This is a story of power, of white supremacy, and the institutional racism that continues to contaminate our culture. The book made several “best” lists. A powerful read. — 4 stars (out of 4); Jo Calhoun, Denver
“Longbourn,” by Jo Baker (Knopf, 2013) “Fireweed,” by Lauren Haddad (Astra House, 2025)
Haddad explores issues of race, class and gender through the lens of a young woman living in a small industrial town in British Columbia. Jenny struggles with underemployment, loneliness, condescension from the men in her life, the disapproval of her cougar mother and, worst of all for her, her failure to conceive a child. Jenny moves beyond her prejudices to offer friendship to her First Nations neighbor. She is shocked when the police, along with everyone else in her life, turn a blind eye when that woman disappears. Yet, the community rallies and moves heaven and earth to find a missing white woman. The injustice is not lost on Jenny. Haddad chose the title “Fireweed,” because that ubiquitous plant is known as a wound healer, a hopeful metaphor. The Indigenous women of this novel sadly have little more than hope to go on. — 3 stars (out of 4); Kathleen Lance, Denver
“Longbourn,” by Jo Baker (Knopf, 2013)
Charming from the first page, “Longbourn” is a fresh look at the events of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” through the eyes of three servants in the Bennett household. This tale doesn’t require in-depth knowledge of P&P, but if you recall the main events your enjoyment will be greater. Baker wisely doesn’t attempt to write entirely in Austen’s wry style, but glimmers do peek through. The way Baker slips her story within Austen’s masterpiece is inventive and essentially seamless. The characters have depth, and I cannot choose a favorite: Sarah the maid, Mrs. Hill the cook/housekeeper, or James the footman. I felt for them all. — 4 stars (out of 4); Neva Gronert, Parker
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Barbara Ellis
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Book excerpt:
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In Priscilla Beaulieu Presley’s new memoir, “Softly, as I Leave You: Life After Elvis” (written with Mary Jane Ross, to be published Sept. 23 by Grand Central), she recounts what she lost when she divorced the King, and how she found herself – as a single mother, businesswoman and actress.
In the excerpt below, Priscilla writes about the events of August 16, 1977, when Elvis was found dead at Graceland, and the effect upon her and their daughter, Lisa Marie.
Read the excerpt below, and don’t miss Lee Cowan’s interview with Pricilla Presley on “CBS Sunday Morning” September 21!
“Softly, as I Leave You: Life After Elvis” by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley
Prefer to listen? Audible has a 30-day free trial available right now.
On August 16, 1977, I was meeting my sister for lunch on Melrose Avenue. It was a strangely cold and damp day for summer in Los Angeles. As I neared the restaurant, Michelle was flagging me down from the corner across the street. When I came to a stop, she rushed over to the car. She told me that she’d just had a call from Dad. Joe Esposito was phoning all over, trying to get a hold of me. It was something about Elvis being in the hospital. My heart stopped. I knew Joe wouldn’t be doing that if it was just another of Elvis’s hospital stays. Something must be terribly wrong.
I did a U-turn and raced home, running traffic lights and going far too fast. Cars skidded to a halt to miss me. It’s a miracle I didn’t get hit. All the way home, I prayed over and over, “Dear God, please let it be all right.” Lisa was at Graceland, due to come home later that day, so she was part of whatever was happening.
When I reached home, I could hear the phone ringing as I got out of the car. I prayed it would keep ringing until I reached it. I let myself into the house with shaking hands and grabbed the receiver.
It was Joe. I said, “What’s happened?” He replied, “It’s Elvis.”
“Oh my God.”
“Cilla, he’s dead. We’ve lost him.” His voice broke.
I began screaming, “No! No, no, no, no, no!” I started to sob, and I could hear Joe crying on the other end of the line.
“Joe, where’s Lisa?”
“She’s okay. She’s with Grandma.” I asked Joe to send a plane for me, as quickly as he could, and hung up. The questions I needed answered would have to wait.
A few minutes later, the phone rang again, and when I picked it up, I heard Lisa’s voice saying, “Mommy! Mommy! Something’s happened to Daddy! Everybody’s crying.”
I could hear Vernon’s voice in the background, sobbing and saying, “My son! My son!”
I told Lisa, “I know, baby,” and reassured her that Daddy’s plane was coming for me soon. I told her to wait with Grandma until I got there. She said she was going outside to play with her friend.
I hung up in a kind of daze. I couldn’t absorb what Joe had told me. How could Elvis be dead? I had just talked to him two days before. He’d sounded good.
Joe sent Elvis’s private plane, the Lisa Marie, to pick up Michelle and me, my parents, Jerry Schilling, and a handful of other close friends to fly us to Memphis. When we got to Graceland, I found Lisa playing golf carts in the yard with one of her friends. At first, I thought it was an odd reaction, and I worried about what the paparazzi would make of Lisa playing in the wake of her father’s death. But then I realized it was a child’s way of escaping the reality of the silent house. I hugged her close, then went inside.
I still didn’t know what had happened, so Joe told me. Ginger had found Elvis unconscious, face down on the floor of the bathroom, that afternoon. She called downstairs for help, and Joe had raced upstairs. He knew immediately that Elvis had passed, but he didn’t want to believe it. My heart plummeted as Joe confirmed that Lisa had seen Elvis’s body. Elvis was still face down on the floor when she saw him, his face buried in the shag carpet. Lisa had been afraid he was suffocating. Joe wasn’t sure if she’d understood what she was seeing. He’d sent her to see Grandma while the ambulance came. He did chest compressions while they waited for the ambulance. A doctor continued efforts to resuscitate Elvis as they raced to the hospital, but all the efforts were futile. Shortly after arrival, Elvis was pronounced dead. Apparently, it was a heart attack.
Inside Graceland, the atmosphere was eerie. The house seemed hollow and dead. It was as if the energy had been sucked out of it—Elvis’s life force. We all walked around like zombies. Vernon was distraught. He felt Elvis’s passing very, very deeply. It broke my heart to see such a strong man repeatedly call out his son’s name, tears streaming down his face. He was losing his only child. A part of Vernon was lost that day as well. I never again saw the energy he once had. When- ever he’d come into a room and said, “Hey, son,” his face would light up with a smile. I never saw that smile again. Grandma struggled to believe that Elvis was gone. After he left us, she always carried a little handkerchief. I’d see her tearing up, and she’d wipe her eyes and whisper, “My boy.”
There was no privacy for those of us closest to Elvis, including the family. People and cameras surrounded the property. Mourners waited to be admitted to the house for a public viewing of Elvis’s open casket. The funeral was a nationally televised event. The streets near Graceland were thronged with tens of thousands of people. The crowds were so large by the second day that President Jimmy Carter called up the Air National Guard to help local police. It was hot and muggy, and some in the crowd fainted from the heat and from emotion. In the afternoon, thousands of people filed past the open casket that had been set up in the front hall. Lisa stayed with Elvis’s body as much as she could. She didn’t want to leave him. We sat on the stairs and watched as people walked by. Crowds of strangers in Elvis’s home, crying and paying their respects. Some mourners had walked away from their jobs to drive sixteen hours or more to Memphis and line up along Elvis Presley Boulevard, hoping to be admitted to the house. The trip was a financial sacrifice for many of them, for much of the crowd was made up of the everyday people who identified with Elvis as one of their own. He, too, had come from poverty. He had remained loyal to his hometown and his family, and he never got above his upbringing. They felt compelled to pay their respects as they would to a family member. It was overwhelming. There wasn’t room yet for our own grief.
His memorial was an international event. While mourners gathered in Memphis, Christ’s Church in London held a service in Elvis’s honor. Over five hundred people crowded the sanctuary and the lawn outside. At the close of the service, they all sang “Amazing Grace” in his honor. Elvis’s passing was felt not just in Memphis, but around the world.
The private funeral service was held in the living room and adjoining music room, with the peacock glass framing an archway between the two. Elvis’s coffin was moved into the room for the service. Vernon had hired a local preacher who didn’t know Elvis and who talked primarily about Elvis’s legendary generosity. The Blackwood Brothers, longtime friends and backup singers for Elvis, sang gospel songs. I sat on the couch with Lisa and Vernon, numb with grief. It was all a blur at the time, and it still is.
Lisa and I waited until we could be alone with Elvis to say goodbye. I had bought a silver bracelet engraved with the words, “I love you, Daddy,” for Lisa to give him. I helped her put it around his wrist. Then we each kissed him one last time. I’m not sure it hit me until then that he was really gone. The body I had held and caressed so many times was now stiff and empty. It was an eerie, aching feeling.
