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For 45 years, in his novels, short stories and essays, James Ellroy has been creating the definitive under-history of his Los Angeles hometown, mapping in his work the subterranean currents of power, corruption, sex and lies that have shaped the polity of the city. Ellroy’s latest is another compelling entry in his ongoing project.

“Red Sheet” is a multilayered American epic that blurs fact and fiction, a deep dive into anti-Communist paranoia, from the corridors of City Hall to the dank precincts of the LAPD. The novel also marks the return of Fred Otash, a real-life Hollywood fixer whom the author has featured in previous novels, including his last book, “The Enchanters.” I recently talked to Ellroy about Otash, L.A. in the ‘60s and L.A. today.

✍️ Author Chat

Freddie Otash has been something of a twisted muse for you. In “Red Sheet,” Otash is an LAPD detective trying to smoke out Communist sleeper cells in Kennedy-era L.A. He was, in fact, a real person, a notorious Hollywood fixer. How did you first become aware of him?

I had seen a documentary about his specious role in the cover-up caper surrounding Marilyn Monroe’s death. I’d been hearing about him for years, and then I created the Jack Vincennes character who worked for scandal magazines in my book “L.A. Confidential,” played by the scurrilous Kevin Spacey in the vastly overrated movie of the same name.

Did you ever meet him?

Years ago I met a producer named James B. Harris, who produced all the old Stanley Kubrick movies and had optioned one of my early books called “Blood on the Moon.” I asked him if he knew Freddie Otash, and he said everyone in Hollywood knew Freddie Otash. I was planning my novel “American Tabloid” and so I arranged to meet him. He was unpleasant and charmless and way past his prime. I spent some time with him in Miami, where he was living in a place called the Jockey Club, and I had to listen to him talk about his many conquests of the world’s most beautiful and desirable women. I didn’t believe a word of it.

But he did have useful stories, I’m assuming.

Otash I used for the character Pete Bondurant in “American Tabloid.” We entered into a deal whereby I would pay him 10% of what Knopf was paying me in exchange for him keeping his mouth shut. He has become that valuable literary artifact: the great detective.

“Red Sheet: A Novel” by James Ellroy

(Knopf)

Your book deals with a piece of legislation called the Rumford Act that would tear down the city’s racist racial housing covenants in 1963, but the act in ’62 had enemies in high places, namely Mayor Sam Yorty and his power base. You were 14 in L.A. in 1962. Did you feel this racial tension?

I remember vividly how the world was changing. I knew there was de facto segregation in housing. I remember Nixon’s pathetic campaign for governor in 1962. But I remember racial barriers breaking down, particularly in school. Just talking with Black kids in school, because why wouldn’t you? And I had been this dumb, bigoted kid.

What’s interesting about the characters in your book is that their ideological alliances are quite fluid, depending on the circumstances. Communists are married to John Birchers, who may be, in fact, red-diaper babies, and so on.

People are endlessly complex. Going back to Freddie Otash again. He knew Tom Bradley in the ‘40s, when Bradley was a cop. And Freddie becomes a bag man for the civil rights movement, and the Rumford Act in particular. He’s about the most unlikely guy you would expect to support civil rights. I wanted to show [how] complex human beings and their beliefs can be, and this book is a primer on that.

You are so closely associated with Los Angeles, and you lived here for most of your life. Why do you live in Denver now?

Helen Knode is my all-time life partner, who is also my second ex-wife. Ten years ago, we decided to get back together, but she was living in Colorado. She came up with the idea of me getting a loft in her building, and we would have the keys to each other’s places, and that’s why I did it. I like it in Denver, though it’s quite hot at the moment.

Do you miss L.A? What are you feeling about the city now?

I was just there on my book tour. I feel like it’s a complete dump. It’s just totally run-down. When I got off the airplane, I noticed a smog layer, so smog is back. I saw many young, odd-looking, overly adorned young people. I don’t know. … It’s a kid’s town now, to a certain extent.

This Q&A was edited for length and clarity.

📰 The Week(s) in Books

Country music performer Kenny Chesney sat down with Holly Gleason, the co-author of his new memoir, to talk about writing the book.

(Jill Trunnell)

Greg Sarris is the chairman of the Federated Indians of Graton Rancheria in Sonoma County. He’s also an acclaimed novelist whose his first book in 28 years, “The Last Human Bear,” is loosely based on the life and teachings of Pomo spiritual leader Mabel McKay, a constant lodestar for Sarris. “An American Indian woman is as richly complicated as anybody else. I wanted to show this rich and complicated character who’s negotiated a history that she’s showing you,” Sarris tells Maddie Connors.

In “Daughters of the Sun and Moon,” author Lisa See excavates the events surrounding the Chinese Massacre of 1871. In doing so, she also digs into her own Chinese heritage in L.A. “My great-grandfather’s fourth wife was 16 when he brought her here, and she was never let out,” See tells Emily St. Martin. “My mom used to say these women would all get together, and she used to describe it as birds twittering together, because they actually had this opportunity to be with each other, but on really very rare occasions.”

Fear not, literary Cassandras: Authors can still generate online heat, thanks to BookTok and other social media outlets. So much so that more books are being adapted into streaming content than ever before. “With the advent of BookTok, it allows you to have so much social chatter around these authors,” producer Bryan Unkeless tells Gary Goldstein. “They’re becoming new rock stars, in a way.”

Finally, Kenny Chesney sat down with Holly Gleason to discuss their collaboration on “Heart Life Music,” Chesney’s new memoir. “I didn’t know if there was a story there,” the country megastar tells Gleason. “Over time you wore me down, to make me pause and … reflect.”

📖 Bookstore Faves

The interior of Counterpoint Records & Books.

(David Jones)

In a city that has so often seen its old-school retail businesses turned into nail salons and real estate offices, Counterpoint Records & Books remains an outlier. Originally established in 1979 by John and Susan Polifronio, the store on Franklin Avenue has remained, even as many of its nearby store-mates have shuttered, offering a well-curated selection of secondhand books and records from every conceivable genre. I chatted with David Jones, who is one of the owners of the Franklin Avenue store, about Counterpoint’s enduring success.

Counterpoint is an Eastside institution, but businesses along your strip on Franklin have gone under while you have survived. What is the secret to your longevity?

Firstly, we are lucky enough to own the building we do business in, which has given us a lot of freedom to be able to pursue doing business our way. That didn’t happen until we were in business for almost 20 years, but now in our 47th year we feel lucky to be able to continue to provide a physical, in-person shopping experience. I think our success is tied to this. People are looking for an experience away from their screens, and I think we provide that without being anachronistic or nostalgic by keeping up with and stocking contemporary music, digital media and all types of books.

Is your clientele mostly local? I’m guessing it’s a multigenerational clientele, given the store’s long history.

We definitely have a younger demographic these days, but we have a very intergenerational staff, and I think that attracts an all ages clientele. We meet folks daily from all over the world as a destination that people return to and tell their friends about. I think word-of-mouth is our greatest form of outreach. People say we feel special to them, as if they’ve stumbled onto a secret by shopping here. It’s something I love and am very proud of.

How have books maintained their staying power despite the countless distractions of daily life?

I think of it as one of life’s greatest luxuries. To be honest, I never thought too much about the staying power of books until the pandemic. During that time, people would come in and thank us for being open and a place they could come to escape what was happening. It was a real turning point for me. I started to think more about the importance of what we do and how much of an effect it has on people. I never took what we do for granted, but it gave me a sense of urgency that I didn’t quite have before.

Counterpoint Records & Books is at 5911 Franklin Ave. in Hollywood.

(Please note: The Times may earn a commission through links to Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.)

GREENBELT, Md. — Former Trump administration national security adviser John Bolton pleaded guilty on Friday to illegally retaining classified information, sealing a deal with federal prosecutors that could allow him to avoid a prison term.

Bolton, who became an outspoken critic of President Trump after serving in the Republican’s first administration, is scheduled to be sentenced on Oct. 28 by U.S. District Judge Theodore Chuang in Greenbelt, Md.

Bolton pleaded guilty to a single count of illegally retaining classified information. His plea agreement with the Justice Department may enable him to avoid time behind bars, but the judge ultimately will decide his punishment.

The plea agreement recommends capping any prison sentence at five years but the judge isn’t bound by that part of the deal. Bolton can withdraw his guilty plea if the judge issues a longer prison sentence or a fine greater than $2.25 million.

Bolton was charged last October with 18 counts of either retaining or disseminating classified information, including diary-like notes that he shared with relatives as he wrote a memoir about his career in government.

Other Trump adversaries have been charged with federal crimes during his second term in the White House. While some of those cases have collapsed under judicial scrutiny and amid claims of political retribution, Bolton didn’t mount a vigorous defense against his charges before cutting a deal.

FBI agents searched Bolton’s Maryland home and Washington, D.C., office last August, but the investigation began before Trump returned to the White House in January 2025.

Bolton served for more than a year in Trump’s first administration before getting pushed out in 2019. He later published a book called “The Room Where it Happened” that presented an unflattering portrait of Trump’s leadership.

The Trump administration fought unsuccessfully to block the book’s release, claiming it contained classified information that could jeopardize national security. Trump derided Bolton as a “crazy” warmonger who would have led the country into “World War Six.”

Bolton’s indictment focused on notes that he shared with his wife and daughter rather than the contents of his book. After sending one document, Bolton wrote in a message to his relatives, “None of which we talk about!!!” In response, one of his relatives wrote, “Shhhhh,” prosecutors said.

Kunzelman writes for the Associated Press.

BEAUTIFUL Britain is packed with postcard towns and villages that look like they’ve been plucked straight from the pages of a storybook.

From chocolate-box cottages tucked away in the Cotswolds to hidden Highland havens and medieval bridges – you don’t need to board a flight to find a little bit of magic.

Even better, a fairytale escape doesn’t have to come with a royal price tag.

Whether you fancy sipping craft ales by a roaring log fire in Scotland, playing a game of Poohsticks in the Peak District, or exploring a village dedicated to cheese, you can also do it on a budget.

Our travel team has rounded up the most enchanting UK villages to visit this summer – with stays starting from £20 per night.

The Scottish Highlands

Head of Travel, Lisa Minot

It’s a little slice of Highland heaven. A picture-perfect scene of a babbling brook and ancient bridge surrounded by pine forests – but it is one with a slightly darker past.

The village of Carrbridge in the Cairngorms National Park is known for its famous Packhorse Bridge.

First built in 1717, it was used to transport coffins across the raging River Dulnain when waters rose.

Over time, what is now the oldest stone bridge in the Highlands has fallen into disrepair but looks all the prettier for its decrepit state.

The village itself, set in the grand, wild majesty of the Cairngorms, has other claims to fame including the Golden Spurtle World Porridge Making Championship.

Every October, chefs from around the world descend on the village hall to battle over oatmeal concoctions.

For travellers looking to refresh after a hike through the surrounding mountains, The Cairn is a lively pub in the heart of the village with a roaring open fire, huge selection of single malt whiskies and craft ale and lots of local game on the menu.

There’s also plenty of artisan treasures to pick up at the Carrbridge Artists Studio.

And keep your eyes peeled when you wander the village and surrounding Ellan Wood.

Massive wooden sculptures of red squirrels, owls and folklore figures abound, created in the annual chainsaw carving championships that are hosted in the village every year.

Ashford in the Water, Peak District

Travel Reporter, Jenna Stevens

Set in the picturesque Peak District National Park, Ashford in the Water is a pretty village that looks like something from a children’s picture book.

At the heart of the village is Sheepwash Bridge, a medieval stone bridge that stretches over the River Wye. As the name suggests, the river was once used by farmers to wash their sheep before shearing.

Take a stroll over the hump of historic cobbles to watch the ducks drift past. Visit England even named this spot the best place in the country to play a classic game of Poohsticks.

Head further into the village to find charming limestone cottages with manicured gardens, as well as the Holy Trinity Church, which dates back to the 12th century.

The village hosts several unique events throughout the summer, too. The Well Dressing & Flower Festival in June sees the villages’ wells adorned with flower displays, while the Ashford Sheepwash lets you watch the farmers guide their ewes through the river.

Head to the Riverside House Hotel and sit down to a tasty breakfast starting from £8. The hotel dates back to 1620, and its stone exterior is covered with a blanket of climbing ivy.

Five minutes down the road you’ll find the market town of Bakewell, where it would be rude not to try a famous cherry-topped tart.

Rye, East Sussex

Deputy Travel Editor, Kara Godfrey

When the town’s own main road is called Mermaid Street, it’s no wonder Rye is often compared to the storybooks.

It is steep and cobbled so leave the princess heels at home. 

But let down your hair at the aptly named Mermaid Inn, at over 800 years of age, it’s one of the oldest in the UK – even visited by some British queens too.

(Live out your princess dreams up Ypres Tower too, for some of the best port views).

There’s souvenir shopping galore so pick-up some artwork, books, or homeware.

Don’t forget a decadent hot chocolate at Knoops – this was the original shop before its rollout across the UK and worth the price.

Cheddar, Somerset

Assistant Travel Editor, Sophie Swietochowski

A village named after one of Britain’s favourite foods – what could be better?

Cheddar takes its name seriously and the main road that cuts through the village centre, leading up to the famous Cheddar Gorge, is littered with themed pubs, cafes and shops dedicated to the dairy product.

It’s all a little cheesy, but you’ve just got to embrace it.

In need of a new frock? Gorge-ous Boutique is the place to head. Feeling peckish? I’m still dreaming of the cheese rarebit that I devoured at Cafe Gorge a few months back.

Although very little cheddar is actually produced in the village nowadays, you can still get your hands on some local stuff at The Cheddar Gorge Cheese Company – the only place to still sell it.

I’d recommend opting for the cave-aged variety which is left to mature in Gough’s Caves for a year or so, giving it a deep and rich flavour.

Pop into the caves while you’re here, too. It’s pretty cool to be able to take in such an ancient structure – the stalactites in here are a staggering 500,000 years old.

Westmill, Hertfordshire

Travel Reporter, Alice Penwill

If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it. But just next to the larger town of Buntingford is the charming village of Westmill.

To get to it, you’ve got to head down a bumpy track, or walk across rolling fields.

There’s no noisy traffic, in fact, it’s so incredibly quiet you’re likely just to hear the bleating of sheep.

Westmill has thatched-roof cottages, a village green, a charming tea room and a pub loved by locals called The Sword Inn Hand.

In fact, it’s been rated among the Top 100 Restaurants for Outdoor Dining in the UK for 2026 by OpenTable.

And it was also named the ‘Best Pub’ in Hertfordshire by The Telegraph thanks to its “cheerful crackling log fires in winter, a pretty garden with country views in summer, generous portions of good locally sourced food, local ales and superb service”.

Knaresborough, North Yorkshire

Deputy Travel Editor, Kara Godfrey

Knaresborough might technically be a town, but to me it gives big village vibes.

Not only does it feel small, but its postcard-perfect viaduct feels like something from a storybook, especially when a train runs along the top at the same time as errant row boats underneath.

Even its main attraction Mother Shipton’s Cave sounds like it’s make-believe.

One of England’s oldest tourist attractions, it is the “birthplace of a famous prophetess” with magic seemingly woven throughout…

Otherwise the historic market town is perfect for a souvenir or two followed by afternoon tea.

Cockington, Devon

Travel Reporter, Cyann Fielding

YOU wouldn’t believe that this stunning, quaint village is just a short walk from the beach and bustling towns on the English Riviera…

Cockington is a small village set back from Torquay seafront, where you will find thatched cottages, open meadows, a manor house and a thatched pub with a sprawling garden.

It is the ideal day out or retreat from the busy seaside.

