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The scriptural passage that President Trump plans to read Tuesday evening in a livestreamed Bible-reading marathon dates back to the depiction of an ancient event — but it’s one that carries a highly charged significance in the current religious and political climate.

It has long been quoted and promoted by those who believe America was founded as a Christian nation and should be one. It’s from the seventh chapter of 2 Chronicles, a book in the Hebrew (Old Testament) portion of the Bible.

The 14th verse — the one most often quoted — says:

“If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”

Trump is among hundreds who are taking turns reading the entire Bible aloud over the course of a week. Most of the readings are taking place at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, though Trump’s is coming by video from the Oval Office.

A passage often quoted at National Day of Prayer events

The Chronicles passage has for decades been a major theme at annual National Day of Prayer events. Organizers of the America Reads the Bible marathon invited Trump to read from it. “It’s a powerful statement that he decided to read that passage,” said Bunni Pounds, founder of Christians Engaged, which organized the project.

The passage has been recited over the decades at countless rallies, services and events, often organized around the disputed belief that America was created as a Christian nation and needs to repent of its sins and return to God. The passage has particularly been associated with annual events commemorating the National Day of Prayer, which has taken various forms since the mid-20th century and became fixed by law on the first Thursday in May since the 1980s.

The verse is set in a context far from modern America — during the reign of King Solomon in ancient Israel some 3,000 years ago. Solomon is presiding over the dedication of the first temple in Jerusalem, and in a lengthy prayer he asks for divine mercy if a future generation sins, is punished with military or natural disaster and then repents. In the key passage, God replies with a promise of restoration.

Critics say the passage is used out of context

But the use of the passage in modern settings has its critics.

The Chronicles passage is “a popular verse among Christian nationalists and has been for quite some time,” said Brian Kaylor, a Baptist pastor and president and editor-in-chief of Word&Way, a progressive site covering faith and politics.

He said its use has taken on a partisan and polarizing tone, often used in tandem with a promotion of a belief in a Christian America in an increasingly diverse country.

“This verse is not about the United States,” said Kaylor, author of “The Bible According to Christian Nationalists: Exploiting Scripture for Political Power.” It is “a promise made to one particular person in one particular moment. It doesn’t really work to pull it out of context and apply it to whatever you want to.”

But many have done so recently and in decades past, either saying America has a divinely ordained destiny similar to ancient Israel’s or simply that they believe every nation has a duty to follow God and repent when needed.

President Dwight D. Eisenhower took the oath of office in 1953 with his hand on a Bible opened to the 2 Chronicles passage. President Ronald Reagan quoted the passage in a proclamation declaring 1984’s National Day of Prayer. A speaker at the 2024 Republican National Convention also quoted it.

The National Day of Prayer, while officially nonsectarian, has long been drawn particular promotion and participation from evangelical Christians. Readings of the “If my people” passage has been a staple of such events.

Politicians, others joining in the Bible-reading marathon

Evangelicals — a loyal Republican voting bloc for decades — have formed a crucial part of Trump’s electoral base. His rallies have featured a fusion of Christian and national symbols and rhetoric, featuring songs like “God Bless USA” and T-shirts with slogans like “Jesus is my savior, Trump is my president.”

Many other Republican politicians are taking part in the Bible reading, along with celebrities, pastors and others. And Trump isn’t the only one reading a passage significant to his office or mission.

Mike Huckabee, a Baptist pastor and U.S. ambassador to Israel, is reading from a Genesis passage in which God says he will bless those who bless Abraham — a passage popular with many evangelicals who believe they have a biblical mandate to support Israel.

David Barton, whose Wallbuilders promotes belief in America as a Christian nation, will read from a passage that gave his organization its name, in which Nehemiah rebuilds the broken walls of Jerusalem.

Smith writes for the Associated Press.

When perusing our final list of the 101 best book club picks, my eyes popped. My book club had just read two books that made the final cut.