A line of white Cadillacs formed the funeral procession to the Forest Hill Cemetery. Lisa and I rode with Vernon in the car immediately following the hearse. Elvis was entombed in the Presley family crypt with his mother. Two days later, after two thieves tried to steal the coffin, he was moved to the Meditation Garden at Graceland and kept under security. Gladys was moved to Graceland shortly afterward, to lie beside him. Elvis and I used to sit in that garden in the small hours of the morning, in the peace and the moonlight. I was glad they had brought him home.
Vernon had a bronze plaque made to cover the coffin, with an inscription ending, “We miss you, Son and Daddy.”
I returned home to LA with Lisa, feeling that a large part of me had died with Elvis. I couldn’t accept that he had passed. I’d felt Elvis would always be there. He was such a force of nature. Despite all my fears for him, I never thought he would die at the age he did. He was still so young. He’d talked so much about what he still wanted to do. He had plans for his music and for his life. Elvis wasn’t ready to leave. I wasn’t ready.
It was a constant battle to accept that he was gone. Every morning, I would wake up and remember, “Oh God, Elvis isn’t here anymore. How can I live knowing that?” I was frightened to be in a world without Elvis in it.
There would be no more calls. I would never again pick up the phone and hear his voice. There would be no more visits, no more dropping by unexpectedly. I wouldn’t be going to Graceland anymore, except to visit Grandma and Vernon. There was no more Memphis Mafia. Everybody scattered. Everything changed. I changed. I had been happy-go-lucky, always excited about where we were going or what we were doing next. I had finally adjusted to the separation, feeling free and adventurous. Optimistic. My memories of Elvis had been happy ones. When I went somewhere we’d been, I would think, “Oh my gosh, we went here.” I remembered the times fans would cling to him and want pictures. They loved him and didn’t want to let him go, and when he tried to escape, a trail of girls would follow him. It had been fun. He had so much charm and was so generous to loved ones and strangers alike. It filled him with joy when he was able to do something special for other people.
Now my mind was filled with images of loss. I couldn’t get away from reminders of him. The media was filled with articles and broadcasts about Elvis, and his songs flooded the radio stations. If I went out, people would come over and say, “I’m so sorry.” I knew they meant well, but it was painful. For a long time after Elvis passed, I rarely went anywhere. I waited a while to continue with my life.
Worst of all, I no longer had a father for my daughter. I was raising my child by myself, a brokenhearted child who had lost her daddy. When we got back home from the funeral, we were surrounded by reminders of his passing. I had to protect her from all the news reports, the unwanted attention, the nonstop condolence calls. It seemed like every newspaper and magazine had a headline about his passing. If Lisa and I went to the grocery store, I’d pull the ones with headlines out of the rack and turn them around in the checkout line so Lisa wouldn’t see them. To get her away from the constant reminders, I decided to send her to summer camp. I hoped it would not only insulate her from the publicity but also take her mind off her thoughts. Joanie’s kids and some of her other friends were there. I checked on her regularly at camp, and she seemed to be doing pretty well. She later said that camp had helped. When it ended for the summer, my sister and I took her out of the country to give her some privacy until the incessant publicity died down. We went to England and later to Europe. We were seldom recognized there, and we could explore the sights in peace.
Adapted from “Softly, As I Leave You: Life After Elvis” by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley with Mary Jane Ross, published on September 23, 2025. Copyright © 2025 by GLDE, Inc. Used by arrangement with Grand Central Publishing, a division of Hachette Book Group. All rights reserved.
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“Softly, as I Leave You: Life After Elvis” by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley
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Vanity Fair France Is Launching a Literary Prize
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The jury, headed by former Cannes Festival president Pierre Lescure, includes a number of leading figures from the world of cinema: actress Camille Cottin, who was on our cover just a few months ago, will soon be starring in Pierre Schoeller’s Rembrandt; Alice Winocour, whose film Couture, starring Angelina Jolie, is eagerly awaited (spoiler: we’ve seen it, and it’s a great film); successful screenwriter Noé Debré, who is also the director of A Good Jewish Boy; Thibault Gast, producer of, among others, Fresh Water for Flowers, the forthcoming adaptation of Valérie Perrin’s bestseller; and Sayyid El Alami, a young actor introduced in Oussekine, and soon to headline Fief, the adaptation of David Lopez’s novel. Two authors will be representing the literary world: Anne Berest, the novelist who just released Finistère and wrote the script for Rebecca Zlotowski’s next film, A Private Life; and Karine Tuil, whose Les Choses Humaines was brought to the screen by Yvan Attal in The Accusation. Literary podcast producer Léa Marchetti, VF France’s literary page contributor, will complete this prestigious jury. The three winners will be announced on October 16 at an awards ceremony to be held in the salons of the Paris’s glamorous Le Meurice Hotel.
The launch of this award is also an opportunity to introduce a new feature on our pages. Each month, a director will explain the adaptation of his or her dreams. As Julien Gracq once said, “For a novel to become a really good film, the film has to be something else.” Our aim is twofold: to highlight great books before dreaming up great films.
The Nominees: thirteen books across three categories
Novel
Tssitssi, Claire Castillon (Gallimard)
La Condition artificielle, Paul Monterey (Le Cherche Midi)
La Bonne Mère, Mathilda Di Matteo (L’Iconoclaste)
Le monde est fatigué, Joseph Incardona (Finitude)Non-fiction
De silence et d’or, Ivan Butel (Globe)
La Jeune Fille et la mort, Negar Haeri (Seuil)
Vasarely, l’héritage maudit, Julie Malaure (Le Cherche Midi)
Goutted’Or connexion, Tess and Marc Fernandez (Flammarion)
Mon vrai nom est Elisabeth, Adèle Yon (Le Sous-Sol)Graphic novels
Les gorilles du général, Julien Telo and Xavier Dorison (Casterman)
Albertine a disparu, Vincenzo Bizzarri, François Vignolle and Vincent Guerrier (Glénat)
Sanglier, Lisa Blumen (L’Employé du Moi)
Pyongyang parano, Emmanuelle Delacomptée, Antoine Dreyfus and Fanny Briant (Marabulles)Originally published in Vanity Fair France.
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Hugo Wintrebert
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How Half Price Books is Staying Vigilant in the Fight Against Censorship
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Though book bans aren’t new, many researchers and insiders in the book business agree that censorship efforts seem to be increasing. We at the Observer know this, too, which is why this year’s Best of Dallas issue is themed around banned books…
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Rhema Joy Bell
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How Quentin Tarantino Bent Los Angeles to His Will to Make ‘Once Upon a Time in Hollywood’
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The following is excerpted from The Making of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, (Insight Editions, out October 28).
“Rick, how are you doing with getting Hollywood Boulevard for me?” Quentin asked his location manager, Rick Schuler. “I’m doing well,” Schuler replied.
Quentin looked at his first assistant director, Bill Clark, and looked at Schuler. “Doing well” was not going to cut it. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood was a Los Angeles story, a Hollywood story, and it needed to be filmed in Los Angeles. It needed Hollywood as a backdrop. He wanted to convert Los Angeles back to 1969 — “You know, literally street by street, block by block.”
Jay Glennie’s The Making of Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
Schuler had been in discussion with the California Film Commission for weeks. Under Quentin’s gaze, he admitted, “Well, I think I’m 80 percent there.”
“Rick, if there’s anything I can do to help you out, I’ll be willing to do that,” Quentin replied.
Production designer Barbara Ling was also anxious to know what it was she was going to be working with. Schuler had been asking the Hollywood powers that be, responsible for the economic success of their city, to shut down eight blocks.
“They had been, like, ‘Eight blocks? No way!’ and had said no a hundred times,” Ling recalls. “I also remember, eight blocks was freaking out the producers budget-wise.”
Schuler had an idea how he could utilize the filmmaker’s extraordinary enthusiasm and will to best use. He had an idea he wanted to run by Bill Clark: Schuler had a meeting with the Hollywood neighborhood council. Would Quentin be willing to address them — just talk about the project? Talk about the movie, what Hollywood meant to him? It could help get things over the line.
The day of the meeting, Schuler sprung it on Quentin and Clark that he wanted to make the filmmaker the surprise star act of his pitch and have him come in at the end. Nobody on the council would know he was there beforehand.
“For whatever reason, Rick thought it would be best if he kept Quentin a surprise to the council members,” Clark says.
But what was Schuler to do with Quentin in the meantime? Of course, you hide a two-time Oscar-winning writer-director in a windowless broom closet with his trusted first A.D. It is going to be only for a few minutes, right?
Quentin took one seat, Clark the other. “I tried to keep QT entertained as best I could so he wouldn’t become irritated by sitting in this little room for so long,” Clark recalls. In the main hall, Schuler was trying to work out when he would be seen.
