I’ve been excited to try my colleague Eric Kim’s cookbook, “Korean American: Food That Tastes Like Home.” It’s described as “exuberant and erudite,” so I’m hoping it’ll be as fun to read as to cook from. And any book that “covers the Knicks the way Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein covered the Nixon White House in ‘The Final Days,’” as John Swansburg writes of “Blood in the Garden,” seems tough to resist. I’ll check out “Be My Baby,” the reissue of Ronnie Spector’s 1990 memoir.
I’m trying to resuscitate my trailing jade, so Christopher Griffin’s “ You Grow, Gurl!: Plant Kween’s Lush Guide to Growing Your Garden” looks right up my street. Harvey Fierstein’s memoir promises “boatloads of charm and gossip” - sold. art scene, sounds dreamy (or, as Helen Shaw describes it, “weird, smoggy, heated”). What better to enliven a stretch of stale reading than some juicy Hollywood history? “Everybody Thought We Were Crazy,” a book about Dennis Hopper and Brooke Hayward’s marriage set against a backdrop of the 1960s L.A. I’m giving myself permission to cast aside the dry novel I’ve been halfheartedly reading for weeks in favor of the far more exciting summer books recommended by my colleagues on the Books desk. I’m smitten with the promise of a season spent buried in books, with “the possibility of long sunlit days spent unmoored from everyday restraints and immersed in a literary world,” as Jennifer Harlan wrote in The Times last year. It’s Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial start to summer, and the official start to summer reading.
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