And they were, on average, both our favorite and least favorite of the year. “Martyr” by Kaveh Akbar was layered and moving. “Big Swiss” by Jen Beagin was spicy and fun but too over the top.

Still, both led to fervent conversation peppered with oh-my-gods. So it goes with book clubs: Even if you don’t love what you’re reading, it can still offer something interesting to tease apart.

To make our lineup, The Times surveyed more than 200 authors, publishers, journalists and general book club enthusiasts to select the best book club reads in 10 categories, including romance, mystery, memoir and literary fiction.

Did we miss any books your book club loves? Tell us in the form below by April 20. We may include your suggestions in a follow-up story.

There is another way to read the ongoing Middle East crisis, one that makes legible what standard analysis consistently struggles to explain. It begins not with capability but with the geometry of the system through which capability must travel to produce effects. The United States and its partners possess overwhelming military superiority over Iran, and that superiority is not in question, yet the conflict has produced a pattern that defies its logic. A superpower coalition has been unable to impose coherent strategic outcomes against an adversary operating through proxies, low-cost disruption, and the systematic exploitation of global commercial vulnerabilities.

Over the past two years, we have seen multiple instances of this kind of disruption with consequential effects on the global system. Houthi drones force the rerouting of global shipping, with Red Sea cargo volumes falling by roughly 50% through early 2024 as major carriers diverted around the Cape of Good Hope, adding up to two weeks to transit times, driving freight costs sharply higher across European markets, and costing Egypt nearly $800 million per month at peak in lost Suez Canal revenue. A non-state network spanning Lebanon, Yemen, Iraq, Syria, and Gaza has absorbed sustained air campaigns, targeted eliminations of senior commanders, and repeated ground operations without losing its capacity to generate coordinated pressure across multiple theaters simultaneously. The asymmetry seems to follow a deliberate strategic logic that raw power analysis struggles to read, precisely because the conflict operates on a surface that capability assessments were never designed to map. What this suggests is that the decisive variable is not what actors possess but whether the relationships connecting them can transmit coordinated action when the system is under strain.

When that system cannot coordinate, something important breaks down. An alliance that formally exists but faces operational friction at every decision point ceases to be an alliance in any meaningful strategic sense. A security guarantee that cannot be transmitted rapidly to the partner it is meant to protect has, in effect, already failed its primary function. It follows that the gap between what a system formally is and what it can actually do under pressure is not a secondary consideration but the surface on which this conflict is being decided. Conventional analysis, calibrated to count warheads and assess intentions, consistently leaves this gap unmapped.

Analysts know that Saudi Arabia’s OPEC production decisions have repeatedly positioned Riyadh against Washington’s economic preferences, they know that European energy dependency complicates transatlantic alignment, and they know that Iran’s proxy network extends across five countries and absorbs military pressure without fracturing. Yet what the available frameworks cannot do is convert that knowledge into a structural reading of the system. They show that these conditions exist. What they cannot show is how those conditions interact, where they compound, and what the aggregate geometry of their interaction means for whether coordinated action is possible at all.

Power analysis was built to read capability differentials between states, and it does that well. Alliance theory was built to read the conditions under which formal commitments hold or fail, and it does that too. Neither, however, was built to read the operational weight of the ties through which capability and commitment must travel to produce effects.

The instruments available are calibrated to answer questions different from those the current situation poses. Deploying them on a problem they were not designed to read produces the consistent failure to explain what is actually happening that has marked analysis of this conflict from the start.

Adjacency mapping is an instrument designed to read that gap by mapping connectivity, by which I mean their operational weight, specifically their capacity to carry coordinated action under strain. What distinguishes it from standard approaches is its unit of analysis. Rather than the actors themselves, it treats the weight of the relationships as primary. The question it asks is not who holds power but whether the ties connecting power-holders can transmit that power when the system needs them to. Two states can be formally allied, operationally integrated in name, and structurally disconnected at the same time, and nothing in standard analysis will tell you which of those conditions is actually operative until the moment of crisis reveals it.