Head to The Drum Inn for a tipple or if you prefer to keep it Devonshire, make sure to visit The Weavers Cottage Tea Garden for a traditional cream tea including freshly made scones.

At the top end of the village you’ll find Cockington Court, with stables home to a number of independent makers including glassblowers and blacksmiths.

Ballygally, Northern Ireland

Travel Reporter, Jenna Stevens

Picture a 17th century castle facing the sea, backed by rolling green hills of farmland – that’s the storybook village of Ballygally in County Antrim.

Right on the castle’s doorstep lies a golden crescent of beach, watching the morning mist roll over the Irish Sea.

Head in the opposite direction of the sea and you’ll find bright green hills dotted with grazing sheep that look, from a distance, like cotton wool balls with legs – the kind you’d draw as as child.

To make your visit all the more magical, venture out by car to Glenariff Forest Park. Here there are waterfall walks and gorges connected by old wooden bridges, where deer and red squirrels wander.

The beachfront castle of Ballygally is now a Hastings Hotel, and is the only 17th century castle in Northern Ireland in which you can stay overnight.

It’s famously haunted by resident ghost Lady Isabella Shaw. Brave guests can even peek inside her untouched ‘Ghost Room’ in one of the castle’s turrets.

If that’s not enough whimsy for you, then you can sit down to a Game of Thrones-themed afternoon tea for £36pp, or explore the property’s enchanting gardens hidden behind its weathered stone walls.

Corfe Castle, Dorset

Assistant Travel Editor, Sophie Swietochowski

The charming Corfe Castle, named after the old fortress ruins that are tucked away at the edge of the village, has a cutesy, old-world feel to it.

Sat a little way back from the coast in Dorset, this place is filled with artsy tea shops selling homebaked cakes piled high with buttercream and boutiques flogging antiques and second-hand goods.

I visited in peak autumn which made the village come alive with colour – fiery red ivy was dripping from the stone cottages and crunchy leaves were littering the winding paths.

Pop into the wonky Castle Inn for a pint in the cosiest setting. It’s all stone interiors and timber beams smothered in multi-coloured fairy lights.

The castle is a National Trust site and well worth a visit.

Its crumbling ruins are perched high on a hill and great fun for little kids with a wooden pillory for posing in and giant catapult.

For a properly good cuppa and wedge of cake, head to By the Castle.

Burford, Cotswolds

Deputy Travel Editor, Kara Godfrey

You can’t get much more of a quintessential Cotswolds town than Burford.

The cobbled high street is littered with old school sweet shops and quaint cafes (Huffkins and Hunters are popular with the locals).

At the end of the road is a tiny bridge running over the River Windrush – perfect for taking the kids to feed the ducks.

Its reluctance for any big chains has kept it feeling like stepping back in time, instead the town is mainly taken up with whimsical honeysuckle-lined cottages and churches.

The Prince of Burford is one of the classier hotels, with four poster beds in the pub rooms if you need somewhere to stay.

Make sure to pop into Burford Garden Centre too – it’s one of the fanciest in the country and you might even spot a celeb or two.

Totnes, Devon

Travel Reporter, Cyann Fielding

OVER the years Totnes in Devon has earned many nicknames as the hippy capital of the UK.

But this unique town is like no other I’ve ever visited, with a high street clear of major brands – instead you’ll find independent coffee shops and lots of local artists selling their work.

At the bottom end of the high street, you’ll also find the River Dart, which makes for a nice walk to watch the boats bob up and down.

Half-way up the high street, you can visit Totnes Castle too, which is a motte-and-bailey castle.

Make sure to peruse the bookstores too – there are many of them, each with their own specialism.

Grantchester, Cambridgeshire

Travel Reporter, Alice Penwill

Having watched episodes of Grantchester growing up, I was looking forward to visiting and seeing whether it had that charming old England feel to it. And it did.

The village just south of Cambridge is filled with old-fashioned pubs like The Green Man where lots of the residents enjoy a tipple.

I’ve never seen anything like the Orchard Tea Garden which is set literally in an apple orchard surrounded by trees and filled with fold out deckchairs and picnic tables.

If you’re a fan of the countryside like I am, take a stroll through the meadows by the River Cam.

*Prices correct at the time of publication.

Hugh Ryan is an absolute superstar of queer history. His first two books, “When Brooklyn Was Queer” and “The Women’s House of Detention: A Queer History of a Forgotten Prison,” were magnets for awards and accolades. After spending recent years immersed in cultural stories, he’s turned his investigative eye on his own coming of age with the rollicking, raw, funny and sharp memoir “My Bad: A Personal History of the Queer Nineties and Beyond.” Pivoting from scholar of history to student of life, Ryan shares lessons learned from beloved but homophobic middle school teachers (“The nicest mother— I knew could accidentally curb-stomp my heart at any moment”) to ones acquired on the dance floor (“Dancing is sex on a communal level: an embodied ecstatic ritual of union”).

Ryan swung through L.A. on his book tour, and what better place to host a paean to the ’90s than the ASU FIDM Museum, where the exhibit “Obsessed: Fashion and Nostalgia in the ’90s” is serving Westwood plaids, Calvin Klein’s minimalist silk parachute sheath and Donatella’s zipper-slashed, leather mourning dress. A fellow survivor of the era, I interviewed Ryan and the evening was introduced by the exhibition’s sparkling curator, Christina Frank, who cheekily shared period photos of the author alongside images from the museum’s ’90s archives, asking: Who wore it best? Whether it was Ryan channeling designer inspo or fashion-snatching looks from the streets, the display — like the book that inspired it — was colorful and daring, inspired and eccentric and wholly unique. At a time when nostalgia for the ’90s is seemingly everywhere, “My Bad” places the decade into context, including its paradoxical freedoms and oppressions, with the intimate, funny rough language of your freakiest, funnest bestie.

Michelle Tea: Your previous books are this amazing, accessible scholarship. In “My Bad,” your language is so different — you’re cussing! The academic gloves are off — which isn’t to say that it’s not brainy. Was this just the voice that the book wanted? It’s like, “Oh, so we’re just like sitting on the curb having a cigarette together.”

Hugh Ryan: I actually wanted to buy a box of clove cigarettes while I was doing the research, but apparently they’re illegal now because they’re deadly and full of fiberglass.

So much of it is about writing it for people today who are younger, who look up to my books and are like, “I’m going to get my PhD and be just like you!,” and I was like, I didn’t do that, I’ve misrepresented myself somehow, and I want to be really real. Also, I had this job for four or five years where I ghost wrote a kids’ books series, and I was eventually fired, because I took a beloved character — who I am not allowed to name — and made her curse, which she had apparently never done in her 100-year history. When I made her say ‘hell’ and ‘damn’ while solving a mystery, the internet went wild, and you can find the Amazon page where I am ruined. So, the ability to curse in my work and have a real voice was something that, from very early on in my career, I was like, “Oh no, I got to be real careful about being too much myself on the page.”

Ryan in ‘90s Calvin Klein; Dave Navarro walks the Anna Sui Spring/Summer 1997 runway. (Hugh Ryan; Michel Arnaud; Gift of Arnaud Associates, 2000; From ASU FIDM Museum Collection)

MT: You needed to break that pattern of self-censoring. What was it like to shift the focus of your intellectual investigation onto yourself?

HR: Excruciating. At first I really enjoyed it, when it was just this idea. I’ve never really told these stories. In the early versions of it, everything I wrote was jokey, silly, overly stylized, not honest. I wasn’t ready to really dig in. I think that I had a lot of layers of defensiveness that I didn’t even understand I had until I had to write things down. My agent kept being, “No, no, this isn’t real, stop with these jokes, it is funny, but you have to get into the serious issues.” There was a large resistance inside me. Asking, “OK, how did my experiences relate to the ’90s as a whole?” actually let me talk about myself and the time period I emerged from. I needed that scaffolding to feel comfortable.

MT: How do you feel about Gen X’s legacy as basically the coolest generation?

HR: I mean, I kind of love it.

MT: We’re having the most sex, even though we’re so old now. And we’re tough, because we’ve survived so much queer trauma. You write in “My Bad” about having Snapple bottles thrown out windows at you.

HR: If you looked queer and you were out in the world, it was just accepted that at some point during the day someone was going to be violent towards you. Verbally, maybe physically. It just was what it was. Though I will say, having now, later in my life, thrown some Snapple bottles really hard just to feel it, it does feel very good. They’re heavy, they’re glass, they explode. If you can get your hands on some classic ’90s Snapple, just throw them, just try it.

MT: We have to have a queer, Gen X ritual of throwing Snapple bottles, like a rage room.

Ryan in the ‘90s. In his new memoir “My Bad,” Ryan looks back on this time with the intimate, funny rough language of your freakiest, funnest bestie.

(Hugh Ryan)

HR: I do think that it’s easy to forget all of that, because I think we all wanted to forget it to a certain degree. We wanted to let go of our pain. Both the people who were hurt and the people who caused those hurts had some amount of evolution. This is something I think about a lot with my family. If you read the book, in the early chapters it’s rough with my folks. They were loving, but also had no idea what to do with me. I was not just gay, I was weird and trans and confused, and always making noise and acting out and being inappropriate. There’s all this tough stuff, and then we try to forgive each other and let it go, but without saying it. Writing the book was this moment of, “Oh no, am I making us talk about all the bad times again?” It took me sitting with that and realizing — that’s the only way to get to the other side. I’ve seen this change in my family, and it felt important to document how shitty it was, so we could see the change.

MT: What sign are you?

HR: Cancer.

MT: You’re Cancer?!

HR: Yeah, tell me about it. I know so little about astrology. It’s the straightest thing about me, how little I know about astrology.

MT: I don’t even know what to say, because I’m getting such Aquarius-Virgo-Gemini from you that Cancer is just blowing my mind.

HR: I do have a shell, I know that about myself. And that was my first two books. Now I’m trying to invite people in.

MT: Will you talk about the club kid scene in New York City in the ’90s?

HR: I just touched up on the edges of it. The club kid movement really stopped after effective retrovirals come in, in 1996. Suddenly club kids saw a future for themselves, and did not all imagine that they were going to die of AIDS imminently. The ones who I’ve interviewed have said, “That’s the moment at which suddenly, dressing for Friday night no longer felt like what you spend two weeks doing.” But when it was happening, it was amazing. There were these free magazines in New York City, HX and Next, little queer rags full of party promotions and photos of half-naked people in clubs, and ads for those awful viatical companies that would buy up your life insurance if you had AIDS. They were very weird, but they’re like style bibles for me. And then you would go to the clubs.

When you went to Limelight, there would be two entrances, one for straight people and one for gay people. The bouncer at the line for the straight entrance was a giant gay guy, who — this was abusive, and probably wrong, but it was very funny — he’d be like, “You two make out if you’re gonna tell me you’re gay, make out or you don’t come in.” You only got access to half the club if you went in the straight entrance — the other half was only for queer people, and so you would have these straight folks trying to get in. It was amazing, and it was a place where I came to really love my body, because up until then the only things I had been told my body were for were sports, and that was never going to be me. There, I could dance all night.

Limelight was the coolest, but I loved Tunnel. Tunnel was 80,000 square feet of nightclub in a former railway terminal. There was a room entirely designed by the artist Kenny Scharf, and it was covered in fake fur — in a club when smoking was still allowed! It was the worst smelling place I’ve ever been in my whole life. I would sneak down there wearing giant Jnco raver pants, and watch everyone. These giant pants had these huge pockets in them, and I would put a big, gallon Ziploc bag with a clean T-shirt and clean socks inside the pant pocket. When the night was done I would go out, get food, change my clothes, and put the dirty clothes inside the Ziploc bag. I still had to have the pants on. I carried like the smell of 1,000 humid homosexuals with me everywhere I went.

The club, Ryan says, “was a place where I came to really love my body, because up until then the only things I had been told my body were for were sports, and that was never going to be me.”

(Hugh Ryan)

MT: Speaking of being grimy — you were also really affected by Burning Man.

HR: I had met this guy, we totally fell in love. He was a high school dropout computer hacker who was the epitome of the bisexual ’90s — longhaired, androgynous, everything I wanted to be. You know, that very queer thing of: Do I want you, do I want to be you, should we go on a road trip or a killing spree? We were in love and I did not want to go back to school. I had had a terrible junior year, and I was looking to make new mistakes. He was like, “I’m gonna go to this thing called Burning Man, do you want to go? It’s out in the desert, there’s all this art, and it’s super cool,” and I was like, “When is it?” And it was the very first week of classes my senior year, and I was like, “Yeah, absolutely.”

It was amazing. We got adopted by these people who called themselves the Church of Mez, or Mezbians. They were extremely rich Microsoft engineers. We were completely unprepared, because we’d f—ing come in on the Greyhound bus. You’re supposed to bring a gallon of water per person per day, just to start with, and we had nothing. We had a tent and a sleeping bag, and these people thought we were somewhere between pets and aphrodisiacs.

It felt like such an amazing thing to get to touch. And I know that all of those people ended up being like fascist tech bros of today, I’m sure, and I worry about the environmental degradation that I did not know anything about. And it was so white, so many white people with dreadlocks and those terrible tribal tattoos. Like many things in the book, I have to write about it tenderly, even though I know there are so many problems. I don’t think I would be who I was if I didn’t show some tenderness towards those spaces that made me, or at least allowed me to see myself.

Michelle Tea is the author of more than 20 books for grown-ups, teenagers and children.

Before her death in 1993, Mabel McKay — one of the last living dreamers of the Pomo Indian people — shared a prophecy while driving through the Sonoma hills. One day, this paradise would burn.

“Everything is going to go dry. Everything will burn. That’s my latest vision,” she said, gesturing to the idyllic landscape.

Startled, writer Greg Sarris asked what could be done to stop it.

“You live the best way you know how,” McKay replied.

Since her passing, Sonoma County experienced the most destructive wildfires in California history in 2017, only for another, more destructive fire to surpass it a year later. “She always used to say, ‘Whether you believe it or not, it’s true,’” Sarris recalls.

McKay and her visions are the inspiration behind Sarris’ latest work. His first novel in 28 years, “The Last Human Bear,” is loosely based on the spiritual leader McKay, whose wisdom and companionship served as a refuge to Sarris during a tumultuous childhood in Sonoma County.

A reluctant casino mogul

On a Monday morning in California, Sarris sits in his sleek office at the Federated Indians of Graton Rancheria in Rohnert Park. Sarris, 74, has served as chairman of the Federated Indians of Graton Rancheria for more than 30 years. In his office, diplomas and academic certificates crowd the walls. A framed poster for the 2023 film “Joan Baez: I Am a Noise” hangs nearby — she’s a close friend. Behind him, an American flag ripples in the distance outside the window, blurred by the summer heat.

Just up the road sits a multibillion-dollar tribe-owned casino, Graton Resort & Casino — a project the writer oversees. “I had never been in a casino. I have a PhD in modern thought and literature from Stanford,” says Sarris.

How does an accomplished author find himself at the helm of a multibillion-dollar casino enterprise? It’s a question that still puzzles Sarris. “I told them if we can raise our people and become a platform for social justice and environmental stewardship to benefit Indian and non-Indian alike, I’ll do it.”

Before his stint as a reluctant casino mogul, Sarris was a prolific author and university professor at UCLA and Sonoma State. In 2023, he was appointed a regent of the University of California by Gavin Newsom. Over the course of his career, he published six books, and his novel “Grand Avenue” became an HBO original film in 1996.

California’s Native history: revisited

From early in his career, Sarris wanted to depict Indians as he knew them, rather than as Hollywood depicted them. “We’ve been erased by Hollywood, because the idea of Indians has always been Plains Indians or Southwest,” Sarris explains. “It’s easier for Americans to access Buffalo Bill.”

