Literature

Perhaps Emily Dickinson was right when she wrote that “Hope is the thing with feathers.” That’s a conclusion one might reach, in any case, from reading Sigrid Nunez’s probing, delightful and masterful new novel, “The Vulnerables,” whose most endearing character is an erudite green parrot named Eureka.

While we may not resemble Frankenstein physically, we too are made of the various parts of our life experience that shape and change us.

With their mix of multiple cultures, I am constantly reminded of the disconnect I have with my ethnic Chinese and Taiwanese heritage — and I remember this every time I think about their decision to legally name me Emily.

I realized my college experience didn’t have to be this epic story to tell as years pass. The choices, the leaps of faith and the small things were enough.

Despite letters’ loss of popularity in the modern age, letter writing is still quite present and important in our literature.

This season, he seems to have left his serial killing ways, instead witnessing the crimes of a new, unknown murderer — one that he is determined to sniff out.

Charmingly ambitious yet prosaically pedestrian, “Now is Not the Time to Panic” carries just enough poignance to casually rivet, but falls short of the charisma, depth and execution necessary to be truly incandescent.

Blossoming with lush detail without boasting grandiloquence, Jimenez narrates in riot against the finitudes of categorization.

Hariri-Kia paints a vivid portrait of an ever-changing media landscape, exploring everything from the shift to online content to the pervasiveness of performative activism.

I’ve always had a love for reading. In the first grade sitting on a carpet covered in the alphabet, I realized something pivotal: All of the books sitting in our library weren’t just words on a page, but stories sparked by passion.