When his turn on the agenda finally arrived, after he’d had a chance to warm up the panel and explain the needs of the production, Schuler said there was somebody else who wished to say a few words. “When Quentin walked in, their jaws just went straight to the floor,” Schuler recalled. “He had been hiding in the closet for nearly an hour, and I had no idea if he was going to be pissed at me! But he looked at me and I nodded, and he started talking. Without notes, he explained to them that he was brought up in Hollywood. He now owned a theater in the neighborhood. He is doing a movie about Hollywood and celebrating Hollywood and needed their backing and support.”
The 15-strong panel’s mouths were still agape as Quentin took his leave, followed by Clark and Schuler. Summoned back later in the day, Schuler received the news he had been hoping for: unanimous approval to shut down Hollywood Boulevard. Quentin’s petition had won the day.
Barbara Ling and her production design team could now go about transforming Hollywood back to how it was in 1969. During their early exploratory chats, a line from Quentin resonated with her: “Imagine an 8-year-old boy lying in the back of his parents’ car. Well, the movie is his point of view.” It was this line, sparse in creative detail but evocative, that spurred her on to bring Quentin’s vision to the screen. The race was on.
To re-create the Hollywood Boulevard of his youth, Quentin wanted realism as far as the eye could see. Movie star Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), had to drive a length and take the viewer back to ’69. Eight blocks would see them fine. However, for eight blocks, a discussion was needed.
At all times, Quentin wanted for his partners — those who have financed the movie — to make back their investment. It is a matter of pride that he brings his movies in on time and on budget. And so, when producer David Heyman broached the idea of cutting back from eight blocks to a financially manageable three, he was expecting pushback from an auteur director who would stop at nothing to have his vision brought to the screen unimpeded.
“But, do you know what?” Heyman says. “He was dreamy, just dreamy. There were challenging moments — some bits were not easy — but he was like a teddy bear. I wish all directors were like Quentin.”
Taking over city blocks, whether three or eight of them, comes at a cost, and liaising with the various business owners did not come cheap. “There was a feeling that if you mentioned Quentin’s name, then everybody would open up, give you access,” Schuler says. “But these locations see Quentin’s name and Sony as the studio, and then you have Leo and Brad driving down Hollywood Boulevard, and their thinking is there is money in the pot. It always comes down to money. That caused friction with the budget.”
“It was a location-heavy show, I know, but the money leaving the production offices was huge,” production manager Georgia Kacandes adds. “The fees had to be negotiated down.”
Like Quentin, Barbara Ling was a child of the city. She got it. Ling was older than Quentin. She had used fake IDs to enter many of the clubs and bars Quentin had written about. She had hitchhiked along the winding streets of L.A. She was an Angeleno. Her excitement matched that of Quentin, who could not wait to get going. He wanted to smell the Hollywood of 1969. From the get-go, Ling knew that Quentin wanted to replicate 1969 for real — none of this fake digital nonsense, it had to be all in camera. If Rick, Cliff and Sharon were there, you’d best believe that they were really there. “I don’t ever want to be standing in front of a greenscreen or a bluescreen ever, Barbara!”
“Good!”
This chimed with Ling, who had come from a world of theater. You had to be able to touch it. Yes, she got it.
“But the sad thing with Los Angeles is that they just can’t stop ripping things down!” she laments. “L.A.’s just a very nonpreservation town, unfortunately. But the exciting thing with Quentin is, he wanted the locations practical. Look, he had no problem with using visual effects to erase something that was not in keeping with the era. CGI helps you create downward: You can make a street go longer, but when it comes to close-up, I just think it fails.”
“Ultimately, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood was so well-received, and a lot of that was due to everything being practical,” Ling says. “Careers were dumbed down a bit by CGI — particularly, CGI in foreground. You can just tell you can’t touch that building. You can walk by it, but you can’t touch it.”
Leonardo DiCaprio was transported back in time. “I have driven up and down Sunset Boulevard my whole life,” he says. “To go to school, my mom would drive me, and I saw the changing of Los Angeles. During the late ’70s, I would deliver comic books with my dad on Sunset. We’d go to head shops — bong shops — and this kind of thing. People were wearing tie-dye.
Rick and his driver, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), at Musso’s bar.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
“Well, what Quentin did was so spectacular,” the actor adds, marveling. “He redressed those blocks. I mean, that was a monumental moment and a great historic cinematic memory for me. No CGI — every fucking storefront was transformed. It was like I was a kid again.”
DiCaprio, knowing that his dad would get a kick out of seeing Hollywood transformed, invited him and his wife down for the day. “My dad has long white-gray hair and is still a hippie, right?” he says. “So I told him and his Sikh wife to come down: ‘Just wear your normal clothes — you’ll fit right in.’ “
Pulling onto Sunset, Rick’s mood is not lifted at the sight of the town he calls home being overrun by swarms of “fucking hippies!” Pitt, driving, brought the car to a stop at the junction.
“That’s my dad right there — my dad and my stepmom,” DiCaprio told him. Pitt laughed, and they waited to get the nod to pull out onto Hollywood Boulevard. DiCaprio looked at a smiling Pitt and said, “No, no, that is my dad.”
“Ha-ha! Yeah, right,” his disbelieving co-star replied.
“Brad, I’m not joking! It’s my dad. He’s right there. I invited him down because he fits right into 1969.”
“Wait — you’re fucking serious?”
“Yes, that is my father right there. Hey, Dad!”
“Hey, Leo!”
A giggling DiCaprio turned to his disbelieving driver.
“Ha! See, I told you!”
Booth speeds down Hollywood Boulevard.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) is running errands across Hollywood, including picking up a first-edition copy of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles for Roman Polanski from the Larry Edmunds Bookshop. This is Quentin paying homage to a real-life event, having learned that Sharon gifted a copy of the book to Roman shortly before her death.
“Oh my goodness, Quentin had every shop redesigned, and that really was a bookshop I walked into, and then I got to touch the Maltese Falcon statuette,” Robbie says, marveling. Seen in a bookshop reminiscent of the one Humphrey Bogart’s character visits in another John Huston classic, The Big Sleep, the statuette was designed by Fred Sexton for The Maltese Falcon. Its owner? Leonardo DiCaprio, who bought it at auction in 2010.
Margot Robbie walking on the streets of Hollywood was proving quite the draw, but no matter who the star is in a Quentin Tarantino movie, the director is the biggest draw. Crowds were forming. When permission to film in Hollywood was granted, a prerequisite with such a high-profile production on the city’s streets was safety. Clark and Schuler set about hiring a collection of production assistants — essentially, people with charisma who knew how to engage with others and make sure they were paying attention. Bicycle barricades were put in place, and when Clark called, “Switch sides,” a hundred people effortlessly shifted from one side of the road to the other. It helped that the PAs had a secret weapon in Quentin Tarantino.
Cinematographer Bob Richardson (seated) tracks Margot Robbie, as Sharon Tate.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
“It worked like a charm,” Clark says, laughing. “Quentin is amazing because he turned to the crowd and spoke with them just back and forth a little bit,” Schuler says, marveling. “It came naturally to Quentin. He loves making movies, and to him it was evident that the crowds that had turned up to watch him work loved movies, too. After speaking with them and signing a few autographs, he simply said, “I’ve got to go back to work — I’d really appreciate if you were quiet.” Silence prevailed.
Hey, Mark, would you ever be interested in my filming here sometime?”
“Hey, Quentin, of course— whatever you need. Just let me know.” Quentin was at the counter bar at Musso & Frank Grill, one of his favorite watering holes since he was a young kid. This particular evening, he was enjoying a martini with Christoph Waltz.
A few years later, Mark Echeverria, Musso & Frank’s COO, received an email from location manager Rick Schuler explaining that he was working on a project with Quentin that involved taking Hollywood back to 1969, and that Quentin wished to shoot a portion of the movie in Musso & Frank. Schuler explained further that, of course, there would be no need for any alterations to the restaurant. It would remain the same.
“That’s the beauty of Musso & Frank,” Echeverria says. “Our restaurant has not changed, and hardly anything had to be done to revert our restaurant to 1969.” Ling concedes from a production design perspective there wasn’t a lot to do. “Oh, they’re pretty iconic interiors,” says Barbara. “I mean, we had to change the cash registers and things like that. Tina Charad came in and reproduced all the menus from 1969.”
“Ultimately, I made my recommendation, and that was we should support Quentin,” Echeverria recalls. “I explained how the movie was on brand and of the respect Quentin and Rick had showed us by coming so far in advance. It was, for me, a no-brainer.
“Most of our bartenders and employees have a personal relationship with Quentin, as he has been such a regular, and it was more of shooting something with a friend — but, yes, ultimately, we all knew the magnitude of what was going on.”