Greg Sarris’ new novel “The Last Human Bear.”

(Josh Edelson / For The Times)

“California Indians have always been left out of the picture,” says Sarris.

“The Last Human Bear” is Sarris’ latest attempt to revive the legacy of California’s Native history. The novel follows Mary Hatcher, a Pomo Indian in Sonoma County, from Prohibition through the 21st century. It’s told in the first person through Hatcher’s compelling voice as she narrates the horror and heartbreak of her lifetime over the course of a century, echoing William Faulkner’s literary style, which influenced Sarris.

“I’m curious why you want to know about me,” reads the first line. The novel unfolds like an oral storytelling tradition, driven by a voice that Sarris painstakingly crafted, evoking his conversation with McKay. “The voice comes. I have to call it, almost like a spirit,” says Sarris. “I wanted it to feel like an oral story.”

Hatcher — a Pomo shape-shifter who dodges prejudice by passing as Mexican in the novel — is a thorny protagonist, often cunning, scheming and unforgiving. “An American Indian woman is as richly complicated as anybody else. I wanted to show this rich and complicated character who’s negotiated a history that she’s showing you,” says Sarris.

Acclaimed Northern California writer and activist Rebecca Solnit, who has authored 17 books and is a friend of Sarris’, says that she was fascinated by his ability to evoke so many aspects of female life in “The Last Human Bear.” Solnit was especially moved by Sarris’ rendering of California’s tragic history. “It’s shocking, given how rich California’s Indigenous cultures were — 99 different language groups, mythologies, belief systems and linguistic traditions. Every North American Indigenous language family is represented in California. It’s weird how this history has been erased, and how horrific what happened was.”

Climate change and ongoing ecological disasters have made Indigenous perspectives more vital than ever, the author argues. “I think Indigenous people have been hugely influential in giving us a point of view in which we were never separate from nature,” she says. According to Solnit, Sarris’ novels are part of a broader resurgence of interest in Native culture.

In the early chapters of the “The Last Human Bear,” the protagonist gets a job on a ranch by posing as Mexican, since Indians were forbidden from working as housekeepers. What follows is a tale of tension, deception and a forbidden love that sours, reminiscent of Brontë novels.

Sarris hopes that the novel illuminates an uncomfortable history of Sonoma County that remains largely invisible, looming beneath the soil of wine country. The novel offers “a history of this county that a lot of people haven’t seen,” says Sarris.

“There were more Indian people right where we’re sitting per capita than anywhere else in the entire New World outside Mexico City, which was the Aztec capital,” says Sarris. “The genocide was so horrendous.”

Identity, revenge and a search for home are themes that arise throughout the novel — subjects Sarris knows well in his own life.

Greg Sarris feeds chickens at an organic farm across the street from Graton Resort & Casino, which he heads, in Rhonert Park.

(Josh Edelson / For The Times)

Uncovering a hidden Native heritage

In 1952, Sarris’ teenage mother gave him up for adoption, her family hoping to evade the embarrassment of their Jewish daughter becoming pregnant by a Native American Filipino man. Sarris grew up in a white family in Santa Rosa alongside three siblings. His adopted father, George Sarris, became abusive, causing Greg to flee the house with his adopted mother’s blessing. “God bless her. She let me go out and live on ranches and run with other people to get away from him.”

It was in these formative years that Greg became acquainted with Native American people in Santa Rosa, always feeling a mysterious pull toward them. It was these years that also shaped his sensibility as a writer. “I was a lost kid on the streets, so I was always paying attention to everyone, listening, and people would tell me stories.”

Native Americans lived on the fringe of town, often practicing healing ceremonies that were frowned upon by white Catholic families in the suburbs Sarris explains. “When I was 15, I met Mabel McKay, who I wrote the book about. I knew she did some of those strange things that I heard about, but I liked her,” he says. “I had no idea that I was related to these people. I thought I was a mixed-blood Mexican or Spanish.”

At age 30, Sarris uncovered the identities of his birth parents and learned of his Native heritage. He learned his birth mother was buried in a pauper’s grave at the Calvary Catholic Cemetery in Santa Rosa, with “nothing to mark her grave but an upside-down horseshoe that has her name in it.” In the opening pages of the novel, a dedication to her: Bunny Hartman.

Excitedly, Sarris presented proof of his Indian heritage to McKay, his trusted confidant. “I thought it was a big deal that I had Indian blood,” says Sarris. He showed McKay a photo of his father, which she met with indifference. Naturally, Sarris was disappointed. “She told me something later: ‘You’re never any more Indian than your experience.’”

A lifelong outsider

Questions surrounding the legitimacy of Sarris’ heritage haunted him for decades and ultimately informed the novel. Being adopted by a white family, only to be shunned by the Native community, perpetuated his lifelong feeling of being an outsider. “I keep thinking maybe I just got in with this group of people and my Indian relatives so that I would feel rejected again,” he says. “We gravitate towards what we know as home emotionally.”

“I didn’t grow up on a reservation. I’m fair-skinned,” he says. “Being adopted, it feeds into that feeling of not being good enough,” he says, adding: “Illegitimacy is a medicine in the end.”

In the Native American literary community, Sarris has often felt excluded from discourse. When in doubt, he reminds himself of his involvement with the tribe. “Who among them have done this much for their people?” he asks. “Who among them has given this much time and sacrificed a writing career for their people?”

Jane Fonda, the two-time Academy Award-winning actress and activist, struck up a friendship with Sarris through a shared cause. “We met during the campaign to secure health and safety setbacks that would finally prevent oil wells from being drilled within 3,200 feet of a community. Greg and the federated tribes helped us win that fight against Big Oil,” Fonda explained in an email.

“I can tell from his books and my time with him that he embodies indigenous wisdom and beliefs,” Fonda says. “I see Greg Sarris as a man who embodies the best of two worlds — the mercantile culture of Western civilization and the indigenous world that knows we are part of nature and interdependent with it. It’s a rare and valuable combination.”

Greg Sarris, who holds a PhD in literature from Stanford, inside the casino he works for to help fund his tribe’s future.

(Josh Edelson / For The Times)

Inside the polarizing casino kingdom

The Graton Resort & Casino, launched by Sarris over 12 years ago, now plays a vital role in supporting the Pomo Indian community. “I promised early on: roof over everyone’s head, an insurance policy in every pocket and a college degree paid for,” he says. “We give $2.5 million a year in perpetuity to the University of California, so that all California Indians can go to the University of California tuition-free.” The casino has funded theater programs, youth writing intensives and revenue sharing with neighboring tribes.

On the car ride to the casino, Sarris is riffing on his friendship with Grateful Dead member Mickey Hart, who bought Sarris a quarter horse as a gift. In the casino, Sarris eagerly greets his employees with a friendliness that betrays his repeated insistence that he’s a reclusive writer. He points out blown-glass flower sculptures, an embellishment he once saw at the Four Seasons in Paris. He walks past the baccarat room, where he hosts high rollers from Beijing, whom he boasts, “play $100,000 in a hand.”

Early on, news of the casino’s construction caused waves of controversy across Sonoma County — some of which resulted in death threats against Sarris’ life. Concerns that a casino would invite debauchery into the county circulated, which Sarris points out is ironic for a community predicated on wine: “Beyond whether gambling is right or wrong, what is implicit is their privilege and elitism,” says Sarris. “People were getting scared because these brown people, who were the poorest in Sonoma County, are suddenly going to have power.”

Admittedly, Sarris says their newfound wealth has not been without repercussions in the tribe. “People who have been traumatized with generational poverty are the most vulnerable to the lure of materialism,” he says.

When time catches up

In the final chapters of “The Human Bear,” the protagonist, at the end of her life, recalls: “Human Bears often like to even the score before they die.” Revenge is futile, she concludes. “If I was going to avenge our people, I would have to poison nearabout all of history.”

Sarris recalls a similar epiphany he had speaking with McKay. He explains Pomo Indians believed that each action had a consequence. “Ethnographers always said we’re a culture predicated on black magic and fear. No, we were cultures predicated on profound respect for the complexity of all life,” says Sarris.

Then, white men came and seemingly bent the laws of natural order. “The Kashaya Pomo word for white people was ‘miracles’, because they came in and killed everything and did all these things. Nothing could come back to them,” says Sarris.

He explained to McKay that he thought of the white man’s fate differently. “Look, there’s no water. There’s no air. Everything’s poison,” he says, gesturing around him to this vast, broken world. “It’s all come back. It just took time.”

Connors is a culture journalist from Sonoma County. She covers books, food, entertainment and offbeat Los Angeles. She’s currently at work on a book of essays about tourism in all its forms.

At the beginning of Mary H.K. Choi’s wildly entertaining presentation for her new novel “Pool House’” at Skylight Books, she reveals she won’t be reading.

“Readings are boring,” she says, tapping her Prada loafers. “It’s like you’re watching someone else play video games.”

Instead, she and Yasi Salek, host of the hit podcast “Bandsplain,” spend the evening riffing on literature, coolness, autism diagnoses and a literary perennial: unrelenting pain.

“How is your mother wound?” Salek asks in her signature vocal fry most often heard ad-libbing about the band Weezer. Salek reveals she is in Jungian therapy, adding, “What Carl says, goes.”

Throughout the discussion, Choi describes her novel as a challenging read — calling it a “gross, decaying meat soup.” She jokes that her career as an author feels like a “Make-A-Wish Foundation wish,” bewildered by any attention her work has garnered. Yet dozens of eager readers have packed into the independent bookstore, spilling into the aisles with copies of the novel balanced on their laps.

“Publishing is so slow, it’s like giving birth to a lawn chair,” Choi remarks. Later, she professes tedium with the resurgence of an alt-lit scene.

“Don’t you find that everyone has to be cool right now? Why is everyone so cool?” Choi asks Salek.

Let’s be clear: Salek and Choi are very cool. Salek sits cross-legged, dressed in all black, with a heart tattoo on her forearm that reads “books.” Before “Pool House,” Choi authored three New York Times bestselling novels. Salek recounts dropping out of her MFA program at Bennington College in 2020 to start what would become a cult-classic podcast.

Book-themed sugar cookies sold at a past Little Literary Fair at Hauser & Wirth.

(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)

“I love that you started a podcast instead of getting an MFA,” Choi replies.

Like Skylight Books, independent bookstores across Los Angeles have become gathering places for readers and writers alike. Authors ranging from household names to debut novelists regularly draw enthusiastic crowds. Increasingly, bookstores are functioning not only as retail spaces but as community hubs.

A few blocks from Echo Park Lake, local favorite A Good Used Book has transformed Sunday mornings into one of the neighborhood’s liveliest recurring gatherings. Visitors browse used books while enjoying charcoal portraits, handmade jewelry and Hawaiian shaved ice. Buy a book and you might even end up on the store’s coveted Instagram Story — the hottest plug in town.

“It feels like in a city as big as Los Angeles, books are still underrepresented. So there’s a lot of room to grow, and that’s exciting,” says Chris Capizzi, who founded the bookstore in 2017.

Earlier this month, the Los Angeles Review of Books hosted its annual Little Literary Fair at SCI-Arc, drawing hundreds to literary panels and workshops on zine-making, publishing and finding an agent. Vendors from across California filled the space, representing independent presses, bookstores and literary magazines.

“I find writers based [in the L.A. area] to be socially incisive in equal measure as being experimental, innovative and just fun,” says Emily VanKoughnett, the events director at the Los Angeles Review of Books. “I love the L.A. lit scene because it invites people to explore pockets of the city and connect over writing.”

This summer, literary events across Los Angeles are continuing to draw readers into bookstores, community spaces and alternative venues alike. The city’s literary scene remains as weird, profane and sentimental as ever.

Sitting in the control room of their home studio known as the Centre of Mental Arts (COMA for short), Long Beach husband-and-wife duo Scott Montoya and Julia Kugel smile as they discuss new music they recorded for their band Soft Palms. Their new album, titled “In Echo,” has been in the works for over five years. The 10-song album, out Friday on Everloving Records, was inspired by their frustration about how they feel the world has devolved since 2020.

“The first record I was like, ‘I want to give the world a hug,’” Kugel says. “And then this one I was like, f— this world.”

For Kugel and Montoya, the album serves as the latest chapter of their creative and personal journey. The pair met in 2012 at a music festival in Dallas (“The most romantic city,” Kugel quips), while playing in the Atlanta-based band the Coathangers and Orange County’s the Growlers, respectively. They bonded over a shared disgust at gladiator shoes, and soon thereafter, were in a relationship.

By 2017, they were married and settled in Long Beach. Despite Kugel’s role in the Coathangers at the time (Montoya left the Growlers in 2016), the couple wanted to form a band. Previously, they recorded a pair of songs that constituted Kugel’s second solo seven-inch single. That experience made them comfortable knowing they could balance their professional and personal lives.

“He’s super easy to work with,” Kugel says of Montoya, who sits beside her, trying to hide a smile. She looks at him and continues, “he’s very talented and very patient.”

“When we were in our other bands, we used to meet up on tour,” Montoya, who also produces and engineers for other artists, says. ”You see the absolute worst of people on tour … so this is nothing.”

To kickstart Soft Palms, Kugel drew from a batch of songs she had previously written that had no home. Being able to record in their own studio allowed the pair to craft songs without feeling any pressure to meet a deadline.

By late 2019, the pair put the finishing touches on their self-titled debut. When the record was released in July 2020, the pandemic was still in full force. The pair were disappointed and upset by the state of the world, and after a few years of stewing, Kugel and Montoya got started on a second album.

Don’t be fooled by its breezy ’60s-analog vintage pop sound. Soft Palms are angry, and that informs the spirit of “In Echo.”

The pair points to “Radio” as the album’s bellwether. First released in 2025, the song rails against how, over the past handful of years, people have fought for the sake of fighting, with no end in sight.

More strikingly, on the biting “Nervous as Hell,” Montoya points to Fox News as “infecting everyone’s parents.”

“I did some digging because I couldn’t believe something that hateful existed,” he says of the network, specifically its landmark $787-million settlement with Dominion Voting Systems. “It turned it from this horrible thing into this s— business that has taken advantage of the elderly and destroyed families.”

That anger continues on the angsty rocker “The Wedding Song.” Kugel points to attending a wedding where a family member married a “total raging maniac,” and how they dealt with the buildup of delicately balancing being cordial yet firm.

“He [the family member] goes, ‘I just want you to show up and shut up!” she says. “I was like, ‘Well, firstly, f— you. Then secondly, this is a song — you just handed me gold.”

Since settling in Long Beach, for the last 10 years Kugel and Montoya took it upon themselves to help foster a positive, artistic community. It’s that mindset that pushed them to found and operate their 501(c)(3) nonprofit called Studios for Schools with the goal of providing recording equipment to underprivileged schools.

Their DIY work ethic in entertainment was also the driving force behind Happy Sundays, a free Long Beach-based music festival. Running for 10 years, the fest created a block party in the city’s Zaferia neighborhood that eventually expanded into a full weekend of shows across stages set up at local businesses to host a diverse lineup of veteran and up-and-coming area bands. Though the event was paused this year so they can focus on the new album and book, the couple plan to bring it back in 2027.

“It was like a statement in that way of like f— these giant prices, VIP experiences and all of that stuff,” Kugel says. “It’s the anti-music festival and a celebration of community.”

Keeping with that spirit, and drawing from the experiences of their two-decade careers, last month the pair released a book titled “How to Be Self-Reliant in the Music Business.” The genesis of this self-published guidebook occurred when the pair realized they were not receiving a portion of a royalty stream they were owed. They knew that if they were in the dark on the issues they thought they knew, others likely were as well.