The instrument assigns each significant relationship in the system a weight between 0 and 1, reflecting how frequently the two actors interact operationally, how reliably information moves between them, how the tie has behaved under recent stress, and how quickly it transmits pressure when the system is under strain. At the higher end of the scale, a weight at or above 0.6 indicates that coordination approaches automaticity, and the tie carries load without constant investment to maintain it. Around 0.3, friction accumulates. In this setting, decisions require deliberate effort at every juncture, slowing the system and making it susceptible to gradual degradation that never triggers a visible rupture. At or below 0.2, the tie has effectively ceased to function as a transmission pathway, leaving the actors operationally disconnected regardless of what their formal relationship nominally says.

These weights are analytical judgements calibrated against observable evidence. In other words, their value lies in making visible what experienced analysts already carry as intuition and in giving that intuition a structure precise enough to argue about. The numbers are therefore analytical judgements, not measurements. A more rigorous application would derive them from quantifiable indicators across each dimension, including military interoperability, intelligence exchange depth, crisis responsiveness, economic interdependence, and signaling consistency, averaged and weighted systematically. That work lies beyond the scope of this piece, but the architecture is designed to accommodate it.

There is a risk management dimension to this reading that is worth making explicit. Standard geopolitical risk assessment focuses on actor-level variables such as regime stability, military capability, and leadership intentions. What adjacency mapping adds is a structural layer that those assessments typically miss. A coalition whose load-bearing relationships operate in the friction zone is exposed to a category of risk that capability assessments do not capture and that becomes visible only when the system is read structurally.

What the matrix adds is the ability to see how compound weakness across multiple relationships produces cascading effects that bilateral assessment alone would struggle to predict. A system whose dominant actor holds several weak partnerships faces more than friction. As a consequence, the geometry of those weaknesses determines whether any concerted response is structurally possible at all. Aggregate capability becomes, in that light, secondary to that question.

If we apply this to the Middle East security complex, the instrument produces one possible reading. This reading differs considerably from the picture conventional analysis generates. Its value is not in the precision of the numbers but in making the system’s geometry visible enough to argue about.

The matrix below maps operational connectivity across the system’s key actors. The numbers are analytical judgements, not measurements.

The geometry they make visible is what matters here.

The matrix is intentionally non-symmetric. Where operational influence flows asymmetrically between two actors, the weights reflect that directionality.

The matrix reveals, in this light, a system whose dominant actors are connected at fundamentally different weights. And more significantly, its most important bilateral relationship is operating in the friction zone. It’s formally excluded adversary has constructed the only alternative connectivity architecture in the system. What this implies is that the geometry of the conflict runs considerably deeper than standard alliance analysis tends to suggest.

On the coalition side, the US has high adjacency with Qatar, Bahrain, Israel, and Kuwait, ties that enable rapid coordination and require little maintenance, constituting the operational backbone of what Washington can actually activate quickly.

Its relationship with Saudi Arabia, however, sits at 0.4. That number is analytically more significant than almost anything else in the matrix. Saudi Arabia remains, on most readings, the relationship on which Gulf order coherence formally depends, the anchor of the security architecture since the 1970s, and it is operating in the friction zone where every significant decision requires renegotiation from scratch rather than flowing through an established channel. Saudi Arabia’s invitation to join BRICS in August 2023, yuan-denominated oil transactions with China, and its participation in the Chinese-brokered rapprochement with Iran in March 2023 all point in the same direction. Riyadh is hedging structurally toward China and the broader non-Western order, a posture that sits uneasily alongside its formal security alignment with Washington. Taken together, these are not isolated political episodes but evidence of a tie that has been operating below the coordination threshold for years and whose weakness is, on this reading, the system’s most consequential structural vulnerability.