DiCaprio and Tarantino prepare a scene in Rick Dalton’s home.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
Three years after Frank Toulet opened the doors to his restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard in 1919, Joseph Musso joined the operation, and the now-famous grill, with its red leather booths, mahogany bar and first public phone booth, quickly became the go-to place for celebrity Angelenos — a real home away from home for the likes of Charlie Chaplin, Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra and Elizabeth Taylor, who mixed cheek-by-jowl with such literary giants as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Dorothy Parker and John Steinbeck. The same year Toulet and Musso joined forces, Buster Keaton used the restaurant as a location for his film Cops. It would quickly become a favorite location for filmmakers, and Quentin knew he wanted his name associated with its illustrious past.
After Rick’s meeting at Musso & Frank with his agent (Al Pacino), Cliff drives the actor back home to his house on Cielo Drive. Rick sets about fixing himself a drink or eight, and his neighbors, Roman and Sharon, leave for a night of fun with the fun people of Hollywood.
Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) meets with his agent (Al Pacino) in a scene shot at Musso & Frank Grill.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
Cliff is in his Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, heading home. His smooth, almost sensual, and yet authoritative gear changes see the stuntman treat the bend in the road as though it is a tight turn on a racecourse to be navigated. Accelerating out of Cielo Drive, the small car propels down the road, leaving behind the acrid stench of burnt rubber in the night air.
A decorated war veteran, Cliff understands risks, and what would be for some a ponderous journey home from work takes him no time at all — all befitting a stuntman who knows how to handle a car at speed. Quentin, as ever, wanted to see his actor’s face in the shot.
“There was no way Brad was going to let somebody else behind the wheel,” cinematographer Bob Richardson insists. “That was never a question from Brad. I’m betting he was doing 50 — he was just flying down there. We had a camera mounted behind him, and the camera car was struggling to keep up with him. Look, Brad was fully in control, but he was fast.”
“OK, no problem for Brad to be driving,” Quentin’s longtime stunt coordinator Zoë Bell agrees, “but Brad is one of the leads, and so one of the things that I fought for was that we had at least a square. That is four stunt drivers who flank Brad. They’re moving in and out so if he fucks up or one of the precision drivers does — precision drivers are basically extras who are qualified drivers, but I cannot speak of their skill — if one of those precision drivers fucks up or Brad’s brakes fail, a couple of stunt drivers can come together in a pincer and nudge a car to a stop. They’re always alert. They have those instincts.
“It is hard to place, to justify, the cost on this,” Bell says. “Brad is a lead actor, one of the stars of the movie. You’re obviously thinking of Brad’s safety, but also, if anything happens to him, it will have consequences for Quentin, the production, and blow back on me. No, I wanted everything covered.”
The stunt coordinator may have been looking out for Brad, but his speedy driving in the Karmann Ghia nearly caused a casualty. “I nearly drove over Zoë — thankfully she has calisthenic reflexes,” laughs Pitt.
If Cliff was going to get on the freeway, then Quentin would need a freeway for him to get onto. Schuler had to pull in some favors from his friends at the California Highway Patrol. He had worked closely with them organizing access for the movie CHiPs, and he scooted up to Sacramento for another round of negotiations.
“I told them that we wanted to shut down the Hollywood freeway and the 101 freeway and showed them the two exits,” Schuler recalls. “I explained to them that we needed to have rolling breaks — rolling breaks are the cops holding the traffic — between the hours we needed, slowing things down in both directions, so it was limited.”
Quentin would be asked if the trucks and cars whizzing by Brad Pitt were CGI.
“No, no, fuck no,” he would insist. “Those motherfuckers were all real.”
Pitt, as Cliff Booth, lies back in his character’s Volkswagen Karmann Ghia.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
Brad was just buzzing that he had a once-in-a-lifetime experience “to cruise down Hollywood Boulevard with no traffic or speed limit! And in a cool car. Well, it is a Q.T. film, so it is never gonna be a shit box!”
It is very clear what I said, what I asked for. What is to interpret? So how come we are not doing it?” First A.D. Bill Clark had heard similar refrains from Quentin over the years, but here, he was truly saddened. His director had a shot in mind, and he needed a suitable location to make it a reality — and it was proving elusive.
“Look, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is the only movie I have written where I started with the end,” Quentin explains. “I thought, ‘What if Mr. Indestructible was over at his actor’s house and that actor lived next door to Sharon Tate, and Tex and the girls went to that house instead?’ And then the line came to me: ‘Those hippies sure picked the wrong motherfucking house that night.’ I thought it was a neat idea,” he adds. “But to pull it off, we had to be able to do two things: We had to have the scenes in the front and the gates to the neighboring house to the side. You had to have a sense of the two houses together, and I had to do the shot in the backyard on Rick and his pool, and then the camera goes down into where you see Sharon and Roman drive away, and then I needed that last shot.
“That shot was in my head from the get-go, but we just weren’t finding what I needed, and I am not being shown what I am having in my head,” Quentin recalls. “We had to find two houses whereby we could pull it off. I was trying to make something work from what I was being shown.”
“Quentin got very close to begrudgingly making a compromise,” says Clark, “and I wasn’t happy about that because ultimately, the movie was going to suffer. It is Quentin’s job to be dissatisfied and to push us. He was getting flustered with the places we were seeing — nothing was right.”
Location scouting is a long and arduous trek. You have to put in the hard yards to find the pearls. But the houses the team was viewing were not getting any better — they were getting worse. Clark decided to take matters into his own hands and get back on the road. He gave cinematographer Bob Richardson a call.
“Let’s make it happen, White Devil!”
This attitude typified why Quentin likes Bill by his side. “That’s Bill,” Quentin says. “He says to Bob, ‘We’re not finding what Quentin wants. Well, we know exactly what Quentin wants, so let’s start driving around the Hollywood Hills until we find the fucking houses we need.’ “
Clark resorted to poring over Google Maps and satellite views. He knew that it was going to call for a cold scout, requiring them to just knock on doors. So after another busy wrap on yet another scouting day, he and Richardson, maps on laps, set off.
During two days of intense driving, they pulled into a cul-de-sac off Laurel Canyon. There was a frisson of excitement. They saw a gate. They saw a house with a drive. Turning to Richardson, Clark said, “That’s a cool house.” And then the front door opened to reveal a woman bringing out a trash can. They hopped out of their car, and Clark quickly made the introductions.
“Hey!” Bill called out. “Hi! This is Bob, and I’m Bill.”
Explaining who they were and what they were up to, they asked whether she owned the house. “Yes,” she replied. “My renters are moving out, and I’m just clearing things up.” The levels of excitement just went through the roof.
“You’re kidding!”
If she was renting out the house, then they could rent it on behalf of Quentin Tarantino, right? Turning, they spied the gates to the neighboring property. “What’s up with those gates?” “Oh, that guy used to be an actor. They’re really nice people. They’re away on vacation right now.”
Fuck!
Looking though the woman’s door, they spotted a swimming pool. Clark and Richardson looked at each other and asked the silent question: “That’s Rick pool, right?” The pair could not contain themselves, and they obtained an invitation to have a look around the house.
Facades along three blocks of Hollywood Boulevard were replaced to take L.A. back to the ’60s. The Larry Edmunds Bookshop, the Pussycat Theater and Peaches were all re-created.
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory (2)
Quentin could see his final shot taking shape. Clark and Richardson wanted to get inside the neighbor’s property. Ling wanted to get inside, and you’d best believe that Quentin wanted to see what was behind those gates and up that drive.
“Look, it is as I often say,” Clark proclaims. “God is a Tarantino fan.”
As they were all thinking about the possibilities of the location, up drove a BMW into the cul-de-sac. Schuler’s years of location scouting told him that this dude was a player in their forthcoming story.
Pulling up alongside the minivan Schuler and Quentin sat in, the owner of the BMW rolled down his window, and Schuler did the same. Now, both participants in the drama could see into each other’s vehicles. BMW Dude, spotting Quentin, of course recognized one of the town’s favorite sons.
Schuler began his spiel: “I’m here with Quentin Tarantino, and I’m interested in your house. Can we talk about the new Quentin Tarantino movie?”
“Sure!”
The automatic gates opened. It was Hollywood — of course they did.
Excerpt text and images © 2025 Insight Editions. Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory, from Jay Glennie’s The Making of Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood (out Oct. 28).
***
The Making of the Making of
How author Jay Glennie earned Tarantino’s approval — and the exclusive right to tell the behind-the-scenes stories of all the director’s films.
Jay Glennie’s The Making of Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood
2025 Insight Editions/Provided courtesy of Insight Editions & The Story Factory
“I was saying to Q last night that these books are written for two people, me and him,” Jay Glennie says over Zoom from his home office in rural England, a cattle shed stacked floor-to-ceiling with movie history books. “My assumption being that if we both got a kick out of it, somebody else will as well.” Q in this instance refers to Quentin Tarantino, with whom Glennie has been toiling away for hundreds of hours on a new coffee table book on the making of 2019’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, from which the adjoining article is excerpted.
