Michael Schaub
Michael Schaub is a writer, book critic and regular contributor to NPR Books. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, The San Francisco Chronicle, The Portland Mercury and The Austin Chronicle, among other publications. He lives in Austin, Texas.
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Peter Houlahan's account of the violent robbery and its aftermath is based on interviews with civilians, officers and robbers involved; his prose reads like a crime novel in the best way possible.
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Gifted writers Dan Abrams and David Fisher, who previously brought us Lincoln's Last Trial, are clearly fascinated by how Teddy Roosevelt's court case played out — bringing an enthusiasm to readers.
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Like David McCullough's other books, this one succeeds because of the author's strength as a storyteller; it reads like a novel and is packed with information drawn from painstaking research.
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Philippe Besson's novel — ably translated from the French by Molly Ringwald — chronicles a painful teenaged heartbreak, followed by grown-up ennui. It's a well-worn but very well-told tale.
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Journalist Charles Lane's account is endlessly gripping — and he does an excellent job of placing the operation in historical context, chronicling racism and resentment in the South post-Civil War.
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In his new book, the literary scholar presents an absorbing, necessary look at the "Redemption" era, in which the hard-fought gains of African-Americans were rolled back by embittered Southern whites.
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Bryan Washington's debut story collection brings the Texas city to life in all its struggle and imperfect glory.
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Them doesn't read like a campaign book — there's no humble-bragging about accomplishments. Sasse instead focuses on building relationships, but doesn't go deep enough or propose tangible solutions.
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Katya Apekina's debut novel follows a pair of sisters sent to live with their estranged father in New York, challenging the bonds between parents and siblings.
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Some time in the 1990s, author Charles Bowden wrote a memoir of his friendship with prickly but legendary environmentalist Edward Abbey. And then it sat, neglected, on his computer — until now.