Through the normalization architecture, the UAE has arguably become the system’s most structurally reliable node at 0.6 with both the US and Israel, its operational integration exceeding Saudi Arabia’s despite Saudi Arabia’s formal primacy. The Abraham Accords of September 2020 established the formal foundation for that integration. The operational depth it has since generated, across intelligence sharing, defence cooperation, and coordinated positioning on Iran, has made the UAE the coalition’s most functionally connected Gulf partner. Oman holds what is perhaps the system’s most anomalous position, meaningful adjacency with both the US coalition and Iran simultaneously, a profile no other state actor in the matrix replicates. That structural position gave Oman the back-channel role it played through the early phases of the conflict, with documented precedent in the secret US-Iran nuclear negotiations that began in Muscat in 2012 and ran through 2013. As the conflict has intensified, Pakistan has assumed the primary mediation function, but Oman’s position as a quiet facilitator has not disappeared; it has simply been supplemented by a node with more direct access to both capitals at this particular moment.

Pakistan has emerged as the conflict’s primary mediation node, hosting the highest-level direct negotiations between Washington and Tehran since 1979 and brokering the April 2026 ceasefire. That role reflects a structural position the matrix makes legible: high Saudi adjacency, a functioning Iran tie, and a rehabilitated relationship with Washington that no other regional actor currently combines. China’s influence over both Pakistani and Iranian decision-making operates as an exogenous pressure that the matrix only partially captures, and Pakistan’s own domestic constraints, including its difficulty developing direct channels with the IRGC, limit how far that mediation role can ultimately reach.

Iran’s position is where the matrix becomes most analytically revealing. Across the state actors in the system, Iran’s adjacency sits at or near fragmentation, built up through sanctions, absent operational channels, and decades of adversarial signalling that have left Tehran formally isolated from the coordination architecture the United States and its partners have constructed.

And yet the only high-weight tie Iran holds is with its proxy network at 0.7. That single number may go further toward explaining the architecture of the entire campaign than any other figure in the matrix.

It is an asymmetric relationship in which Tehran’s capacity to activate and direct exceeds the reverse influence those actors exert over Iranian strategic decisions. What that single structural condition implies goes further toward explaining the architecture of Iranian pressure operations than most analyses of Iranian intentions or capabilities tend to reach. Iran is geographically central and formally excluded. It is precisely that combination, positioned to apply pressure across every theatre while bearing none of the coordination costs that formal inclusion imposes. That, from this vantage point, is what makes legible a strategy that standard analysis, focused on actors and their capabilities, cannot see.

Seen through this lens, what Iran is doing across the region is something more structurally ambitious than a military campaign. It is attempting to restructure the matrix itself. The goal appears to be less about battlefield victory than about the gradual degradation of the ties connecting the United States to its regional partners, below the threshold at which coordinated response becomes automatic, eroding the will to keep paying the price of alignment while simultaneously building alternative adjacency in the nodes where US-aligned connectivity is weakest.

The Houthi campaign against Red Sea shipping is calibrated to stay below the threshold that would compel a unified military response. It introduces friction into the economic relationships connecting European states to the Gulf system, raising the cost of alignment with Washington’s regional posture without forcing the kind of direct confrontation that would unite the coalition. Strikes on Gulf infrastructure follow the same calibration, persistent enough to signal that the US security guarantee cannot insulate its partners from costs, yet restrained enough to avoid crossing the point at which coalition fragmentation becomes irrelevant because a unified response becomes compulsory. Across Iraq and Syria, simultaneous pressure from affiliated militias prevents the concentration of attention that sustained coalition coordination requires. In each case, the instrument targets a relationship rather than a capability, specifically the weight of the ties whose degradation would restructure the system’s geometry without requiring Iran to displace the existing order directly.

The US-Saudi tie at 0.4 is the primary focus of that degradation effort. Should that threshold be breached, Saudi Arabia hedges. As hedging reduces operational interactivity the tie weakens further. The process risks becoming self-reinforcing. Iranian military superiority over any individual partner is not required to sustain it.