The final product, published by Insight Editions in the U.S. and Titan Books in the U.K., arrives everywhere books are sold on Oct. 28. The 500-page volume is brimming with costumes, props and set photos, new interviews with Tarantino and the cast — established A-listers like Leo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt and Margot Robbie, as well as future ones like Mikey Madison, Austin Butler and Sydney Sweeney — and behind-the-scenes anecdotes from the production team.
It’s all woven together with 170,000 words of accompanying text by Glennie, a humble cinephile who has gained an international reputation as the Cecil B. DeMille of “making of” movie books. It was one of those — 2019’s One Shot: The Making of The Deer Hunter — that drew the admiration of Tarantino. “Jay’s book brought back to me the way my dear departed friend Michael Cimino’s picture has — since the day of its release — held a significant place in my heart and memory and has been my barometer for artistic achievement inside the Hollywood studio system and memory,” the director writes in his intro to the new book.
“So we’ve got emails going, and we’re on a Zoom, a few bottles of wine consumed either end, and next thing you know, I’m booking a flight to Los Angeles,” Glennie recalls of his first conversation with the director. “Suddenly we’re doing 10 books together.”
The Making of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood features a “9” on its spine. Nine more books are planned, one for each of Tarantino’s films — including his still unannounced 10th and (allegedly) final project. The next installment, about the making of Inglourious Basterds, is already nearing completion, while the next three in the series are slated to be Django Unchained, Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. — SETH ABRAMOVITCH
This story appeared in the Sept. 18 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.
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Lexy Perez
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Here’s How to Read on Your Kindle in Just About Any Language
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Looking to learn a new language? Reading is a great way to start, and you don’t need a physical book to do it: Here’s how to change your Kindle’s language (and download books in other languages!) to learn right from your favorite e-reader.
Reading a different language helps you expand your vocabulary and nail down nuances like sentence structure, and for visual learners like myself it can be the ideal way to start really learning information. Lucky for all of us e-reader lovers, Kindle’s ebook store has books in all kinds of languages that you can purchase or download through Kindle’s subscription services like Kindle Unlimited and Kids+. You can always send an ebook from your library that’s in your learning language of choice to your e-reader, too.
But it’s not just with books: You can change your Kindle’s settings to switch the device itself to speak in one of 10 languages: German, English, Spanish, French, Italian, Dutch, Portuguese, Russian, Japanese, and Chinese. Here’s how to do it and how to find books in other languages.
How to Change Your Kindle’s Language Settings
Photograph: Nena Farrell
Changing the settings is pretty easy. You’ll head to the Settings menu on your Kindle and select Device options, and then one of the options will be Languages and Dictionaries. You’ll choose that option, and there will be four items to choose from: Language, Dictionaries, Keyboards, and Chinese Characters Sort Order.
The Language menu will do what you expect, letting you choose from among the device’s 10 languages to set your device to. Changing the language will prompt the Kindle to restart and load itself in your chosen language, though the books in your library will remain in their original language. Dictionaries will give you options based on your language of choice. (English has two different Oxford dictionaries, for example.)
Keyboards lets you add keyboards in different languages without actually changing your Kindle’s overall language. There are more keyboard options—27 total—than language options on the Kindle. This is because some languages have more than one keyboard option: English, Spanish, and Japanese each have two keyboards to choose from, while Chinese has three. But you’ll also see keyboards for other languages you can’t change the entire device to, like Arabic and Swedish.
The final setting in the Languages menu will sort Chinese characters, if Chinese is a language you choose. There are three sort orders (Hanyu Pinyin, Stroke Order, and Zhuyin Fuhao) to choose from.
How to Download Books in Other Languages
Photograph: Nena Farrell
In the same way you can obtain books in your preferred language through various methods, you can also access books in different languages on your Kindle.
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Nena Farrell
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Matthew McConaughey Says He’s “Peddling Belief” as a Writer and—Maybe—a Politician
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It reminds me of this quote I heard from the director Mark Waters. We were having an argument about a scene, and I didn’t want to do this one thing that he wanted to do. He finally goes, “Okay, that’s fine.” He goes, “You know what, McConaughey? You’re seldom wrong, but there’s more than one way to be right.” I’m like, “Oh, touché. You got me.”
I don’t think she’s read that one yet. I think she’ll get a kick out of that one. She’ll go, “Oh, I remember. I bet you I know when you wrote this.”
She hasn’t read the full book yet?
Well, I don’t know if she has. She may tell me afterwards she has. She’s been pretty mum about it. She’s read some and likes quite a few, but she hasn’t brought that one up. I think it’s a side of me that she’d be glad I’m sharing. Poems and prayers are almost the opposite of certainty. I can be very academic and pragmatic and practical. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but that can be exhausting. Not only for ourselves, but others. It’s like, “Hey, come on, man. Take the rough edges off a little bit. We’re jiving here.”
What was making you feel cynical?
The world, the news, the amount of sirens I’m hearing going by. The amount of times I was seeing people, adults, mothers, fathers, thinking it was fine to just be completely irresponsible and almost bad examples for their kids, and thinking that was just fine and be like, “They’ll be fine.”
Irresponsible in what way?
“Hey, win at all costs, no rules to this game called life, just win, lie, cheat, steal and if they’re trying to score on it, move the goalpost while the ball’s in the air, it’s fine.”
Hey, what? Hang on a minute. “If you get yours, however you can git it, takin’ the shortcut, you win in life.” No. I’m not ready to purchase that for myself, for us, or as a thing to be teaching our children.
You have a section in the book called “Man Up,” and several of the poems address questions of what it means to be a good man. There are a lot of conversations, from all directions, about a so-called crisis of masculinity in America. What do you think of that?
I think there’s a crisis of masculinity. I think there’s a crisis of femininity. I think there’s a crisis of humanity. I know I’ve talked to many young men that don’t have a bearing, don’t have a compass, don’t have a North Star that they’re looking toward with how to act, treat others and themselves, how to treat friendships, how to treat relationships, expectations on themselves—going through things very sloppily.
They’re going, “What’s the reward if I do it well? What’s the reward for being a character-filled man?” Let’s talk about that. There is reward for that. And on the sexual topic, a really wonderful thing—it’s really, really good for women to have more good men.
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Keziah Weir
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Book excerpt:
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Liveright
We may receive an affiliate commission from anything you buy from this article.
In “We the People: A History of the U.S. Constitution” (to be published Sept. 16 by Liveright), Harvard professor and New Yorker writer Jill Lepore explores the ongoing struggle to amend America’s founding document and keep it a living framework for an evolving nation.
Read an excerpt below, and don’t miss Tony Dokoupil’s interview with Jill Lepore on “CBS Sunday Morning” September 14!
“We the People: A History of the U.S. Constitution”
Prefer to listen? Audible has a 30-day free trial available right now.
Introduction
The Philosophy of Amendment
The people have an indubitable, unalienable, and indefeasible right to reform or change their government, whenever it be found adverse or inadequate to the purposes of its institution.
—James Madison, failed First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution introduced into Congress, 1789
We the People. The Constitution of the United States is made of things that are born, live, thrive, decay, and die: insects, animals, plants, ideas. In order to form a more perfect Union. Each of its elements began, long ago, in the loamy earth, hatching and creeping or slipping, slick and squealing, from the womb of the mind. Establish justice, insure domestic tranquility. The text is written on parchment made from sheep, fleeced, their hides soaked in lime, stretched and dried. Provide for the common defense. The ink came from the buds of oak leaves, swollen to the size of musket balls by the eggs of wasps. Promote the general welfare. Its words were shaped by quills fashioned from the feathers of molting geese. Secure the blessings of liberty. Its lofty, momentous ideas came from the minds of men, long since dead, and from the books they read. To ourselves and our posterity. Of the nearly two hundred written constitutions, the Constitution of the United States—the most influential constitution in the world—is also among the oldest, a relic, as brittle as bone, as hard as stone. Do ordain and establish.
But the U.S. Constitution is neither bone nor stone. It is an explosion of ideas. Parchment decays and ink fades, but ideas endure; they also change. The Constitution attempted to solve ancient problems having to do not only with the people and their rulers, the structure of government, and the nature of rights, but also with the knowability and endurance of law. Ingeniously, it accounted for the passage of time.
Excerpted from “We the People: A History of the U.S. Constitution.” Copyright © 2025 by Jill Lepore. Used with permission of the publisher, Liveright Publishing Corporation, a division of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved.
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“We the People: A History of the U.S. Constitution”
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American Culture Quiz: Test yourself on burger bites and sporty stars
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The American Culture Quiz is a weekly test of our unique national traits, trends, history and people, including current events and the sights and sounds of the United States.
This week’s quiz highlights burger bites, sporty stars — and a lot more.
Can you get all 8 questions right?
For more Lifestyle articles, visit www.foxnews.com/lifestyle
To try your hand at more quizzes from Fox News Digital, click here.
