The movement of the book's first pages, from Wideman introducing fictional Thomas obsessed with biographical Fanon, shows the difficulty Wideman has had in approaching this project as clearly as anything he says outright.

The future's hardly what it used to be. Even William Gibson, as responsible as anyone for the trope of a grimy but tech-enhanced future, points out that 20 years ago, his version was hopeful simply by being post-apocalyptic — humanity could survive arms races and nuclear winter.

Nicola Barker must be at least a little nonplussed with the reception her latest novel, Darkmans, has received in its native England.

Katrina Ford's caterwaul is the biggest and easiest thing to grab onto when you're hit with the wave of sound her band, Celebration, puts out.

The disorienting stream-of-consciousness opening to Mari Akasaka's Vibrator could be either very appropriate, or very, very crass.

During this increasingly random, violent summer, when kids are shot off bikes and bodies turn up daily, Merciless imagines a city held hostage by a single, logical madman, with a coherent plan and flawless execution, tripped up by dedicated policing.

Superheroes have stopped being simple symbols and have become widespread cultural shorthand. It's this background that makes Austin Grossman's novel so possible and so satisfying.

Jamestown really begins to come together only when John Rolfe and Pocahontas stop texting each other and start communicating through telepathy.

It's a testament to Clinch's skill, both in force of style and subtle characterization, that he so quickly shakes off Twain's specter.

The short piece Pete Dexter includes about the Mummers' celebration in his collection of columns, Paper Trails, is immediately recognizable more than 20 years after it was written.