The same logic extends across European actors, though not uniformly. Germany’s industrial exposure to energy price volatility, France’s residual strategic autonomy instinct, and the EU’s institutional preference for de-escalation all produce different thresholds for continued alignment with Washington. Their shared energy dependency gives them asymmetric stakes in the Gulf system’s stability, but their appetite for risk diverges from Washington’s in ways that are not identical across capitals, and each time Iran forces a decision about the cost of continued alignment, that divergence fragments the coalition’s coordination surface further.

By sustaining operational ties with non-state actors across the region, Iran is constructing alternative adjacency in precisely the nodes where US-aligned connectivity is weakest. These are populations and factions that the existing regional order has excluded from the dominant coalition’s coordination architecture. Deliberately so — Iran is building in the structural gaps the system leaves open. Displacing the existing order appears unnecessary. Becoming the more reliable pole of alignment for the actors that order has failed to integrate may be sufficient. All that is required is that the order fragment sufficiently at its margins for that offer to appear credible, and the current trajectory of US-Saudi friction and European hedging is steadily moving in that direction.

The coalition’s instruments are calibrated to military threats. The system, however, is failing along a different surface entirely, or so this reading suggests. The formal architecture remains largely intact, security guarantees have not been withdrawn, Gulf states remain formally aligned, and normalisation agreements hold. And yet the operational adjacency that gives that architecture its functional weight is under sustained pressure from an actor that has correctly identified the gap between formal commitment and operational tie as the system’s primary vulnerability. That identification is outpacing the coalition’s capacity to respond.

On this reading, the surface on which the conflict appears to be decided is not the one the coalition is defending.

What adjacency mapping reveals is a story about geometry. The system’s dominant actor holds formal commitments at weights the system cannot sustain under the pressure being applied to it. Its adversary, in turn, has built the only alternative coordination architecture in the space that those weakening ties leave open. The conflict is likely to be determined by which ties the system can no longer afford to lose under sustained and calibrated pressure. The question is whether the actors currently holding those ties in the friction zone can rebuild them to the coordination threshold before the process of degradation becomes irreversible. That is a question that capability assessments are not well-positioned to answer, and one that a structural reading of the system’s connectivity at least helps to make visible.

Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, the author of “Dangerous Liaisons,” is often credited with “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Given our aggrieved times, it’s not surprising how many of this year’s new mysteries explore revenge, but these four recent releases are especially notable.

Author Jose Ando

(Yuka Fujisawa)

Jackson Alone
By Jose Ando
Soho Press; 160 pages; $29

While English translations of Japanese crime novels have increased in the last 20 years, most still focus on a culturally homogeneous, straight, Japanese society. Now comes Jose Ando’s “Jackson Alone,” published in Japan in 2022 and translated into English by Kalau Almony, which centers on a mysterious African Japanese massage therapist whose life is upended after his clients and colleagues at a fictional sports conglomerate discover a violent revenge porn featuring someone who looks like him. Despite having no memory of the incident, Jackson joins three other outraged, queer men like him in switching identities to seek out and confront their abusers, who can’t seem to tell them apart.

As the quartet’s scheme plays out, this slim novel becomes less a revenge thriller and more a satiric unmasking of Japanese racism and homophobia which spurs “the four Jacksons” to claim their right to exist authentically without the judgment and stereotyping of the hetero, “pure Japanese” gaze. This bold debut earned “Jackson Alone” wide praise and Japan’s Bungei Prize, awarded to first-time novelists, and makes Ando, now in his early 30s, a writer to watch. (The author’s answers to the following questions were translated by Almony.)

Why was it important for you to tell the stories of queer African Japanese men in your novel?