“We decided to turn it into a book because we realized there’s so much stuff that few artists know about on their own,” Montoya says. “I want people to understand the scope of what they’re actually getting into, and the reality of their situations.”

“It’s a very thorough overview,” Kugel adds.

The book includes information beyond what one would find in Donald S. Passman’s longstanding industry bible “All You Need to Know About the Music Business.” With assistance from a lawyer friend and a CPA family member, the pair addresses topics ranging from backstage etiquette to managing social media to dealing with record labels and publishing companies. They hope that it will provide a blueprint for bands old and new to better navigate music’s notoriously choppy waters. Their accessible, snack-size chapters move fluidly as they explain the realities artists face in 2026.

Battling through the disappointment of the first part of the decade allowed Kugel and Montoya to find their creative way. Armed with this infusion of activity across various disciplines, the couple is inspired to continue to shake their way out of the past. Though focused on their impending U.S. and European tour, the duo promise that the next Soft Palms album won’t take as long and are mulling over their next music-industry book project. For now.

“It’s a lot to keep up with all of these projects,” Montoya says. “We work all day, every day. And it’s been cool to see signs that it’s paying off.”

Patton Oswalt is an avid reader. When he thinks about his ideal Sunday in the Valley, where he has lived for more than a decade, bookstores come up more than a few times, particularly ones like the neighborhood staple the Iliad, which encourages patrons to sit and read for hours.

Currently, the 57-year-old comedian says he is rereading Mo Daviau’s 2016 time-travel/rock-nerd novel “Every Anxious Wave,” the plot to which he “truly can’t describe,” adding: “It’s about, especially for me, how does Gen X grow old? And how do they try to dodge growing old? It’s pretty f— brilliant. Imagine a day just killing two or three hours in the Iliad just reading it. Oh, it’s the best.”

In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.

Not that Oswalt always has time to sprawl out with a novel. Like any touring comedian of his caliber, he admits that his schedule is constantly in flux. Not only did he spend last summer and fall promoting his 10th stand-up hour, “Black Coffee and Ice Water” (out now on Audible), but he is constantly at work on new material. On June 9, he’s launching “Tea & Scotch” on YouTube, which delves into more observational comedy subjects such as ghost-seeing cats, AI paranoia and parenting a teenager. (Oswalt tells The Times that his daughter usually does her own thing on weekends, but sometimes they’ll journey to Burbank and hit the vintage shops on Magnolia, followed by poke for lunch.)

When he’s not earmarking time in his perfect Sunday for reading, Oswalt also delights in frequenting Valley small businesses that fully embrace the indie and oddball. “I like where the Valley’s going. I like how its residents are aging,” says Oswalt. “Because they’re aging into weirdness rather than safety, which is what I will always go for. Instead of just, ‘I want the nice, reliable chain restaurant, the nice, big book chain,’ I prefer smaller shops that take risks. They’re more quirky, an actual person works here, and the imperfections are what makes it amazing.”

Below, Oswalt shares his ideal Sunday in L.A., which sometimes begins later than he’d like it to.

7 a.m.: Enjoy a quiet breakfast at home

I try to be an early riser. Today I got up at 8:30, but a great day for me is getting up at 7, because I have that hour of quiet to have my breakfast, sip some tea, do some reading, and then start my day.

But it’s hard to have a lot of those mornings in a row, because unfortunately, I also have those nights where I’m just, like, lying awake thinking. I have those crash-out days where I’m like, “Sleep until noon today! Need it! Gotta catch up.” Anyone who says that they consistently wake up at 7 a.m., for the most part, they’re probably lying.

9 a.m.: Morning coffee with a side of people watching

What’s critical about the Valley, especially Studio City, is a lot of hipsters who have aged out of Los Feliz and Silver Lake have all moved here, and they brought the good sushi, the good bookstores and the good coffee with them. So, my perfect Sunday starts at the Studio City Farmers Market. You do this kind of roaming breakfast. Where they do the farmers market, there’s an amazing tamale stand that does these chicken and green chile tamales. You get one of those, and then you go over to Joan’s on Third, and you get yourself a really strong cup of coffee, because Joan’s is right there, part of the farmers market.

It’s almost like Joan’s is the motor on a sailboat. If you can’t find the food that you like roaming around the farmers market, you can hop into Joan’s and grab something, but that’s where the good coffee is. Then you get a thing of berries from one of the sellers, and you sit. There are musicians everywhere, and it is a really good opportunity to not start your day looking at a screen and instead actually look at beautiful and flawed and imperfect and awesome people moving around and interacting. For a comedian or writer, that is gold.

11 a.m.: Worm into a book

From there, I would go up to the Last Bookstore, which just opened a location on Lankershim Boulevard in NoHo. It’s a work in progress; you can see the beginnings of the cool building that they’re doing on the interior. It’s almost like when you watch the Talking Heads’ “Stop Making Sense” and you see them assemble the stage as the concert goes on. It’s kind of amazing. So I always drop by there and spend way too much money on a book.

1 p.m.: Catch a matinee (and a matcha)

One of my favorite things is to see a movie in the afternoon. The Laemmle NoHo 7 on Lankershim is my little ’90s throwback Sunset 5, but in the Valley. They show very cool first-run indie movies, and then they will just randomly throw in [a classic], “Oh yeah, we’re showing ‘Jules and Jim.’” I just check my Fandango, to see what they’re showing in the afternoon, then I go see a movie.

I don’t really eat lunch these days, but across the street from the NoHo 7 is a place called Horror Vibes Coffee. It’s all based around horror movies. It’s weirdly popular. All these goth kids go in there, and they make really good matchas. So I’ll go in there, I’ll get a matcha, and then take that into the movie theater, see a flick. The Laemmle NoHo 7 does make really good chicken nuggets, and they do make a really, really bad for you — but delicious — bagel dog. Listen, a bagel dog with a recent indie movie? That’s mwah. [Gestures a chef’s kiss.]

4 p.m.: Head back to the bookstore

When I’m done at the movies, I will take whatever book I’ve gotten and go back down to the Last Bookstore and just sit and read. Or if you really want to go goblin-mode reading, you go to the Iliad Bookshop on Cahuenga. They encourage you just to go in there, sit, read. There are store cats everywhere that are hanging around, and the store kitties are very friendly. The Iliad has these big, overstuffed couches and chairs with blown springs. You are encouraged to sit and lounge and read. They have no problem with you doing that. A big thing for me now is having two to three uninterrupted hours of just reading. No phone, no nothing. Don’t gotta go anywhere. Don’t do anything. [Editor’s note: The Iliad is closed Sundays.]

6 p.m.: Sit down for some sushi

I’m very spoiled living in the Valley, because I live near amazing sushi. If I really want to splurge out and have what I think is the best sushi in the Valley, then I visit Sushi Tomoki, which is on Cahuenga. I just cannot rave about this place enough. They have a black cod sushi, and the black cod is slightly seared. It’s not cold, but it’s not totally cooked. There is something about cold rice and then this slightly seared, slightly burned black cod. The flavor is so perfect, I love it.

Right now, in the Valley, I’m kind of spoiled for good restaurants. There’s OyBar on Moorpark that I could go to. I go there right at 5. Otherwise there’s a line. I go right when they open. And then there’s a place called Wood & Water, further up Ventura, kind of closer to Sherman Oaks. That place is just solid, good. Everything on the menu is great, great wine list, you know. But the word is out — it’s getting crowded. Not to be a snot rag, but I go to Wood & Water so much that they kind of know me there, and they can usually get me a table. Not that I’m a big celeb, it’s just I go there a lot because their food is so good.

Once you’re my age, when I hear, “You gotta wait in line”… like, that’s why I’ve never been to Sqirl. Because I know I can’t do that, man. If I’m gonna stand in line, I’m gonna go to All Time, but I’ll just get there when they open. I can’t do lines anymore. You can do it when you’re 20, but I just want my g— breakfast.

8 p.m.: Take an outdoor stroll, then return to your book

After dinner, if it’s summertime in the Valley, I just walk through my neighborhood. There’s really good hills and stuff to go for, like, a nice nighttime walk after dinner. Or, because I’m such a freaking bookworm, I go home and sit on my big, comfy couch and just read some more until I fall asleep. There’s nothing wrong with double-dipping — you don’t have to read just once during the day. You can go back and forth.

The historic abandoned village is steeped in history and is said to have inspired an iconic novel Jane Eyre

Just four miles from Colne sits the historic village of Wycoller, providing a remarkable glimpse into a long-forgotten era, boasting ancient ruins and a compelling literary heritage.

This abandoned village is particularly celebrated for its ties to the legendary Brontë sisters, who made their home in nearby Haworth.

In her seminal novel Jane Eyre, English author Charlotte Brontë created a fictional setting, Ferndean Manor, widely believed to have been inspired by the present-day ruins of Wycoller Hall.

From the 16th through to the 18th century, the hall stood as the village’s centrepiece, dominating the surrounding landscape and almost certainly catching the eye of the author during her travels through the region.

The novelist was known to visit Gawthorpe Hall as a guest of the Kay-Shuttleworth family, and it is widely thought that on these journeys, this striking structure fired her imagination.

The telling clue lies in her depiction within the novel of the approach to the Manor along the old coach road, which bears a striking resemblance to Wycoller Hall. Sadly, today only rubble and remnants remain of what was once a vibrant and picturesque community, reports Lancs Live.

After years of abandonment, local volunteers stepped in to save the village during the 1940s, with Lancashire County Council later taking ownership of the site. Now forming part of Wycoller Country Park, the site is open to all those who wish to explore and wander amongst its historic remains.

Among the heritage highlights, visitors can discover several bridges spanning the peaceful beck that winds through its heart.

Clam Bridge stands proudly amongst these ancient structures, regularly crossed by park visitors, with origins stretching far beyond the 19th century and the era of the Brontës. This bridge is believed to be an ancient monument, over 1,000 years old – and it’s not the only testament to the area’s deeply-rooted history.

Another equally impressive bridge in Wycoller is Sally’s Bridge, which earned its fame by featuring in the film The Railway Children. It has stood the test of time, with origins traced back to the 13th-15th century.

Clapper Bridge likewise comprises substantial gritstone slabs resting on piers, thought to date from as early as the 16th century.

Artefacts unearthed amongst the remnants of this deserted village reveal evidence of human settlement stretching back to the Stone Age.

The site continues to draw visitors today, who come to explore the ruins and uncover the stories of those who once called it home.

Preservation measures are firmly in place to protect its unspoilt charm, keeping modern intrusions well away. This includes a car-free zone, meaning no accessible roads reach the village, which can only be approached on foot, unless you are a resident holding a permit.

One visitor documented their trip on TripAdvisor, writing: “Wycoller is such a cute, picturesque little place. It has a lovely stream for sitting by or paddling in. There’s plenty of shade in summer, from the huge trees.

“There was also a small exhibition, some ruins and well preserved stone bridges. It’s not a long walk but it’s perfect for a picnic and/or for the kids to paddle in the stream.”

Another added: “Beautiful place to go with amazing sights and a lovely shop for snacks and a warm drink. There are also different little trails and bridges to go over and plenty of ducks to feed. I recommend this to anyone who fancies going out for the day to be in touch with nature.”

What does it mean to lack ambition in a country that worships wealth? It means you are a capitalist wallflower, a laggard with a serious character flaw. No field of endeavor is immune from this attitude, the art world least of all. But artists with a desire for riches and fame must not declare their intentions so brazenly. At a time when the plastic arts are about as marginalized as they ever have been, and media buzz is generated by dead painters whose works sell for enormous sums at auction, creation in and of itself has little value unless it is lashed to something marketable.

With his new novel “Contrapposto,” Dave Eggers has written a big-hearted, deeply moving story about the choices artists make, or don’t make, to square up their own notions of success and happiness. The book is dual bildungsroman, following two friends across the long span of their lives from adolescence to their 70s, as they fall in and out of each other’s lives, make their way in the world, and fumble around for meaning and purpose in their art.

The protagonist in “Contrapposto” is Rob “Cricket” Dibb, an underclass Midwestern kid, raised by a single mother in a North Indiana suburb that’s about as nowheresville as it gets for budding artists with dreams of glory. Cricket doesn’t dream big. He’s just trying to endure without bodily harm, seeking refuge from his mother’s abusive boyfriend in the basement with his grandfather Silas, who teaches him about jazz and the beauty of a glorious sunset. He draws so he doesn’t have to think. Immersion in art is his escape hatch from the dreariness of his pinched world: “The drawing meant nothing, would never mean anything to anyone, but it was true to how he saw it. His hand had recorded what he saw and felt about this thing. He was an ugly, common creature who could occasionally freeze time. That was enough.”

Cricket’s apprenticeship is decidedly informal. No full scholarship rides to Bard or Pratt for him; instead he saves up to enroll himself in a life drawing class in Chicago, where he discovers the beauty of applying rigor and rules to his work, how to break down pictures into the geometry of circles and squares, planes and angles. “He measured proportions and improved,” writes Eggers. “He grew more confident with each pass on his drawing, and realized … that much of the rightness of the drawing, of any drawing, came through time and diligence and discernment.”

He meets his slightly older schoolmate Olympia, one of Eggers’ most beguiling creations, when she implores him to scrawl scatological bathroom graffiti on a playground structure in Old-English typography. Unlike Cricket, Olympia is earnest and sincere about her art in the way that only a young person untainted by cynicism can be. She claims to inhabit the soul of Albert Camus, and flings around aphorisms about art that fly over Cricket’s head. She is an aesthete, someone who likes to go to the race track just to revel in the colors on display there. She wants to create an art scene in their little world. “You know all the great art movements have friends at their core, right?,” she tells Cricket. “A lot of time they’re jammed together by some critics and the artists reject the name and the association. But think about Patti Smith and Sam Shepard. Did you know they dated for a while?”

Cricket is beguiled by her, and Olympia in turn is taken in by Cricket’s talent. When the local library pulls a few of Cricket’s semi-nude life drawing portraits down for fear of offending their patrons, Olympia becomes his advocate and champion. In contrast to Cricket, who skates along with no end plan, Olympia is a committed careerist, an artist who insists on a captive audience to justify her work. She wants to earn money as an artist; Cricket just wants to be left alone. This push and pull between the two frame Eggers’ novel across the six decades of his narrative.

One of many joys of “Contrapposto” is observing Cricket’s artistic awakening via the mentors who guide him into his artistic consciousness. Marcus Carpenter, a wizened sage in battered work boots (one imagines him as the art world analogue to the late novelist Jim Harrison), is the moral conscience of the novel, fighting the good fight for personal expression and railing against the “new, paradoxical tyranny wherein those without technical skill terrorize those who possess it.” Carpenter plucks Cricket from arts college and its meaningless pontificating to his “atelier in the corn,” a ramshackle Victorian where Cricket learns how to transmute what he sees with color and light. “The talented have talent,” Carpenter tells Cricket during one of his endearing rants. “The untalented have theories.”

From there, Cicket’s life is a crooked line. He doesn’t abandon art, but he can’t summon the urge to sell himself or his work, to graft his joy in making things onto the caprices of the marketplace. As Eggers jumps through time, we find Cricket working as an intern in an art gallery, an arid, lifeless space where nothing inspiring can possibly exist. As a young man he works as a ship-breaker in Turkey; in middle-age, we find him in a coastal town in Cambodia, making replicas of great paintings for tourists. Olympia, his elusive love and sporadic muse, flits in and out of his life as she works her way up the tiers of the art world’s ziggurat. She gently berates him for his timidity: “This is how artists have power. We sell work. You’re implying there’s nobility in powerlessness. That’s been an idiotic trope for too long — that participating in the business side of it taints you. Do you know how dumb that is? That artists have to be these fragile little wood nymphs that are too precious to touch the money?”