Also, to take our latest News Quiz — published every Friday — click here.
American Culture Quiz! How well do you know this week’s topics? (Getty; iStock)
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10 New Cast Members Join The Harry Potter Audiobooks, And Fans Are Deeply Divided
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Several actors from your favorite TV shows are now lending their iconic voices to the Wizarding World.
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Inside the Photo Shoot That Made Marilyn Monroe an American Icon
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“Clothes are the enemy!” a waitress tells Tom Ewell’s hapless and lusty Richard Sherman in The Seven Year Itch. “Without clothes, there’d be no sickness and no war!” There also would be no 52-foot-tall billboard above Loew’s State Theatre picturing Marilyn Monroe and her wind-blown white dress—which seared the image into the collective consciousness of passersby on 45th and Broadway, and transformed it into a lasting piece of American iconography.
That “shot seen around the world,” as The Hollywood Reporter columnist Irving Hoffman described it at the time, was the brainchild of one of Monroe’s favorite photographers, Sam Shaw. Though Shaw died in 1999, his daughters Edie and Meta Shaw and his granddaughter Melissa Stevens have gathered his posthumous collection of Monroe photographs, memories, and ephemera for Dear Marilyn: The Unseen Letters and Photographs, publishing this month from ACC Art Books.
Shaw grew up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and spent his early career working as a courtroom artist and political cartoonist. He moved on to photojournalism and eventually set photography, meeting Monroe for the first time while shooting postproduction stills for Panic in the Streets, directed by Elia Kazan, in 1950. Monroe, Shaw writes, was Kazan’s “sweetheart” during the filming of Kazan’s 1952 Viva Zapata!, and Shaw took her photo as a favor for the director. In the book, he remembers her wearing his own sports shirt, knotted at the waist, with a pair of the signature jeans she picked up at an Army Navy store on Western Avenue in Los Angeles. Monroe told him she’d wear her jeans into the ocean and let them dry in the sun so they’d fit her body.
While those photographs are lost to the maw of time (or possibly, as Shaw posits, to the personal collection of Edward Steichen, who was then MoMA’s curator of photography), the encounter kicked off a decade-long friendship and creative partnership. Shaw would capture Monroe during some of her most pivotal moments both on and off the clock: “lovely, joyous moments in the prime of her life,” he writes in the introduction to his images. We see Monroe beaming while on the phone with Arthur Miller, before he became her third husband; the pair of them at their Connecticut home (images that served as source imagery for corresponding scenes in Netflix’s 2022 Blonde, starring Ana de Armas); Monroe in Richard Avedon’s studio; Monroe at the premiere of The Prince and the Showgirl at Radio City Music Hall, giddily emerging from a bubble bath on set, and applying false eyelashes backstage.
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Keziah Weir
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I Wasn’t Sure I Wanted Anthropic to Pay Me for My Books—I Do Now
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A billion dollars isn’t what it used to be—but it still focuses the mind. At least it did for me when I heard that the AI company Anthropic agreed to an at least $1.5 billion settlement for authors and publishers whose books were used to train an early version of its large language model, Claude. This came after a judge issued a summary judgment that it had pirated the books it used. The proposed agreement—which is still under scrutiny by the wary judge—would reportedly grant authors a minimum $3,000 per book. I’ve written eight and my wife has notched five. We are talking bathroom-renovation dollars here!
Since the settlement is based on pirated books, it doesn’t really address the big issue of whether it’s OK for AI companies to train their models on copyrighted works. But it’s significant that real money is involved. Previously the argument over AI copyright was based on legal, moral, and even political hypotheticals. Now that things are getting real, it’s time to tackle the fundamental issue: Since elite AI depends on book content, is it fair for companies to build trillion-dollar businesses without paying authors?
Legalities aside, I have been struggling with the issue. But now that we’re moving from the courthouse to the checkbook, the film has fallen from my eyes. I deserve those dollars! Paying authors feels like the right thing to do. Despite the powerful forces (including US president Donald Trump) arguing otherwise.
Fine-Print Disclaimer
Before I go farther, let me drop a whopper of a disclaimer. As I mentioned, I’m an author myself, and stand to gain or lose from the outcome of this argument. I’m also on the council of the Author’s Guild, which is a strong advocate for authors and is suing OpenAI and Microsoft for including authors’ works in their training runs. (Because I cover tech companies, I abstain on votes involving litigation with those firms.) Obviously, I’m speaking for myself today.
In the past, I’ve been a secret outlier on the council, genuinely torn on the issue of whether companies have the right to train their models on legally purchased books. The argument that humanity is building a vast compendium of human knowledge genuinely resonates with me. When I interviewed the artist Grimes in 2023, she expressed enthusiasm over being a contributor to this experiment: “Oh, sick, I might get to live forever!” she said. That vibed with me, too. Spreading my consciousness widely is a big reason I love what I do.
But embedding a book inside a large language model built by a giant corporation is something different. Keep in mind that books are arguably the most valuable corpus that an AI model can ingest. Their length and coherency are unique tutors of human thought. The subjects they cover are vast and comprehensive. They are much more reliable than social media and provide a deeper understanding than news articles. I would venture to say that without books, large language models would be immeasurably weaker.
So one might argue that OpenAI, Google, Meta, Anthropic and the rest should pay handsomely for access to books. Late last month, at that shameful White House tech dinner, CEOs took turns impressing Donald Trump with the insane sums they were allegedly investing in US-based data centers to meet AI’s computation demands. Apple promised $600 billion, and Meta said it would match that amount. OpenAI is part of a $500 billion joint venture called Stargate. Compared to those numbers, that $1.5 billion that Anthropic, as part of the settlement, agreed to distribute to authors and publishers as part of the infringement case doesn’t sound so impressive.
Unfair Use
Nonetheless, it could well be that the law is on the side of those companies. Copyright law allows for something called “fair use,” which permits the uncompensated exploitation of books and articles based on several criteria, one of which is whether the use is “transformational”—meaning that it builds on the book’s content in an innovative manner that doesn’t compete with the original product. The judge in charge of the Anthropic infringement case has ruled that using legally obtained books in training is indeed protected by fair use. Determining this is an awkward exercise, since we are dealing with legal yardsticks drawn before the internet—let alone AI.
Obviously, there needs to be a solution based on contemporary circumstances. The White House’s AI Action Plan announced this May didn’t offer one. But in his remarks about the plan, Trump weighed in on the issue. In his view, authors shouldn’t be paid—because it’s too hard to set up a system that would pay them fairly. “You can’t be expected to have a successful AI program when every single article, book, or anything else that you’ve read or studied, you’re supposed to pay for,” Trump said. “We appreciate that, but just can’t do it—because it’s not doable.” (An administration source told me this week that the statement “sets the tone” for official policy.)
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Steven Levy
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Bruce Willis’ wife explains tough decision she made to shield young daughters amid dementia battle
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Emma Heming Willis says what’s best for her husband Bruce Willis’ care is not up for debate.
Like many caregivers, the mother of two has been forced to make tough choices for her family in recent years. But none has been as difficult as the decision to move Willis, 70, into a separate home amid his battle with frontotemporal dementia (FTD) — a move that sparked a debate on social media.
The former model has written a new book, “The Unexpected Journey: Finding Strength, Hope, and Yourself on the Caregiving Path.” It’s centered on her personal experience as a caregiver for the star. It also serves as a roadmap for new caregivers and their families.
BRUCE WILLIS’ WIFE THOUGHT ‘DIE HARD’ ROLE WAS TO BLAME WHEN DEMENTIA SIGNS SURFACED
Bruce Willis and his wife Emma Heming Willis are seen here at the “Glass” New York Premiere at SVA Theater on January 15, 2019. The actor’s family announced he was diagnosed with FTD in 2023. (Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images)
“Sometimes [your loved one’s] needs become more than you are equipped for,” Heming Willis told Fox News Digital. “I think that if someone is not living in your home and doing what you’re doing 24/7, they don’t get a say on it. And if they are living with you, then they do get a say. But I don’t think it’s up for debate, just because someone’s care plan looks different from someone else’s.”
“I wanted to bring this to light because I just feel there’s so much stigma around this conversation,” said the 47-year-old. “You can imagine the judgment and the criticism, which I knew was going to land on my lap.”
WATCH: BRUCE WILLIS DIAGNOSED WITH FRONTOTEMPORAL DEMENTIA
In 2022, Willis’ family announced he had been diagnosed with aphasia, a condition that causes loss of the ability to understand or express speech. The “Die Hard” star stepped back from acting that year following his diagnosis.
“The Unexpected Journey: Finding Strength, Hope, and Yourself on the Caregiving Path” is available now. (The Open Field)
Nearly a year later, his family revealed Willis had a more specific diagnosis of FTD.