The primary reason was that those characters never really showed up in Japanese literature, and even when they did, they’d be reshaped into something that was easily digestible for the majority. Before I became an author, I would get irritated whenever I encountered that sort of representation. I wrote “Jackson Alone” to submit to a competition for new writers. In my head, it felt like Jackson and the other characters were there the whole time hollering, “Hurry up and get us out there!”

While there are some frank sex scenes in the novel, what shocked me was how dehumanizing encounters with many “pure Japanese” were for Jackson and his friends. Why were those scenes important to the story?

Living as a minority, you often get questions along the lines of, “What kind of painful things have you experienced?” Right? When you’re asked something like that, don’t you always want to shoot back, “Before you ask me about my experience, why don’t you tell me what you’ve done?” Victimization doesn’t just happen because a person from a minority group is standing around, there’s almost always a perpetrator. The different kinds of dehumanization I wrote about in this book are based on the sorts of things I experience almost every day.

Your novel reminded me of classic American crime fiction like James M. Cain’s “The Postman Always Rings Twice,” or more recent, revenge-themed novels like Alison Gaylin’s “The Collective” or S.A. Cosby’s “Razorblade Tears.” What fiction do you find inspiring?

In terms of novels I’ve read, there’s “Out” by Natsuo Kirino and the works of Mieko Kawakami. My direct inspiration though comes mostly from my own life.

Author Caroline Glenn

(William Morrow)

Cruelty Free
By Caroline Glenn
William Morrow; 320 pages; $30

In Glenn’s fiction debut, Lila Devlin, once one of the most famous actresses on the planet, returns to Los Angeles 10 years after the kidnapping and death of her daughter, Josie. The kidnapping caused a media frenzy, which precipitated Devlin’s meme-worthy downward spiral and the end of her marriage to a rising young Hollywood actor. After an “Eat Pray Love” retreat from the spotlight, Devlin is back with Glob, a line of ethical skincare products with a higher purpose: “A way for Josie to live on by applying the principles of self-actualization and inner peace that she learned in India. She wanted to help people heal just as she had.”

But Hollywood has a short memory and most of the people who benefited from Devlin’s meteoric rise and the kidnapping can’t be bothered to help her now. After a meeting with one of them goes horribly wrong, Devlin and her publicist Sylvie, another a victim of Hollywood’s censure, find revenge offers a unique albeit gruesome ingredient for Glob’s products. Although the novel’s flashbacks seem to digress at times, it all clicks into place once Lila starts exacting her increasingly unhinged revenge. “Cruelty-Free” is an edgy journey with razor-sharp observations about fame and revenge. Readers will be looking forward to what comes next for this talented creator.

What inspired your novel?

I love Sondheim’s “Sweeney Todd.” So much. And the core of that story, a man falsely imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit and eventually driving him insane, is unfortunately pretty evergreen. Other inspirations: the Lindbergh baby, how much I hate true crime media, NYC publicist Lizzie Grubman, cash grab celebrity beauty brands, rich white women going on “Eat Pray Love” trips to Asia, the city of Los Angeles (go Dodgers).

Lila Devlin makes a journey from being a grieving mother to being a villain. How do you keep the reader’s sympathies?

I don’t think the reader’s sympathies are supposed to necessarily stay with Lila. The core of this book, stripping away the weird digressions, is about how society makes monsters. Lila’s career, her body, her entire life was consumed by the world until she was left with nothing, and now she’s holding a mirror back up to it. You can understand where she’s coming from, but after a certain point … she’s gonna hit diminishing returns.

In your thinking, is revenge ever justified?

The point isn’t whether or not it’s justified. It’s whether or not it’ll make you feel better. And it can’t, it’s hollow. Nothing will ever undo the original sin, and devoting your life to ruining someone else’s is a loss for both of you.

Author Leodora Darlington

(YellowBelly Photo)

The Exes
By Leodora Darlington
William Morrow; 384 pages; $29

This UK fiction editor’s debut centers on Natalie, driven into therapy to get to the root of her blackouts and the murderous impulses toward former boyfriends they may be hiding. But then Natalie meets “the one” — James, her boyishly handsome boss at a London start-up — and becomes even more terrified that the monster inside her may strike again.