As “Contrapposto” arrives at its beautiful, life-affirming conclusion, we are left pondering the significance of artistic endeavor in a world that commodifies everything, including our bodies and brains. At a time when even the greatest achievements are debased in a culture that gives equal weight to meretricious novelty, is it even worth the trouble? Eggers’ brilliant novel has the answer: Follow your bliss. In the final analysis, it is all that matters.

Weingarten is the author of “Thirsty: William Mulholland, California Water, and the Real Chinatown.”

Summer, and all the vacation days and potential travel that implies, is upon us. And whether flying internationally or taking time off at home, you can’t beat a good British crime drama as the ultimate self-soother (especially in summer when the U.K.’s inevitable drizzly city streets and windswept moors can provide at least visual relief from the heat). The genre is varied, the casts inevitably fine and justice almost always prevails. So here are 15 shows, new and old, to watch. (And if that’s not enough, you can find 15 more here.)

‘Young Sherlock’ (Prime Video)

Will we ever tire of reimagining Sherlock Holmes? Not anytime soon, apparently. Created by Matthew Parkhill and developed by Guy Ritchie (who directed two episodes), this version gives us a college-aged Sherlock (Hero Fiennes Tiffin) banished to the role of Oxford University porter by his fed-up older brother, Mycroft (Max Irons), who hopes to put the arrogant young rip on a steadier path. Alas, before you can say “Sir Bucephalus Hodge” (the Oxford bigwig played by Colin Firth), young Sherlock is up to his flat cap in murder and mystery, which he is determined to solve with the aid of his new best bud — wait for it — James Moriarty (Dónal Finn). An over-the-top romp that proves, if nothing else, the near-miraculous elasticity of Arthur Conan Doyle’s iconic creation.

Mark Gatiss stars as Gabriel Book in “Bookish.”

(PBS)

‘Bookish’ (PBS)

Speaking of Holmes, “Sherlock” co-creator and co-star Mark Gatiss is up to it again, this time in the leading role. In post-World War II London, Gabriel Book (Gatiss) runs a secondhand bookshop, above which he and his beloved wife, Trottie (Polly Walker), live. But all is not what it seems, as Jack (Connor Finch), the young orphan ex-con they take under their wing, soon discovers. Gabriel apparently did something so important during the war that he is now the neighborhood’s go-to crime solver (with a letter from Winston Churchill to ensure VIP access). He also has a personal stake in Jack’s reclamation, which gives the series a fascinating and pathos-filled LGBTQ-history subtext.

Rishi Nair as Alphy Kottaram, left, and Robson Green as Geordie Keating in the 11th and final season of “Grantchester.”

(PBS)

‘Grantchester’ (PBS)

The sacred meets the secular in this long-running pairing of a young vicar with a worldly police detective in the titular idyllic Cambridgeshire village during the 1950s and ‘60s. In Seasons 1-4, that vicar is Sidney Chambers (James Norton), a jazz enthusiast plagued by memories of WWII who offers unsolicited insights to gruff and initially ungrateful Det. Inspector Geordie Keating (Robson Green). Friendship inevitably blooms, and when Sidney leaves the scene (and Norton the series) at the end of Season 4, many hearts (including Geordie’s) are broken. But subsequent replacement vicars — Will Davenport (Tom Brittney) in Seasons 5-9 and Alphy Kotteram (Rishi Nair) in Seasons 9-11 — each find their way to Geordie’s side, bringing their own charms, detectival insights and personal woes. The final season premieres June 14.

‘Touching Evil’ (BritBox)

DI Dave Creegan (a young Robson Green) is brought in to help DI Susan Taylor (an even younger Nicola Walker) of the Organized and Serial Crime Unit solve a series of abductions that Creegan comes to believe have been committed by a serial killer. The relationship sticks and the pair goes on to track down all manner of nasty killers with a combination of unconventional techniques and good police work. Green’s Creegan gets top billing, and a deeply resonant personal story, but seeing Walker (who would go on to star in so many fine series, including the terrific crime dramas “River” and “Unforgotten”) play a finely tuned second fiddle is great fun too.

‘Karen Pirie’ (BritBox)

For fans of Scottish crime drama (see also “Case Histories,” “Shetland” and “Dept. Q”), Det. Inspector Karen Pirie (“Outlander’s” Lauren Lyle) is a refreshing historic cases hero. Smart, ambitious and dogged, she is not burdened by a dark past or traumatic pain or the generally dour outlook that plague so many of her peers. Based on the books of Val McDermid, the series is set on the Scottish peninsula of Fife (the first season involves the picturesque town of St. Andrews) and all the gloriously broody scenery that implies. Murder mystery plus vicarious international mini-break.

‘Sister Boniface Mysteries’ (BritBox)

This cheeky spinoff of the iconic “Father Brown” puts a sweet-faced Catholic nun (Lorna Watson) at the center of all manner of murder in the fictional 1960s Cotswolds town of Great Slaughter. Sister Boniface is, of course, not just any nun. Having served as a codebreaker at Bletchley Park during WWII before entering the convent, she holds a PhD in chemistry, which makes her the perfect, if most unlikely, forensic specialist. (She also rides a red Vespa and serves as the convent’s vintner.) Unflappably brilliant and sincere in her vocation, she proves that faith in action can be both serious and great fun to watch.

‘The Bletchley Circle’ (BritBox)

Like Sister Boniface, Susan Grey (Anna Maxwell Martin) served her country as a codebreaker, but she is finding post-WWII life a bit more, well, boring. Forced back into the traditional roles of wife and mother, Susan tries to make do until a series of murders suggests to her a pattern unnoticed by the police. Gathering her former and still formidable colleagues who are also languishing in a sexist world, she creates, for two marvelous seasons, her own private crime unit. (See also, the one-season spinoff, “The Bletchley Circle: San Francisco.”)

‘Sherwood’ (BritBox)

When truculent Gary Jackson (Alun Armstrong) is murdered by an arrow outside his home in Nottinghamshire, near Sherwood Forest, Det. Chief Supt. Ian St. Clair (David Morrissey) is quick to put down any Robin Hood references and look instead at the town’s 30-year-old but still roiling divisions over the U.K.’s 1984-85 miners’ strike. Based on real events, “Sherwood” is both a murder mystery and a contemplation of the damage done by class-based strife and longheld grudges, often based on misinformation. With an incredible cast, including Lesley Manville, Kevin Doyle and Lorraine Ashbourne, it is deeply moving drama that illuminates the personal price of social divisions. Season 3 premieres this year.

Lesley Manville as Susan Ryeland and Timothy McMullan as Atticus Pund in “Magpie Murders.”

(Nick Wall / Eleventh Hour Films / PBS)

‘Magpie Murders’ (PBS)

Season 3 of “Magpie Murders” — titled ”Marble Hall Murders” — is also set to bow this year, so now is a good time to catch up on the previous adaptations of Anthony Horowitz’s Susan Ryeland novels, which both satirize and honor the murder-mystery genre. Ryeland (Lesley Manville) is a book editor whose most famous — and tiresome — author, Alan Conway (Conleth Hill), has just turned in his final murder mystery called “Magpie Murders.” Only the last chapter is missing and Conway has just been found dead at his country home. So it’s up to Ryeland, working with Conway’s literary detective Atticus Pünd (Tim McMullan), to figure out what happened, both in real life and in the book. This mystery-within-a-mystery launches two vivid characters, Ryeland and Pünd, working separately and together to solve crimes, sometimes in two different timelines.

Bill Nighy as headmaster Alan Lockwood, from left, Sharon Small as Det. Sgt. Barbara Havers and Nathaniel Parker as Det. Inspector Thomas Lynley in “The Inspector Lynley Mysteries.”

(Alex Bailey / BBC)

‘The Inspector Lynley Mysteries’ (BritBox)

The many, and voluminous, novels of Elizabeth George are being adapted in “Lynley,” a new series that has its charms. Still, I’m sticking with the older version, which ran from 2001 to 2008. Over six seasons, the unlikely partnership of Det. Inspector Thomas Lynley, eighth earl of Asherton and generally natty guy played by Nathaniel Parker, and his distinctly working-class and perpetually disheveled sergeant, Barbara Havers (Sharon Small), creates a classic odd-couple mix that allows some actual insight into issues of class and gender. But mostly, they make a great detective team, often using their differences to their advantage. The mysteries range far and wide over the U.K., from gritty streets to posh country homes, and 24 90-minute episodes are enough to keep you going all summer long.

Derek Jacobi in the title role of “Cadfael” in 1995.

(ITV)

‘Cadfael’ (BritBox)

Though the oldest series on this list (1994-1998), “Cadfael,” based on the books of Ellis Peters, remains a classic and constant recommendation. The great Derek Jacobi plays the titular 12th century monk who was once a soldier of the Crusades. Now a botanist and apothecary, Cadfael aids the local sheriff in solving all manner of crimes committed in and near Shrewsbury Abbey during England’s 15-year civil war known now as the Anarchy. Though the series does not delve as deeply into the politics of the time as the novels do, it creates an uncertain world in which violence runs rampant. Mercifully, there is a monk who knows his stuff, and if Jacobi isn’t enough reason to watch, the costumes and landscape are pretty great too.

‘No Offence’ (BritBox)

Joanna Scanlan was punk rock long before her turn in “Riot Women,” especially as the wildly frank, slightly raunchy, take-no-prisoners DI Viv Deering in this blackly funny depiction of the wayward Friday Street division of the Manchester Police. They are not misfits exactly — Deering knows what she’s doing as does her team, including the ambitious Det. Constable Dinah Kowalski (Elaine Cassidy), the self-doubting Det. Sgt. Joy Freers (Alexandra Roach) and Paul Ritter’s wise-cracking Randolph Miller (OK, maybe he is a misfit) — but they are much more recognizably human than most TV coppers. We know they’ll get their man, but it will take some time, and more than a few hilarious and heartbreaking misfires.

‘Inspector George Gently’ (Acorn TV)

After the murder of his wife, Inspector George Gently (Martin Shaw) leaves London’s Metropolitan police force in search of a more peaceful life in 1960s Northumberland. But as anyone who has seen “Vera” could tell him, Newcastle Upon Tyne is far from peaceful. Still brokenhearted, Gently finds himself solving crimes, and trying to teach his sergeant John Bacchus (Lee Ingleby) to be an honorable man in a time of shifting social mores and political upset.

‘Whitechapel’ (Hulu)

Come for the Jack the Ripper overtones, stay for the always great character actor Phil Davis (“Trying,” “Vera Drake”). He plays old-school Det. Sgt. Ray Miles, a member of an East End squad that is less than thrilled by their new guy, opposite the smooth and ambitious Det. Inspector Joseph Chandler (Rupert Penry-Jones), who shows up to his first crime scene in a tux and doesn’t appear to understand that this is the East End. But with what seems like a Ripper copycat on the loose, everyone needs to put aside their preconceived notions and figure out what’s going on. The series is wildly atmospheric with plenty of gallows humor and more than a few truly loopy plotlines, but great fun with Davis managing, as ever, to sell even the most preposterous scene.

James Norton as Henry Alveston, from left, Matthew Rhys as Darcy and Matthew Goode as Wickham in “Death Comes to Pemberley.”

(Robert Viglasky / PBS)

Death Comes to Pemberley (PBS)

This adaptation of P.D. James’ sequel to “Pride and Prejudice” is a miniseries, and just three episodes long, so this might be a bit of a cheat. But if you haven’t seen it, you should. Elizabeth Darcy (nee Bennet) (Anna Maxwell Martin) and Fitzwilliam Darcy (Matthew Rhys) are happily married and planning a ball. Sure, a couple of servants see a ghost in the woods (where Elizabeth encounters a suspicious woman), and Col. Fitzwilliam (Tom Ward) clearly wants to marry Georgiana (Eleanor Tomlinson), who doesn’t seem too keen, but what of it? Then Elizabeth’s sister Lydia (Jenna Coleman) shows up uninvited and hysterical; her still-caddish husband, George Wickham (Matthew Goode), had an argument with his friend Capt. Denny (Tom Canton), and the two vanished into the woods where shots were subsequently heard. Once again, Mr. Darcy must do what he can to protect the dreaded Wickham, and in doing so all manner of secrets are revealed. Jane Austen meets Agatha Christie with a cast either writer would kill for.

There’s a good reason why David Sedaris is the most beloved humorist in America. He has an unerring ability to tap into the absurdity and petty annoyances of American culture more cogently than any other writer of his generation. He is also funny as hell.

Sedaris’ latest collection, “The Land and Its People,” finds the author grappling with the seductions and consolations of technology, creeping mortality, unwanted sexual advances and feral dogs, for starters. I recently chatted with Sedaris about books, nannies and iPhones.

✍️ Author Chat

Your first book was a collection of short stories. Was it always the intent to move into writing essays, or did you have designs on being a novelist?

It never occurred to me that I would write essays about my life. I started off writing fiction, and then I started doing these readings in Chicago. Then I was to read at this variety show at this place called Park West. I was limited to about five minutes, and so I just plucked something from my diary. And it worked. I would walk onstage wearing a tie with a stack of diaries in my hand. Then I started doing these radio shows, and I thought I could read my fiction, but it had to be nonfiction. So a lot of the earliest pieces that I ever read were just things plucked from my diary.

What actually happened was that after this piece I wrote called “The Santaland Diaries” had been on the radio, I had this other book that I had already written, and I was just kind of waiting for someone to call and ask if they could publish it. But it couldn’t be published unless “Santaland” was included.

That book was “Barrel Fever” in 1994 which was a big hit. Now you were that rare creature: a bestselling essayist.

With essays, there’s a kind of shorthand to it. If you’re writing fiction, you have to world-build with every story, whereas with an essay I can just get up on stage and say “my sister and I went shipping” and people know who my sister is, and I can just get right into it. My fiction is always way, way over the top. I can’t write any story where people are reasonable.

What makes you unique is that you are onstage in front of an audience more often than 99% of authors. You can workshop material to see if it lands, much like a comic.

Yes, and I don’t ever want to waste an opportunity to do that. The frustrating thing about being on a book tour is that I can no longer make any changes to the book. So I’ve been bringing out some little, short things I’ve been working on to get it on its feet.

Much of your writing is observational. Do you find, given your public profile, that it becomes harder to do that?

It depends on where I am. If I’m hanging out in places where people don’t read, or in another country, then it doesn’t make any difference. The bigger problem is that when you’re spying on the world now, the world is just looking at their phones.

“The Land and Its People” is the new collection of essays by David Sedaris.

(Little, Brown and Company)

I know you aren’t big on the phone, or at least taking pictures with your phone. In one of your essays in the new book, you are on a Kenyan safari with your partner Hugh and you adamantly refuse to snap a single photo.

If you’re at a book signing, you meet someone and then stand up and someone takes a picture with their phone. I’d rather talk to that person, you know? The picture thing, it just doesn’t make any sense to me. It doesn’t mean anything. I was invited to the Academy Awards because I wrote something about a movie, which was crazy. But it never for one moment occurred to me to go up to anybody to take a selfie. All that means is that I bothered this person. By the way, I have never once asked Hugh to send me his safari pictures.

What books make you laugh out loud?

I’m always happy to find a funny book, but they are hard to find. Did you read “Rejection” by Tony Tulathimutte?

It’s on my nightstand.

Oh my God, I laughed out loud so many times at that book. And he’s not a humorist. I’m not even sure if he thinks the book is funny. There’s a short story in there, about a guy who’s just a complete a— and his girlfriend moves in with him and he makes her put all of her stuff in the oven.