The Association for Frontotemporal Degeneration describes FTD as a group of brain disorders caused by degeneration of the frontal and/or temporal lobes of the brain that affect behavior, language and movement, according to The Associated Press. Aphasia can be a symptom of it.
Emma Heming Willis and Bruce Willis enjoying a date night in New York City in 2008, a year before they tied the knot. (Duffy-Marie Arnoult/WireImage/Getty Images)
The association describes frontotemporal degeneration as “an inevitable decline in functioning,” with an average life expectancy of seven to 13 years after the onset of symptoms. The progressive disease is terminal and there’s no cure.
Emma Heming Willis told Fox News Digital the public needs to support and uplift caregivers, who are trying their best. (QUOC)
As the disease progressed, Heming Willis realized the actor needed more support while she cared for their daughters, Mabel, 13, and Evelyn, 11.
“It was one of the hardest decisions I needed to make, but I knew it was the right one — the safest and best for our family, for Bruce’s safety and for the safety of our girls,” she explained. “It was important that, as his needs were changing, we needed something different that supported his needs. Our girls also needed a home that supported their needs.”
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Emma Heming Willis said they were given just a pamphlet following her husband’s diagnosis. (Jeff Vespa/VF14/WireImage/Getty Images)
“I think what happens with caregiving is that people don’t understand that your loved one’s needs are not being met 100% of the time,” she said. “Now, I have comfort in knowing that Bruce is being supported 100% of the time. There’s no better feeling than that.”
Bruce Willis’ family announced in 2022 the actor was diagnosed with aphasia, which can be a symptom of FTD. (VCG/VCG via Getty Images)
Willis’ one-story house is nearby and designed for his treatment and safety, People magazine reported. It offers a “quiet, comfortable and safe environment with round-the-clock care.” It also allows his daughters to be their “high-spirited kid selves” with their mother. The progression of FTD requires Willis to be in a “calm and serene environment,” Heming Willis said.
Their daughters keep clothes, toys and art supplies at Willis’ home, allowing them to spend as much quality time as possible with their dad.
Emma Heming Willis details the challenges that come with being a caregiver in her new book. (James Devaney/GC Images/Getty Images)
“If I’m receiving judgment for purchasing a second home to make sure that my husband is cared for properly, then what does it look like for other care partners who have to put their loved ones in a facility,” Heming Willis pointed out.
Bruce Willis is seen here in 2019 with his three older daughters: Rumer Willis, Scout Willis and Tallulah Willis. They are accompanied by the actor’s ex-wife, actress Demi Moore, and his current spouse, former model Emma Heming Willis. (Stefanie Keenan/Getty Images for goop)
“Can you imagine the criticism and the judgment they face? I wanted other caregivers to know that you’re not alone and everyone’s caregiving journey is different. And what’s most important is that we are supporting other caregivers. We are showing up for them. We are not criticizing or judging them.”
“We’re already hard on ourselves,” she reflected. “We already carry the shame and the guilt. We don’t need the extra. We just need to be supported.”
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Emma Heming Willis previously revealed to Fox News Digital that she first mistook her husband’s dementia symptoms for hearing loss he suffered while filming “Die Hard” in 1988. (20th Century-Fox/Getty Images)
Heming Willis shared that her daughters have been doing “a beautiful job” in supporting their father.
Bruce Willis and Emma Heming Willis married in 2009. (Britta Pedersen/picture alliance via Getty Images)
“I’ve been so fortunate to be able to put the right support in place for them and for myself,” said Heming Willis. “I wanted to know how best to show up for them and talk them through what they might be experiencing or seeing. I just want to help navigate them through this. And I think their relationship with their father is a beautiful one. … They’ve seen this disease progress over time, and we just continue to show up for Bruce and be there for him.”
WATCH: RUMER WILLIS GIVES UPDATE ON DAD BRUCE WILLIS’ HEALTH
Over the years, Heming Willis has sought guidance from doctors and experts to better understand FTD, its progression and what caregivers can do to give loved ones the best quality of life. She has been sharing her findings and conversations on social media.
It hasn’t gotten easier with time.
Bruce and Emma Heming Willis share two young daughters. (Theo Wargo/Getty Images for Film at Lincoln Center)
“I am constantly grieving,” Heming Willis admitted. “This is with me at all times. But … you can grieve and also still live a full life. That doesn’t make you any less of a caregiver because you are choosing to also live. And I try to live a full life because I know that Bruce would want that for me and our family.
“I believe it’s so important for caregivers to find someone they trust who they can speak to, where they would not be met with judgment. They can just talk through their feelings. I always tell my girls better out than in. It’s better to get your feelings out than to bottle them in.”
Emma Heming Willis hopes her book will serve as a roadmap for new caregivers. (Neil Rasmus/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images)
The disease forced Heming Willis to confront a devastating truth. In her book, she wrote that after learning dementia “results in death,” she felt “the ground had been pulled out from under me.” Still, educating herself about FTD and its harsh truths has empowered her to be a better caregiver.
About 60% of people with frontotemporal dementia are 45 to 64 years old, Alzheimers.gov reported. (Team GT/GC Images/Getty Images)
“I think it has really helped me to … get out of denial,” she told Fox News Digital. “That isn’t going to help my situation. … I ask the questions, and I know I’m not going to sometimes like the answers, but it’s important for me to understand. I just want to continue to support Bruce and our family and myself with the right information.”
“We left our diagnosis appointment with no guidance, no roadmap — nothing,” she said. “I, over the last few years … have found these incredible experts and specialists. But I had to dig so deep for that. It’s not readily available unless you have the time, the energy, the access and resources.
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Emma Heming Willis says she is inspired to live the best life she can for herself, her daughters and husband Bruce Willis, who wouldn’t want his dementia diagnosis to alter anything. (ANGELA WEISS/AFP via Getty Images)
“What I realized with these experts is that they were giving me such valuable information. I realized that I wanted to put everything together — all the insight, all their wisdom — and share it with the next caregiver.”
“While this is painful, it is a relief to finally have a clear diagnosis,” the family said in a statement. “FTD is a cruel disease that many of us have never heard of and can strike anyone.” (Yui Mok/PA Images via Getty Images)
Heming Willis hopes her book will help other caregivers who are feeling lost.
“They’re not alone,” she said. “It’s OK to care for yourself. And if you don’t try to take care of yourself, it’s going to be very hard to continue to sustain this journey. … When we ask for help, we are not a failure. We’re not failing our person.”
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How businesses are using short stories and discussion to build empathy
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When Chris Ferrari and Shridhar Shah, executives at first responder equipment supplier MES Life Safety, first heard about a new book club-style program at work, they were a bit skeptical.
“I thought, ‘What are we doing? Like, how does this make sense for our everyday business?’” Ferrari said.
“Kumbaya was the first thing that came to mind,” Shah said. “But after the very first session, I came back a believer.”
The initiative is called Reflection Point and is billed as a book club redesigned for the modern worker. Colleagues gather to share opinions and practice communication skills they can use later at work.
MES Life Safety CEO Marvin Riley brought the program to his team when he took over the company last year.
“It’s a way for us to bring our life experiences and share with each other, and to reach a common ground with each other,” Riley said.
There’s a direct link between empathy and commercial success, according to research conducted by the Harvard Business Review. The most empathetic companies outperform peers in the stock market by at least 50%.
“If we don’t talk together, we can’t work together,” said Ann Kowal Smith, Reflection Point’s founder.
Kowal Smith chooses the short stories for discussion, focusing on those matching issues and challenges faced by the team.
“The reason that this matters is because we give people a chance to practice the skills that enable them to open back up again, right?” she said.
When asked about criticism over this style of programming, Kowal Smith said, “If you believe that people who can’t talk to each other are going to take your business to the next level, then fine, this is not for you. But if you understand that people drive the future, then it’s really important that we invest in those people.”
The nonprofit has worked with close to 20,000 people across nearly 150 companies, from construction and manufacturing to healthcare and tech.
Riley says he’s seen a “dramatic change” in his team since implementing the program and is now exploring how to expand its impact.
“We’re going to build our culture layer by layer using this methodology, because it works,” Riley said.
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Arlington testing pilot program to get kids excited about reading – WTOP News
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Arlington Public Schools is searching for volunteers to read to elementary-aged kids for an hour each week, as part of a push to improve literacy skills and get kids excited about reading.
Arlington Public Schools is searching for volunteers to read to elementary-aged kids for an hour each week, as part of a push to improve literacy skills and get kids excited about reading.
The pilot program, called “Readers Rise: Empowering Young Minds Through Reading,” is scheduled to start in mid-October. Volunteers will get trained and then read to K-2 students at Barrett, Hoffman-Boston or Long Branch elementary schools. The district said those schools were picked based on a “diversity of needs.”
“We’re seeing positive trends in our K-2 data,” APS Chief Academic Officer Gerald Mann said. “But we also know, until every student is reading on grade level, we want to provide them the opportunity to continue to practice their reading and also gain a mentor.”
The pilot schools are in the process of identifying students who will participate and searching for volunteers. Ideally, Mann said the sessions will be one-on-one, giving students the chance to build a new relationship with an adult from the community.
“A lot of times when kids get to work directly with somebody that is not a well-known figure in the school, that gets them even more jazzed about the special thing that they’ve been invited to,” said Jessica DaSilva, the principal at Long Branch Elementary.
The district is planning to review the results of the program mid-year to determine if it can expand to other schools.
“It is going to help continue to get kids excited about reading,” DaSilva said. “It is going to help them see that it’s not just teachers that can teach them things.”
Many times, DaSilva said, community members want to help students but think it’s out of their area of expertise.
“Now this is a targeted, explicit way that they can support, and I think that’s exciting,” DaSilva said. “And I think that will hopefully encourage people to come in, because they’re going to get some training.”
Mann, meanwhile, is hoping the effort could also motivate more students to read for fun.
“It is concerning when you see, just as a population, that we’re not interested in this,” Mann said. “But if we can get them excited about that, and that’s one of our hopes, is the excitement to see the joy in reading, to go to the library, whether at the school, public library; to have a book in your hand and experience that joy that so many of us do daily.”
In a statement posted on X, the group Arlington Parents for Education, which has been advocating for a volunteer reading program, said the pilot “is a huge step forward for student literacy and a win for everyone who spoke up for more investment in reading support.”
The application to volunteer is scheduled to close Sept. 26. Mann said 48 people signed up on the first day it was open.
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Scott Gelman
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Meet the Celebrities, Spies, and Billionaires Who Pulled Off an Elaborate Prisoner Swap With Putin
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For all their collective power and influence, this ensemble had watched helplessly as previous deals collapsed. Political prisoners set to be traded had died inexplicably, or inched toward death, in Russian penal colonies. CIA officers had flown thousands of miles to remonstrate with Russian spies in hotel conference rooms in Central Europe and the Persian Gulf, booked under false names—only to fly home empty-handed. An Academy Award winner had traveled to Monaco for a ride in the white Rolls Royce of a Russian spy who claimed he could get a message to Putin. All told, two of the most powerful governments on Earth and their allies dedicated enormous energy and attention into haggling over a list of names that, as the jets neared their rendezvous, totaled just twenty-four prisoners and two children.
Now, like the conductor of a symphony nearing a finale, the officer in the control tower was ordering the six jets to touch down in a perfect line just thirty meters apart. Silhouetted figures imprisoned in seven countries would step down to cross one another on the tarmac, a glimpse into an unseen struggle that had been playing out for more than a decade.
At every step, the clandestine talks and backchannel interventions had been tracked by the two of us—Wall Street Journal reporters who had covered hostage crises across the world and now found ourselves trying to make sense of a crisis that had somehow reached our own newspaper. Just weeks before our colleague’s arrest, he had proposed we should together investigate the pattern of Americans mysteriously vanishing into Russian prisons: “It’s totally undercovered,” Evan said, before Putin lent his pitch a grimly ironic news hook.
Left to investigate a game of “hostage diplomacy” ensnaring more Americans than their government could manage, we plunged into the murky terrain of prisoner talks, where rival governments barter over human lives. In his jail cell, Evan never stopped reporting, and he and the other American prisoners would soon tell their own stories. We wanted to show the flip side of the coin: the years of rolling negotiations it took to bring home one batch of Americans after the next. And we wanted to answer how exactly had America and Russia fallen into such a vicious and retaliatory cycle of snatching and trading each other’s citizens, which has somehow become a central tool of modern statecraft, a mechanism for nuclear powers to inflict pain on one another without tipping into war.
We traveled the world to meet the intelligence chiefs, spy hunters, diplomats, and mediators wrapped up into this ruthless business. The contest they described went back much further than we realized, pitting an embattled democracy whose law still reaches further than any government’s on Earth against a revanchist autocracy playing by its own rules. And their fight was spilling far beyond Washington and Moscow onto a global battlefield, from the trenches of Ukraine to a hotel suite in Bangkok, an airstrip in the Maldives, and a suburban home in the Alps.
The more we peered into this world, the more Russia stared back. We were followed through the streets of Vienna and Washington in acts of surveillance apparently designed to intimidate. Our emails and phones were bombarded with password-reset attempts, and the shared files on our cloud opened at hours when we were fast asleep. The Russian Foreign Ministry would later declare us personae non gratae.
This is the story of a shadow war that few Americans understood was underway. In the fog of this new pirate world, a careful observer could glimpse a discomforting truth: To play this game of snatch-and-trade, America and its high-minded allies would have to ask themselves, how much were they willing to be like Russia?
From the SWAP: A Secret History of the New Cold War by Drew Hinshaw and Joe Parkinson. Copyright © 2025 by Drew Hinshaw and Joe Parkinson. Published by Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Reprinted by permission.
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Drew Hinshaw, Joe Parkinson
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Sabrina Carpenter Is the Best Frankenstein Reboot of the Year—(Please Please Please) Let Me Explain
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At the Venice Film Festival earlier this month, Jacob Elordi was reportedly moved to tears by a standing ovation that lasted either 13 or 15 minutes, depending who you ask, after the world premiere of his latest film, Frankenstein. Elordi plays the creature at the center of director Guillermo del Toro’s take on the classic, and critics are all “forgiveness” this, and “artistry” that about the latest visual interpretation of Mary Shelley’s 1818 horror novel. However, the world has been overlooking the real-life reboot that’s been right under our noses, not to mention at the top of the Billboard 200 chart: Sabrina Carpenter and her latest album, Man’s Best Friend, released August 29.
While Elordi is a natural pick to play the mix-and-match creature, with his six-foot-five frame and classically handsome face just begging for some monstrous prosthetics, the diminutive, perky, and often lingerie-clad Carpenter and her career are an apt stand-in for the misunderstood figure at the center of the story, painstakingly crafted only to be reviled by the maker. Shelley’s tale examines themes of bodily autonomy and patriarchal control, which easily transpose onto Carpenter’s image, in which she somehow manages to rotate through a wardrobe of vintage Victoria’s Secret teddies and lacy robes with sky-high heels. She’s not dressing for the male gaze. As she said in a 2024 interview with Time, she’s dressing for herself and empowering her fans to do the same. “Femininity is something that I’ve always embraced,” she told the magazine. “And if right now that means corsets and garter belts and fuzzy robes or whatever the fuck, then that’s what that means.” While a bustier and heels may be part of the Playboy Bunny uniform, when Carpenter dons the same look, it’s with a wink and the knowledge that her stiletto heels are a means of lifting her to the top of the world.
Her career, like that of any other pop sensation, owes plenty to those who came before her: a dash of Dolly Parton’s big hair and commanding lyrics, a sprinkle of Britney Spears’s girl-next-door sexpot vibe, a heaping scoop of Taylor Swift’s collaborator-heavy, country-influenced discography, and more. Stir to combine and bake for 20 minutes. And voilà, you have yourself a Carpenter, a chart-topping amalgamation of the divas of yore, familiar yet novel. But just as Carpenter is celebrated for her absolute bangers, the same society that demanded a pop star exactly like her shrieks that she’s too provocative, a bad influence, sending our delicate young girls a bad message. Clutch your pearls, folks; a former Disney child star is singing about sex! It’s almost as if she…grew up? A concept. In “Tears,” a song off her new album, Carpenter sarcastically marvels at how hot it is when the male object of the narrator’s affection acts with basic human decency. “I get wet at the thought of you / Being a responsible guy / Treating me like you’re supposed to / Tears run down my thighs,” she sings. Similarly, the creature doesn’t understand why Frankenstein, who created him and tended to him, recoils in horror at what he’s done and runs from him. Carpenter in “My Man on Willpower”: “He used to be literally obsessed with me / I’m suddenly the least sought-after girl in the land.”
In the book, the thoroughly alienated and rejected creature vows revenge and goes on a killing spree, eliminating those Frankenstein loves one by one. In “Goodbye” Carpenter sings, “Broke my heart on Saturday / Guess overnight your feelings changed / And I have cried so much I almost fainted / To show you just how much it hurts / I wish I had a gun or words.” Thankfully, she chooses words.
Carpenter’s revenge on those who wrong her is bloodless but brutal; just listen to “Never Getting Laid” and imagine being on the receiving end of that, for one example: “Baby, I’m not angry / I love you just the same,” she sings, before continuing, “I just hope you get agoraphobia someday / And all your days are sunny from your windowpane / Wish you a lifetime full of happiness / And a forever of never getting laid.” Trapped inside by fear, watching everyone else have a nice time, and no sex? Withering.
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Kase Wickman
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