I like things that are funny that aren’t supposed to be funny. Somebody said to me a few weeks ago, “How can we laugh with the world in such terrible shape?” I said, it’s easy. Just get rid of any sense of empathy or compassion! If you’re writing satire, you have to go big. You can’t tone it down. Then it’s not satire anymore, it’s just cereal milk.

You do write in the new book about this kind of language policing that is prevalent now.

I hate it. I mean, the New Yorker is pretty good to me. I can’t complain. But I turned something in to them, and they told me I couldn’t use the word “nanny” in the piece. I mean, a nanny is a real profession, like a pharmacist. I told them I wouldn’t cut it. It just makes me think about young people who are starting out, who can’t say no because they need the money.

(This Q&A was edited for length and clarity.)

📰 The Week(s) in Books

(Illustration by Jim Cooke / Los Angeles Times; Photo via Getty Images)

Leigh Haber is blown away by Anne Patchett’s 10th novel, “Whistler.” “This exquisite writer has once again delivered an incandescent work of fiction — sweet, but never sentimental, infinitely wise and suffused with love,” Haber writes.

Songwriter and Sheryl Crow collaborator David Baerwald has written a novel called “The Fire Agent,” about his grandfather Ernest, a musician and a prisoner of war in a Japanese internment camp during World War I. “One of my characters tells Ernst that he has ‘yuyo,’ which might best be described as grace,” Baerwald tells Bethanne Patrick. “Its Japanese meaning is closer to the state of a river rock that has been washed over and tumbled thousands of times, so that it’s both distinct, and a meaningful part of its environment.”

Rasheed Newson, a showrunner for “The Chi” and “Bel-Air,” has written “There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood,” a novel about an often-neglected chapter of Hollywood’s Golden Age. “I wanted to do a deep dive into Black queer history during the Golden Age of cinema,” Newson tells Meredith Maran. “The first thing that came to me was Xavier’s character. I decided to make him the 10-years-younger, queer rival of Sidney Poitier, to highlight the acceptable versus unacceptable — meaning, straight versus gay — 1950s Black movie star.”

Finally, Adam Messinger, a staffer at West Hollywood’s Book Soup, attempts to answer the question: Why are books shrinking? One possible culprit may be social media. “Holding the book up to take a photo of it is easier,” writer and social media influencer Caroline Mason tells Messinger. “Although I do sometimes still drop it.”

📖 Bookstore Faves

Lost Books in Montrose looks and feels unlike any other bookstore in L.A. — a verdant terrarium filled with new and used books and vinyl. Created by Last Bookstore co-owners Jenna and Josh Spencer, Lost Books also sells plants. Moss has colonized the ceiling, and tall trees keep sentry over the store’s diverse and eclectic inventory. I asked Josh Spencer about how Lost came about.

What was the thinking behind opening Lost?

It was spontaneous. My wife and I were eating dinner in the very charming neighborhood of Montrose, and saw a very cool vacant storefront. It also happened to be on Honolulu Avenue, and with both of us being from Hawaii, we took it as a sign. We did not want to franchise the Last Bookstore at the time, and wanted the new store to have its own name and unique vibe.

You also sell plants. Where did that idea come from?

My wife grew up in a rain forest on Maui. She loves plants, and we thought that a pairing of nature with literature was exciting and not done before.

Who are your customers?

Mostly locals in Montrose, La Cañada, La Crescenta, Glendale. But we get a fair number of tourists and also people from other parts of L.A. People who love beauty, nature and books. And vinyl!

Are you seeing that big vinyl resurgence we’ve been hearing about?

Absolutely! Our vinyl does very well for us.

What genres or types of books do well for you there?

Classics, kids books, mysteries, graphic novels, art, self-help, memoirs, cookbooks and gardening of course!

Lost Books is located at 2233 Honolulu Ave., Montrose.

(Please note: The Times may earn a commission through links to Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.)

At the recent glitzy PEN America Literary Gala at the Natural History Museum in New York City the evening’s MC, B.J. Novak, declared that the crowd was there to celebrate more than just freedom of speech — they were there for “literary glamour.”

“Writing is glamorous,” he declared. “Reading is glamorous.”

For Novak, bestselling novelist Ann Patchett — who has also worked tirelessly on behalf of independent booksellers and in support of her fellow writers, and was one of the event’s honored guests — epitomizes that allure. “I think it’s great that Ann Patchett is a smoke show. She doesn’t have to be,” he quipped. “It’s just cool that she is.”

With “Whistler,” Patchett’s 10th novel, she definitively proves that the “smoke show” moniker, if at all relevant, is icing on the cake. This exquisite writer has once again delivered an incandescent work of fiction — sweet, but never sentimental, infinitely wise and suffused with love. It’s also an ode to New York City itself.

“Whistler” is narrated by protagonist Daphne Fuller, a 54-year-old English teacher married to Jonathan, a restlessly retired doctor and hospital administrator who dotes on his wife and whom he regards as “extraordinary.” When we first encounter the couple, they’re roaming the Metropolitan Museum of Art — which, one gets the sense, they know by heart. As Daphne ponders the sculpture “Two Horses,” by Charles Ray, Jonathan spots an elderly stranger eyeing his wife, casting glances in her direction. The stranger follows them from room to room fixated on Daphne. Jonathan’s curiosity is piqued, and he slips away from his wife’s side to get to the bottom of why they’re being followed — which is revealed to be the novel’s inciting incident.

Turns out that stranger is no stranger at all. He is Eddie Triplett, a long-lost stepfather whose divorce from Daphne’s mother, Abigail, remains an unhealed wound. Running into Eddie now for the first time in more than four decades, Daphne is startled by the rush of emotion she feels: “I hadn’t known there was something in me to break,” she reflects, “but there it was and break it did. I stepped into an open crack in time and fell backwards.”

Eddie, as it happens, is but one of Daphne and her sister, Leda’s, three dads. By the time Abigail marries her third husband, mild-mannered Lucas, and the couple go on to have three sons, Daphne has grown a protective shell. These facts are narrated with detachment by the protagonist herself. As she and Eddie gently unspool their memories and together fill in the blanks, their bond deepens. The “falling backwards” Daphne experiences in Eddie’s company — traversing time — soothes, softens and delights her.

As the novel unfolds, what becomes ever clearer is that Daphne and her author are undeniably similar, though Patchett has observed: “I am normally careful to make sure there is a big wall between my life and my fiction.” In “Whistler,” she throws that caution to the wind. Easter eggs are scattered throughout. Like Daphne, Patchett is married to an older man — also a doctor — whom she adores. She too had three dads, as she chronicled in a 2020 New Yorker piece aptly titled “My Three Fathers.” Patchett and her heroine also appear to share this enviable trait: They navigate life with grace, generosity and utter competence. IRL, Patchett returns emails on the day she receives them, is an outspoken advocate for free expression, is generally renowned for her good deeds. She’s also widely known for her many devoted friendships, though she doesn’t suffer fools. You’d want to be her ride or die. As you would … Daphne’s.

In an interview 10 years ago, Patchett observed that it wasn’t until she read a piece by Jonathan Franzen, “in which he insisted that the novelist had to do what scares him most, and for him, that had been writing about his family,” that she considered following that path in her fiction. “I thought ‘oh nothing would scare me more. I would happily ride down the Amazon in a canoe and deal with snakes’ ” (as she did for “State of Wonder”) “ ‘than face my family.’ ” In 2016 she wrote “Commonwealth,” which drew on her personal experience of divorce and dysfunction, themes she revisits in “Whistler.” But in “Whistler,” it’s as if Patchett herself is in the reader’s ear. (And, by the way, should you pick up the audio version of the book, she narrates and is literally in your ear.)

Patchett has said she had an ulterior motive for writing “Whistler.” She’d been in the midst of writing a different book, a novel about a Wyoming rancher and her horse, Whistler, but it wasn’t clicking. As she pressed on over the better part of a year, a second idea came to her “like a fever dream.” She immediately filed away the messy work-in-progress and began writing a fictional ode to a cherished friend, former publishing executive Jim Fox, to whom “Whistler” is dedicated. Fox had died two years before, on his 85th birthday, and Patchett was still grieving. Her aim, with “Whistler,” she has said, is to put down on paper how much they loved each other. Fox is reborn as Eddie Triplett in the book, a charming and erudite book editor who radiates joie de vivre and is among the loves of his stepdaughter Daphne’s life.

Patchett’s literary style isn’t of the show-offy variety packed with dazzling sentences and edge-of-your-seat cliffhangers. The drama is quiet. Her words accrue and gain power through their spareness and clarity, and a level of character development that forges an easy intimacy with the reader. There’s also a sly wit and sagacity that have become Patchett signatures, honed to perfection in “Whistler,” whether wrestling with the legacy of family trauma, or the human struggle to accept the transitory nature of it all. Or, as Patchett’s mother once admonished after the failure of her daughter’s first marriage: “Stop trying to make everything permanent. It doesn’t work.”

While Patchett has clearly drawn on actual events and individuals to produce this luminous work, she exhibits the expert novelist’s knack for following a plot where the imagination takes it. I don’t recommend consuming “Whistler” in one enormous gulp. I dipped in and out, savoring scenes, reflecting on them, occasionally shedding a tear. In other words, I didn’t want it to end.

Haber is a writer, editor and publishing strategist and co-founder of the Ink Book Club on Substack. She was director of Oprah’s Book Club and books editor for O, the Oprah Magazine.

According to Abs Mechial, there is a specific minute every day in which holidays can be booked for cheaper on average – but you may need to set your alarm to take advantage of it

If you are yet to book a getaway this year and are wondering when the ideal moment might be to do so, a financial expert has identified precisely when you should – and shouldn’t – make your move. Abs Mechial turned to TikTok to reveal that not only are certain days preferable for booking, but specific times of day matter too.

“When is the worst time to book a holiday and when is it actually cheapest? he asked his followers in a video. Surprisingly, according to research, Abs claimed there is a one-hour window in each day when holidays can cost you significantly more money to book.” he asked his followers.

“According to the data, the most expensive time to book is between 9am and 10am,” he explained. “Bookings in that window came in around 30 per cent more than the cheapest time of the day – so no more booking holidays as soon as you log in for the day.”

As for the most economical time of day, Abs warned that you might need to set your alarm. “Early… and I mean really early,” he said. “Between 4am and 5am – and the logic does make sense.”

Abs highlighted that overnight, demand “drops off” and consequently prices “reset” to their baseline.

He elaborated: “Then as the day goes on, the more searches and more clicks result in prices starting to creep back up again.”

For those reluctant to wake up before sunrise, however, Abs provided guidance for anyone wanting to book during “more realistic hours”.

“Late evening, around 8pm to 10pm tends to be noticeably cheaper than the morning rush,” he enthused. “But if you want to go even further and want the exact moment – not just the hour, but the minute – according to the data, the single cheapest minute to book a holiday is 2:48am.”

Surprisingly, bookings made at that precise time worked out up to 60 per cent cheaper on average, according to Abs.

He concluded with a word of caution, however: “Now, definitely take that with a pinch of salt – booking at 2:48am isn’t going to make every holiday 60 per cent cheaper, but the pattern is clear – if you want to save money, avoid peak booking hours because timing, just like everything else with money, makes a massive difference.”

Responding in the comments, one TikTok user offered their own unverified tip: “Best to search in private browser so prices do not increase if you are searching for same destinations. Prices increase with demand so private searching will prevent this.”

A second person added: “I usually book mine within 72 hours of departure… like 50% cheaper! I find the hotels I want and then I wait for them to deal them off.”

A third exclaimed: “Wow that’s crazy how the time of day can cost you!”

While a fourth TikTok user pointed out: “Doesn’t change if you want a certain resort at a certain time of year.”

PRICES are plunging for summer holiday breaks – and families can take advantage right now.

The conflict in the Middle East and the continuing cost-of-living crisis has seen many people adopt a “wait and see” approach.

But travel firms are now offering even more incentives to get us booking, from free child places to extra discounts.

We’ve researched some of the cheapest deals we can find for a family of two adults and two children in July and August including hold luggage for all and transfers.

And if you’re prepared to go for a self-catering option and a smaller hotel with less fancy facilities, there’s great value to be had.

We’ve even found some all-inclusive options for those who don’t want to worry about budgeting on their break.

WAIL OF A TIME

I drove Irish Route 66 with deserted golden beaches and pirate-like islands

TEMPTED?

Tiny ‘Bali of Europe’ town with stunning beaches, €3 cocktails and £20 flights

Here’s our pick of the summer deals . . .

Atlantic Holiday Hotel, Tenerife

YOU’LL enjoy stunning sea views at this hotel, perched right on the shore in Callao Salvaje.

This modern hotel has indoor and outdoor play areas for the kids and a pool.

Rooms come with cookers and fridge-freezers but there’s also an onsite buffet restaurant for the days you fancy a change.

Seven nights’ self-catering at the 4* Atlantic Holiday Hotel is from £1,551 for a family of four.

Includes flights from Luton on August 18, 10kg hand luggage and 22kg baggage plus coach transfers.

See jet2holidays.com.

Elba Lucia Sport & Suite Hotel, Fuerteventura

THE bright, modern apartments at this 2*+ hotel in Costa de Antigua have all the facilities you need for a relaxing break.

There’s a large pool, children’s pool and lots of entertainment and sporty games for the whole family to enjoy.

Seven nights’ self-catering at the Elba Lucia Sport & Suite Hotel is from £1,470 for a family of four.

Includes flights from Stansted on August 16, 10kg hand luggage, 22kg baggage plus coach transfers.

See jet2holidays.com.

Santa Susanna Resort, Costa Brava

WITH a splash pool, splash games area and mini club full of activities, this resort has plenty to keep the family occupied, as well as a free shuttle bus to the beach and town centre.

This deal is all-inclusive, too — with unlimited ice lollies for the kids as well as alcoholic drinks from 10am to 11pm.

Seven nights’ all-inclusive at the 3* Santa Susanna Resort Affiliated by Fergus is from £2,133 for a family of four, including Ryanair flights from East Midlands on July 31, 20kg hold bags and coach transfers.

See onthebeach.co.uk.

Palm Grove, Corfu

PREFER apartment-style accommodation?

Then try Palm Grove in Sidari, where restaurants and bars are just a five-minute drive away and a beach is also close by.

There’s two pools — including one for kids — and the simple rooms feature a kitchenette.

Seven nights’ self-catering at the 2* Palm Grove is from £1,081 for a family of four.

Includes flights from Gatwick on July 30, 10kg hand luggage and 20kg hold bags and coach transfers.

See tui.co.uk.

TUI Suneo Serenity Bay, Bourgas

THIS Bulgarian bargain, sits alongside a sandy beach.

It has a big pool as well as two for kids and all the modern rooms feature balconies.

Let someone else do the cooking and enjoy meals at the buffet restaurant with themed nights throughout the week.

Seven nights’ all-inclusive at the 4* TUI Suneo Serenity Bay is from £2,484 for a family of four.

Includes flights from Manchester on August 7, 10kg hand luggage and 20kg hold bags and coach transfers.

See holidayhypermarket.co.uk.

IN a peaceful countryside spot, the studios on the Greek island of Kefalonia are perfect for a relaxing break.

There’s a pretty outdoor pool and terrace and each of the bright apartments feature a kitchenette.

Seven nights’ self-catering at the 2* Lygies Studios is from £1,690 for a family of four.

Includes flights from Newcastle on July 30, 10kg hand luggage, 20kg hold bags and coach transfers.

See tui.co.uk.

THIS low-rise, white-washed hotel in Costa Teguise has two freshwater pools and a large sun terrace.

Well-equipped apartments come with balconies and kitchenettes but there’s also a pool bar where you can order freshly made pizzas, burgers and kebabs.

Seven nights’ self-catering at the 3* Paradise Hotel is from £1,509 for a family of four. Includes flights from East Midlands on July 30, 20kg hold bags and coach transfer.

See loveholidays.com.

El Pueblo Tamlelt, Morocco

THIS all-inclusive hotel in Agadir is in large gardens, 300 metres from the beach.

It has two outdoor pools, a children’s pool and rooms are decorated in Moorish style.

You won’t go hungry here with a buffet main restaurant and six speciality restaurants.

Seven nights’ all-inclusive at the 3* El Pueblo Tamlelt is from £2,138 for a family of four.

Includes flights from Leeds Bradford on August 4, 20kg hold bags and private transfers.

See onthebeach.co.uk.

Twenty pages into “There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood” by bestselling Pasadena author Rasheed Newson, I had to stop reading. Not because the story and characters were anything less than gripping —I was utterly transfixed. Not because I was unmoved by the setting, the 1950s version of the iconic landmarks where today’s Angelenos, myself included, work, play, eat and drink: Griffith Park, the L.A. Central Library, the Paramount Pictures lot, the Roosevelt Hotel, the Tam O’Shanter in Atwater Village and the Black Cat in Silver Lake, site of America’s first queer riot, also depicted in the book.

No, it was writerly admiration — OK, envy — that stopped me. As I turned the pages, I kept scribbling the same question in the margins. “How did Newson do this?”

How did Newson, author of the 2022 bestseller “My Government Means to Kill Me” and a producer/writer on such popular TV series as “The Chi” and “Bel-Air,” craft a novel populated with a seamless mix of real and invented characters, each with their own true or fictional backstory, personality, career vicissitudes, sartorial style and sexual proclivities, adhering simultaneously to both his novelistic timeline and historically accurate events?

How did Newson seat his fictional protagonist — Aaron Touissant, a Black, closeted gay Hollywood “fixer” employed by Skyline Studios to keep queer actors’ secrets secret — at the same Beverly Hilton ballroom table with Sidney Poitier, Diahann Carroll, Harry Belafonte, Sammy Davis Jr., Lena Horne, Ruby Dee, Ossie Davis, James Edwards, Eartha Kitt and Xavier Barlow, Newson’s invented Black gay movie star who is Skyline’s greatest hope and Touissant’s principal client?

I couldn’t read another page without knowing, and those unread pages were calling to me. So I called Rasheed Newson, whom I’d seen around the L.A. lit scene but had never met, and asked how he’d made the magic of his novel happen.

“I wanted to do a deep dive into Black queer history during the Golden Age of cinema,” Newson said. “The first thing that came to me was Xavier’s character. I decided to make him the 10-years-younger, queer rival of Sidney Poitier, to highlight the acceptable versus unacceptable — meaning, straight versus gay — 1950s Black movie star.

“I read a lot of books on Hollywood’s golden era,” Newson said. “But I was trying to get closer to what people were thinking at the moment, rather than what they reflected back on later. Only newspapers give you that. So I spent hours and hours in the downtown L.A. public library, poring over microfiche, reading the newspapers of the time.”

Author Rasheed Newsom.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

I asked Newson about the titular “one sin in Hollywood.”

“That sin is disobedience,” he said. “Particularly when your disobedience threatens to upend how the business makes money. In Hollywood you can be an addict, be a philanderer, be outspoken. But don’t disrupt the cash flow.”

Newson’s plot and characters serve the novel’s thesis well. We meet Aaron Touissaint as a brutally bullied “sissy” in a small, small-minded Ohio town. Aaron escapes his torturers, first by rooting himself in the town’s only movie theater open to Black people, and then by lying about his age and enlisting in the Navy at 16. On the Korean battle front, Aaron becomes the aide and the lover of superstar fighter pilot and “model Negro” Horace Dixon. When the war ends and Skyline Studios buys the screen rights to Horace’s life story, Aaron follows Horace to Hollywood.

The movie is canceled. Horace leaves Hollywood and a heartbroken but determined Aaron behind. Hired as a Skyline security guard, Aaron is promoted to fixer, keeping himself and Skyline’s A-listers closeted by any means necessary. To that end, Aaron marries Kimberly, who becomes his poised, self-contained “beard.”

At the top of Aaron’s client roster is Xavier Barlow, Skyline’s new, hot rising star and Aaron’s new, hot crush. “The bond between us was never conventional,” narrator Aaron tells us. “Off and on for nearly a decade, it was my duty to keep [Xavier’s] nose clean. … He challenged me to admit who and what I am. And I fell in love with him.”

As secret same-sex love stories all too often do, Aaron’s love for Xavier, and Xavier’s one-man campaign to mitigate Hollywood’s homophobia, come to a tragic and suspicious end. Soon after Xavier publicly protests the studio’s homophobic rewrite of a movie script he intended to serve as his coming-out announcement, a truck crashes into his car on Wilshire.

“This was no accident,” Aaron realizes. “Xavier was hunted down.” With his best friend, Diahann Carroll, and a sizable contribution from Sidney Poitier, Aaron organizes the funeral, attempting to redeem the reputation he was hired to protect. “The news reports following Xavier’s death impeached his character,” Aaron says. “The implication was that gay men naturally had messy lives and untimely deaths. … Confidential magazine went as far as to print that “the driver of the truck [that killed Xavier] could well have been one of Xavier’s spurned male lovers.”

“Furious at the coverage,” Aaron narrates the story, “Diahann asked me, ‘Why don’t they print the lovely things I have to say about Xavier?’ ”

“I said, “They never will. Xavier fought the studio, and everything you’re reading is part of his punishment.”

The erasure of gay Black Hollywood is really the point of this imaginatively crafted, stunningly tense, historically significant sophomore novel. Newson’s impressive gifts for story, for writing the erotic and the noir, and for rooting himself in his adopted city are on magnificent display here. By smoothly merging the true and the invented stories and characters of 1950s Hollywood, Newson alerts us to the increase in racism and homophobia evident in the entertainment business, and in the U.S., today.

Rasheed Newson will talk with novelist Laura Warrell at Octavia’s Bookshelf at 6 p.m. Monday, and with writer Manuel Betancourt at Skylight Books. at 7 p.m. June 24.

Maran, a Silver Lake-based author, has written “The New Old Me” and other books.

In Deborah Levy’s new novel “My Year in Paris With Gertrude Stein,” the celebrated British author turns her keen observational and critical eye toward Stein, a writer that Levy feels has been criminally redacted from the canon of modernist masters that emerged at the turn of the 20th century. “My Year in Paris With Gertrude Stein,” however, is anything but a dry-as-dust revisionist treatise.

Levy couches her thoughts on Stein’s life and work within the story of three women in contemporary Paris, including Levy’s fictive avatar as the narrator, grappling with her own notions of identity as she writes about Stein and her partner Alice B. Toklas. I spoke with Levy about Stein, Toklas and Picasso.

✍️ Author Chat

Have you always had an abiding interest in Gertrude Stein?

She has always been lurking there for a number of reasons. When I was studying modernist literature, I was pointed to all the usual suspects — T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, Beckett, Joyce. But no one ever pointed to Gertrude Stein. She was absent in Britain, anyway. I’m not sure it’s the same in America.

I feel like in America she certainly is not frequently cited among that pantheon of modernist writers that you just mentioned.

I thought her most commercial work, “The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas,” was quite enchanting. But when you start to dig into her other writing, you find this mixture of very obtuse, very violent work, and some brilliant work.

You write in the book that you sometimes don’t understand Stein, but this doesn’t diminish your enjoyment of her work.

The thing about avant-garde writers is that they either crash or they triumph. For readers, it’s either someone popping a vein at the new and strange, or someone over-praising the work. And I thought, well I’m allowed to have mixed emotions about Stein’s writing. Sometimes she is totally brilliant, and sometimes less so.

Author Deborah Levy

(Sheila Burnett)

You also celebrate Stein and Toklas’ fierce individuality, which runs counter to the usual narratives about female authors during this time.

Well, female writers are supposed to suffer or commit suicide. And the glorious thing about Stein and Alice is that the art of living was very important to them. Travel, conversation, or driving around. This really appeals to me. You know, Stein would have a roast chicken leg in one hand and one hand on the steering wheel, with the dogs in the back.

I feel like Stein’s legacy as a writer has been occluded by her renown as a collector of the greatest modern art of the century, most notably Picasso before he became Picasso. She is remembered more for collecting others’ art than for her own art.

If you’re going to collect this bold, daring art of your own time, and you’re buying it cheap, because it’s being mocked, you have to know how to defend it. Stein wasn’t an art historian. She studied psychology with William James and then studied medicine at Johns Hopkins. Through her conversations with Picasso and others, she really began to acquire the apparatus to defend the work, and that fascinated me.

You write that Stein wanted to kill the 19th century with her work by dismantling and then reassembling language.

She was going to write through continuous present tense. She got rid of commas so she could hurtle through time and make her thoughts move forward. No question marks, because it was self-evident to her when someone was asking a question in her writing. She really was a pioneer.

Her prose reads like Beckett’s, decades before his novels were published.

The critic Roland Barthes wrote that all writing has some kind of behavior. A lot of avant-garde writing behaves like Stein, but she wasn’t imitating any other thing. She made something new for her century.

(This Q&A was edited for length and clarity.)

📰 The Week(s) in Books

Book jacket for “Marilyn and Her Books: The Literary Life of Marilyn Monroe” by Gail Crowther

(Los Angeles Times illustration; book jacket from Galley Books)

Marilyn Monroe was an avid reader who traveled with her treasured library of books wherever she lived. Yet, the stubborn image of Monroe as a literary dilettante remains. Now Gail Crowther has written “Marilyn and Her Books” which sets out to debunk that misconception of the screen legend. Crowther’s sharp account is both the story of Monroe’s library and “what we’ve projected upon Monroe when we’re asked to consider that she had one,” writes Mark Athitakis.

As Cuba struggles with a faltering economy and President Trump’s saber-rattling overtures, Ada Ferrer’s timely new memoir “Keeper of My Kin” “argues that the grand narratives of exile and revolution are, at their core, made up of private reckonings with irretrievable consequences,” writes Mariella Rudi.

When Eagle Rock’s Read Books was threatened with a massive rent hike from its landlord, co-owners Jeremy and Debbie Kaplan rallied the community around the fight for tenant’s rights and started an activist organization called Save North East Los Angeles Shops. “Commercial landlords [have] unbelievably unrealistic expectations of rent, and a small business can only sell a T-shirt or a hamburger or a service for what the market will bear,” neighborhood preservationist Aaron Peskin told Emily St. Martin.

Finally, Swan Huntley found a novel way to put off writing her next book: She hiked to every Erewhon store in Los Angeles.

📖 Bookstore Faves

A Good Used Book’s beautiful interior

(A Good Used Book)

Jenny Yang and Chris Capizzi started A Good Used Book in 2017 by selling secondhand titles at local flea markets and the Grand Central Market downtown. Seven years later, after a brief COVID blowback, the pair opened their own storefront in Historic Filipinotown. Now, A Good Used Book has blossomed into a vital community space featuring a vast selection of previously loved books across all genres. The store also hosts pop-up markets on the weekends, with more events scheduled in the coming year. I spoke with Capizzi about his store.

Who are your customers?

Our customer base is pretty broad. We’re selective about the books we carry, but we want anyone to be able to find themselves somewhere in the shop, whether you’re just getting back into reading or you’re the kind of person who already has strong opinions about translations. And we try not to take ourselves too seriously, so even though we may have critical theory, we also have “Choose Your Own Adventure.”

How do you pick inventory? Is there any emphasis on any particular genres that might be popular?

We definitely do the work to find books, but honestly a lot of the time the books seem to find us. In terms of what we carry, we focus mostly on classic, modern and contemporary fiction, but we love genre fiction too, like sci-fi, crime and horror. And a big part of what makes the store feel like us are our nonfiction and culture sections — humanities, sciences, film, music, fashion and design. Anything for that curious person who just wants to go a little deeper.

I know the store is about much more than books. Can you tell me about some of the other community events you guys organize?

During the week we’re all about the books. Every Sunday we host the Every Sunday Funday Market that features two food pop-ups out front, one savory and one sweet, and four or five local vendors and artists inside. We rotate vendors selling and making ceramics, jewelry, Japanese retro radios, soaps and candles, zines and prints, and even Persian perfumes. And we always have drinks going out of our vintage Coleman cooler, too. It’s a lot of things happening at once, but it adds up to a pretty easy, fun Sunday afternoon.

A Good Used Book is located at 307 Glendale Blvd., Los Angeles.

(Please note: The Times may earn a commission through links to Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.)

Animator Jorge R. Gutierrez is facing online backlash following news that his latest series, “Punky Duck,” will use artificial intelligence for its production.

Amazon MGM Studios and Amazon Web Services announced on Wednesday the launch of the GenAI Creators’ Fund, a joint initiative that gives creators access to professional-grade AI tools and funding to produce cinematic entertainment.

Three animation projects have already been greenlighted, including Gutierrez’s “Punky Duck,” which follows a punk duck and his best friend, Smiley Cat, through a wildly exaggerated Los Angeles filled with alien invasions, giant monsters, robot criminal conspiracies, telenovela-style family drama and supernatural mayhem.

BuzzFeed Studios’ “Cupcake & Friends” and Albie Hecht’s “Love, Diana Music Hunters” are also part of the initiative.

Speaking at the AI on the Lot event at Culver Studios, Gutierrez spoke positively of using the controversial new technology, comparing it to “having sex and then they hand you the baby.”

Fans took to social media to critique the “Book of Life” creator, sharing their disappointment. Many pointed out how the tool is actively reshaping traditional Hollywood jobs, from storyboarding to production design, raising concerns over creative control.

As a response to the backlash, Gutierrez uploaded a screenshot to Instagram that same day featuring news articles by Variety and the Hollywood Reporter with a caption addressing the collaboration: “I understand a lot of you are happy for me and a lot of you are really angry at me for experimenting with AI at Amazon. I’m going to leave the comments open so you can get it all out and hopefully feel better.”

Gutierrez also warned that any death threats will be reported, as well as threats to his family. The post has since been deleted.

In a subsequent Instagram post, he shared a screenshot of a post on X, which showed edits to Gutierrez’s Wikipedia page, where he is described as a “sellout.” Gutierrez captioned his Instagram: “Whoever did this I thought it was really funny!”

The Mexican creator is behind Nickelodeon’s “El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera” and Netflix’s “Maya and the Three.” He is also currently developing the long-awaited Speedy Gonzales film with Warner Bros. Pictures Animation.

It took over a decade for Gutierrez to get approval for his 2014 film “The Book of Life,” a beloved storybook animation about the Day of the Dead. After multiple rejections from top animation studios, it was eventually produced by Mexican director Guillermo del Toro — a staunch critic of AI, who described its use as “sharting” at a party to The Times late last year.

By comparison, “Punky Duck,” was greenlighted in two months, according to Cartoon Brew.

In a statement to The Times, Gutierrez said he is “cautiously optimistic” about his collaboration with Amazon MGM Studios: “Artists driving tech, and not the other way around, is my goal.”

“It’s a big experiment for me, and like all experiments it might not work, and I will be as cautious and ethical as possible with AI,” he said.

Gutierrez has been critical of AI in the past, expressing distaste for the tool through a series of cheeky memes shared in 2023, 2024 and 2025. Last year, he referred to the nascent technology as a “mutant AI cockroach.”

In the age of Ozempic, the buzziest hardcovers are getting smaller — and slip right into your Baggu. At Book Soup in West Hollywood, the bestselling hardcover fiction display is marked with laminated cards that denote the book’s place in the top 10, with each one cut snugly into the popular hardcover frame of 6-by-9 inches. But lately, more of the books rising to the top wear the placard noticeably looser.

I should know, I work at Book Soup so I spend a lot of time staring at this display and can tell you, the answer to this problem is definitely to print out smaller cards cut to the little sister “trim size” of 5-by-8 inches — or 5½-by-8¼ to be specific.

While the New York Times bestsellers from 2025 skew in favor of the 6-by-9 trim, the popularity of 5-by-8 books appears to be on the rise. Current utilizers of the smaller cut include the buzzy Vanderbilt heir Belle Burden’s “Strangers,” George Saunders’ darkly humorous “Vigil” Lena Dunham’s millennial-tinged tell-all “Famesick” and the infamously tablet-sized “Transcription” from Ben Lerner.

1/5

“Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage” by Belle Burden  (The Dial Press)

2/5

“Famesick: A Memoir” by Lena Dunham  (Random House)

3/5

“Vigil: A Novel” by George Saunders  (Random House)

4/5

“Transcription: A Novel” by Ben Lerner  (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)

5/5

“Lost Lambs” by author Madeline Cash  (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)

Gretchen Achilles is the director of interior design at Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Achilles recently implemented the 5-by-8 cut for one of this year’s breakout hits, “Lost Lambs” by Madeline Cash. “It’s a tone,” she says. “Smaller trim sizes have an intimacy. … You want to echo what’s going on in the text as an experience for the reader.”

According to Achilles, FSG frequently implements the 5-by-8 trim size. She said that length is the No. 1 factor when deciding to employ it, followed by genre. She listed literary fiction, memoir, biography, and essay collections as the defining genres of the smaller size books.

Caroline Mason is a writer in New York whose debut novel “An Endless Cycle of Evenings” from Hyperion Avenue is slated for 2027; she runs the Instagram account @literarycrushes. Mason described a 5-by-8 hardcover as shorthand for a specific book she seeks out when she is in a bookstore because it often signals a character-driven novel. “It’s my favorite kind of book,” Mason says. She adds that it’s also Instagram-friendly.

“Holding the book up to take a photo of it is easier,” she says with a laugh. “Although I do sometimes still drop it.”

Dahlia de la Vega is an L.A.-based Bookstagrammer who runs the page @ofpagesandprint. According to De la Vega, she finds the shrunken books more approachable. “When I sit down to read a small hardcover, it almost feels like I’m reading a journal,” she says. “Whereas when I read a large hardcover, it almost feels like I need a journal to jot down notes about what’s happening.”

Ethan Mann, my colleague and a supervisor at Book Soup, told me he remembers the place he was both mentally and physically when he purchased a 5-by-8 hardcover copy of “The Parade” by Dave Eggers. (Right before the pandemic struck at CSUN campus store at Cal-State Northridge). “It’s easier to attach relevance to the specific feel of [the book] because it seems one of a kind,” he says.

Mann adds that hardcovers are sometimes a tough sell on the floor. They are often derided for their cost, and customers declare they will wait till the paperback comes out. But the smaller hardcover has the benefit of fitting into nearly any bag.

Esther Margolis is a publishing veteran and the founder of Newmarket Press. She says that the 5-by-8 hardcover is nothing new. According to Margolis, the smaller trim size was previously the industry standard for U.S.-based publishing houses, and any fluctuation is due to the evolution of printing technology.

“Unlike for mass-market paperbacks, hardcover books were shelved, so it didn’t matter that the books were different sizes,” Margolis says. “They didn’t have to fit into a pocket.”

The popularity of the 5-by-8 hardcover is, at the very least, indicative of a shift in what I witness consumers at Book Soup seeking out. With social media making it easier than ever to connect over the act of reading, or looking like you are reading, cover design and presentation — and how it cuts through the noise of the attention economy— is perhaps a factor too.

“A small hardback is like a Labubu,” my co-worker Mann says. “ The feeling in your hands isn’t just about books — it’s about all cute things. … We like small things we can control.”

The success of the publishing industry could never rest on the tiny shoulders of the small hardcover. It may not even represent any changes in production. But on the bestsellers display at your favorite local indie, it represents the small pleasure of palming a near-pocket-size book in your hands.

And, yes, maybe Instagrammability too.

Messinger is a writer in L.A. who runs the Substack adumbmessinger.

POP star Mollie King has admitted that the birth of her daughter Annabella was a bittersweet moment for her family.

She and cricket star Stuart Broad welcomed Annabella, now three, in November 2022 – at a time Mollie’s father Stephen was dying from a brain tumour.

The Saturdays singer-turned-Radio 1 host has revealed that the sad circumstances gave her the incentive to book a C-section for the birth – to make sure Stephen would be able to meet his granddaughter before he passed.

Stephen died 10 days later, but got to meet Annabella thanks to Mollie’s decision.

Chatting to Giovanna Fletcher on the Happy Mum podcast this week, Mollie, 38, revealed that she learnt of her father’s illness when she was six months pregnant.

“It happened in August. And I had seen my dad that morning. We had gone out for a walk with my dog and with Stuart as well. And everything seemed pretty fine, pretty normal,” she recalled.

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“And then that evening, I had a call from my sister to say Dad’s not been very well at all – he’s gone into hospital.

“I was like, Oh my gosh. Basically, over the next few days, we got the news that he had a brain tumour, which is obviously shocking because there was nothing – there were no signs.

“And you just don’t know how to process it.”

Mollie went on: “I think that I was trying to really get my head around it and come to terms with it. But also, I’m in this stage of like – I’m pregnant, this is meant to be such a magical happy time.

“I was really worried that he wasn’t going to meet Annabella. I was like, I can’t have him not meet my kids.”

Mollie – who has since welcomed a second daughter – reflected on how her father had been a very “present granddad” for her nephews, and couldn’t picture her own child never knowing him.

“I was like, I just can’t have him not meet my little girl. It can’t be like that,” she continued. “And so… because of that… I’d booked in to have a C-section.

“I was like, I just need to know that she is going to come out at a safe time, but I need her to meet dad.”

Mollie admotted that, after she made the decision, she felt self-conscious telling the hospital staff of her reasons; but that they were happy to accommodate the C-section, booking her in for it right away.

Mollie was one fifth of The Saturdays – they released four studio albums and 18 singles between 2008 and 2014 before going on hiatus. Mollie then turned to radio presenting.

She welcomed her second daughter, Liliana, with Stuart in January 2025.

The idea grew as organically as the purple cauliflower at Erewhon. One day, I walked from my place in Los Feliz to the beach. I stopped at two Erewhon locations on the way to refuel. I made a reel about my journey and posted it to Instagram. My friend Fish saw it and said, “You should walk to all the Erewhons.”

I thought: I don’t have time to do that. I’m a very serious person who needs to write her novel.

But later I found myself mapping out an 89-mile hike in my Notes App, starting in Pasadena and ending in Calabasas, stopping at all 10 Erewhon locations on the way. (My route did not include the Palisades, which is closed because of the fires; nor did it include LACMA or the new Glendale locale.)

“I need to write my novel” is a thought I have a lot. I usually heed this thought and sit at the desk like a soldier, imagining the wonderful day when I’ll sell said novel — for an amount that would probably be comparable to a fraction of an Erewhon employee’s yearly salary.

Erewhon Trail map illustration by Swan Huntley.

(Erewhon Trail map illustration by Swan Huntley. )

I really wasn’t in the mood to write the novel, though. When I imagined myself pecking away at the keyboard, I felt bad. When I imagined myself walking around L.A. in my Home Depot gardening hat, I felt good. So, I put on my hat, got into an Uber headed for Pasadena, and texted my sister, “Carpe diem, bitch.” Or at least that was my intention. What I actually sent was, “Carpet diem hitch.”

Over the summer, I hiked a little bit of the Pacific Crest Trail. A few years ago, I biked the Camino in Spain. I’ve walked from Los Feliz to the beach a handful of times. I’ve traversed the length of Manhattan thrice. Before that, when I was a teenager, I used to trek from La Jolla to Del Mar while drinking beer (I carried a cooler; yes, I’m sober now) and listening to Sarah McLachlan on my Discman. I’ve always been drawn to activities that many people find tedious. Like walking forever. Or writing a novel.

Starting in the fourth century, pilgrimages were served up by the church as a way for Christians to pay penance for their sins. They were hard and dangerous and a lot of people died. Fast-forward to now: Such treks have taken on an “Eat, Pray, Love” aura. Or a “Wild “ aura. They live in the realm of self-help and of sport. They’re a way to create friction in an increasingly frictionless world. By walking from Mexico to Canada, or from Erewhon to Erewhon, I wonder whether we’re trying to get back to the part of ourselves that wants to try harder.

Or we just want to become more valuable dinner party guests.

What do you do?

I do really long walks.

I ordered a Goddess Smoothie in Pasadena, and then I repeated this tradition at every store thereafter. The smoothie costs $19, tastes like heaven, and it’s green, which my brain reads as “good for me.”

It took me a little over three hours to walk 11 miles to Silver Lake. I got a Vegan Avocado Sandwich for lunch, took an Uber home and posted a reel on Instagram about my first day on the trail. A lot of people liked it. Some of them called me a genius.

In the last 10 years, I’ve published four novels and two illustrated books for adults. I was naïve and just totally blindly happy about the publishing process in the beginning. People wanted to buy my work? Other people wanted to read it? Cool.

The first book, “We Could Be Beautiful,” did well because the publisher put real money into the marketing of it. Then that stopped happening. At a certain point, I realized that expecting too much was unwise. It was up to me to market my books myself. Which meant: social media.

They say you have to see a book cover six times before you buy the book — or consider buying it. There are a lot of book covers on Instagram. Actually, there’s a lot of everything on Instagram, and out of all the everything, is a book cover that exciting?

No.

My second reel, which depicted my journey from Silver Lake to Studio City, went a little bit viral. To date, almost 10,000 people have shared it with their friends. Why? I think the answer has something to do with a desire for levity.

If the atmosphere of the world could be depicted by an Erewhon beverage, it wouldn’t be a vibrant, cheerful one, like the bright magenta Pitaya Smoothie. It would be the dark and brooding Germ Warfare Shot. I find it perplexing that people talk about the apocalypse as if it’s happening later. It’s happening now. If we were really thinking about how climate change is affecting us, we’d be out in the streets screaming. All the time. But we’re not doing that. We’re carrying on with our usual lives. Apparently, for me, that includes walking to Erewhons.

Any long-distance trek is as much an internal journey as it is external. As I continued the trail, I started to think that maybe my endeavor was a reaction to my feeling of total powerlessness. I can’t save the polar bears. I can’t force the president to go to therapy. But I can add some levity to the brooding atmosphere.

Recently, someone commented on one of the reels, “Transplants make LA locals look bad.” This person, and many others, hear the name Erewhon and assume I’m poking fun at it. Erewhon has become a joke about L.A. — a joke that was amplified after Hailey Bieber invented her smoothie in 2022 that Erewhon dubs the “Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie.” I’ve never had it, but I can tell you that it looks like a sky full of strawberry clouds. According to an Erewhon employee I spoke to, this smoothie was a turning point. It aligned the brand with wealth and power. Now, Erewhon evokes the image of smooth-skinned, health-conscious Angelenos with money to burn.

The Erewhon Trail, then, inevitably becomes a conversation about privilege, my own included. Instagram hid my two favorite comments, because it was worried they’d be too rude to show, but I think they’re the funniest ones.

This is what white people do on Prozac.

This is what happens when a liberal arts teacher gets fired.

To both of these comments, I say: Yes.

I’m not on Prozac yet, but maybe after I get fired, I will be.

In order to get fired, though, I’d have to get an actual job, which might never happen.

The most intense leg of the trail was from Santa Monica to Calabasas. My friend Fish joined me. Google said it would take 27 miles. After marching through the mountains, I decided to use my own intelligence to make the route shorter. This cut out four miles, bringing the total to 23. For long stretches, Fish and I walked in the bike lane, or in the bramble by the side of the road. That’s the penalty for straying from Google. Your sidewalks disappear and your chances of getting hit by a car go way up.

My legs were noodles by the time we got to Calabasas. I crawled across the parking lot to show my viewers how weak they’d become. The employee at the door smiled at me and handed me a basket, and I thought about the pain of my legs, which no one could see, and about all the secret battles people are fighting all the time, and I wished that we cared about each other as much as Erewhon cares about us. Multiple employees were perfecting the already-perfect plateaus of bell peppers and apples in the produce section. Their thoughtfulness was the opposite of the vibe I encounter in most public restrooms, which is that the strangers who were there before me didn’t have many thoughts about my experience. As lame as the fact that an Erewhon smoothie costs $19 is that so many of us need to be paid to be nice to each other.

When I tell people about my love for Erewhon, they either say, “Duh, I know,” or something along the lines of, “That place is ridiculous, right?” This is almost always followed by the mention of a food item and some amount of money. Like, “Doesn’t a carrot cost $12,000?”

Actually, I tell them, no. Although sometimes, yes. There is a Japanese strawberry that’s famously expensive ($20), but that’s avoidable. I then explain that contrary to popular thought, there is a way to shop at Erewhon on a budget. A jar of soup, for example, costs $15.50. If you return the bottle, you get $3 back. In my opinion, the soup can be two meals, so that’s $6.25 per meal. A lot of the produce is either the same price or only a little bit more expensive than at other health food stores, and it’s in consistently better shape. The most important piece of making Erewhon more affordable, though, is becoming a member. You get 10% off, a free drink of the month and discounts on a bunch of items.

You might be wondering: How many Erewhon memberships has she personally sold?

She’s lost count.

The other reason to go to Erewhon is the environment. It’s visually appealing and the employee-to-customer ratio is notable, and the result is that you feel like you’re at a resort. And frankly, these simple things — a nice environment, high quality food — should be available to everyone.

Back to the question of whether or not Erewhon is ridiculous — yes, of course it is. If you sit at any of the locations and listen to the conversations around you, you’ll probably feel like you’re an extra in a satirical movie. At Studio City, I overheard two moms in white pants and cashmere sweaters talking about how, based on their Instagram recon, they figured out that so-and-so was sitting next to so-and-so at a benefit dinner. Another snippet I overheard in Studio City: “You gotta make music from the heart, man, and the label will feel it.”

It didn’t occur to me to ask for free merch until after I’d finished the trail. Armando at the Santa Monica location was the lucky recipient of my request. I explained my uniquely heroic feat to him, and then wondered aloud if perhaps I could get a sweatshirt, or at least a hat.

Sadly, Armando was unauthorized to give me merch, but he did offer me a gift card in a tiny envelope. I was very grateful. I assumed the card was worth $50 at least.

After we parted ways, I opened the envelope.

Ten dollars.

Enough to put a down payment on a smoothie.

My dreams now are so different from when I was younger. Back in grad school, I imagined that maybe I’d write a bestselling novel, and maybe it would be adapted for the screen, and maybe my tombstone would read: She contributed very serious literature to civilization.

What I never accounted for was, of course, the unknown. Maybe one day, over a decade after school ended, I’d get a lot of attention for making performance art about walking to grocery stores.

Huntley’s novels include “I Want You More,” “Getting Clean With Stevie Green,” “The Goddesses” and “We Could Be Beautiful.” She’s also the writer/illustrator of the darkly humorous “The Bad Mood Book” and “You’re Grounded: An Anti-Self-Help Book to Calm You the F— Down.” She lives in Los Angeles.