In carefully interwoven flashbacks and letters to her exes, readers learn why: Natalie’s disastrous dating histories — and the deaths of her abusive boyfriends — are detailed as well as her early relationship with James and the family trauma she and her younger sister suffered at the hands of a father who they saw abuse, and almost kill, their mother.

But, empathy aside, does any amount of family or romantic trauma justify revenge, even murder? By the time Darlington builds her case for and against Natalie, James and the other characters in this tightly drawn circle, readers will be taken through a number of sometimes shocking reveals that suggest that the family ties that bind can also cut off opportunities for forgiveness. Darlington has crafted a dark, edgy thriller whose engaging protagonist and intriguing psychological insights linger in the mind long after the memory of that last, jaw-dropping twist fades away.

What inspired your novel?
“The Exes” began with a title that just popped into my head: “To All the Boys I Killed Before.” I adore the romance genre — I’m a huge fan of tropes, from enemies-to-lovers to fake dating. But that love for romance exists alongside a growing frustration with the rollback of women’s rights globally. That convergence of feelings made me wonder: What kind of girl would write letters to former flames, not out of love, but out of despair?

For much of the novel, readers can’t be sure whether Natalie has murdered her exes in a fit of rage or if something else is at play. How did you draw on this uncertainty to build the reader’s sympathies for the character?

What felt important in drawing readers close to Natalie was letting them see through a window into her past and why she is the way she is. Understanding her as a vulnerable child or anxious teen feels crucial to making sure we’re invested in all of the twists that slam through the second half of the novel. I really do think a great twist requires deep character empathy as much as it does clever plotting.

In your thinking, is revenge ever justified?
Yes. Ha! Well, in all seriousness, quite a few characters in this story are pursuing their own revenge plots. I do think it is possible to justify revenge to a jury, but never to oneself. Not in a soul-deep way. The pursuit of revenge takes a spiritual tax on a person that can sometimes cost more than they’ve bargained for, and we see the unraveling effects of that in “The Exes.”

Author W. M. Akers

(Gianna Smorto)

To Kill a Cook
By W.M. Akers
G.P. Putnam’s Sons; 384 pages; $30

After so much revenge, W.M. Akers has just the palate cleanser in “To Kill a Cook”, a homage to 1970s Manhattan and its fine dining temples. Bernice Black, a sharp-tongued restaurant critic for the Sentinel, a struggling newspaper, is meeting chef Laurent Tirel, her culinary mentor and friend, at his restaurant to plan her fiancé’s birthday party. But Tirel, once lauded as “King of the Butter Boys,” is struggling too. Caviar and truffle prices are skyrocketing, forcing Tirel to cut corners while clinging to his restaurant’s former glory. When Bernie finds the restaurant empty and a veal stock reduced to the consistency of “cold blood,” she thinks Tirel is making an aspic for the party. Instead, she finds Tirel’s head in the refrigerator, suspended in the aspic along with the decorative veggies.

Thus begins an intense romp through New York’s finest restaurants when Bernice — who realizes the NYPD doesn’t know their aspics from a hole in the ground — decides to get the scoop of the decade by finding Tirel’s killer herself. Akers nails 1970s New York’s glitz and grime as Bernie interviews an assortment of renowned chefs, fellow critics, criminals as well as Tirel’s business associates and son, Henri, who also happens to be an old flame. But the pièce de résistance of this delectable mystery is Bernice herself — a bold, brash feminist who’s trying to figure out her sexuality while being honest with the ones she loves. Here’s Bernice replying to an NYPD detective’s accusation that she’s not a lady: “I guess that was supposed to hurt my feelings, but I quit trying to be ladylike sometime around the first grade.” “To Kill a Cook” is a decadent treat, with enough loose ends in Bernice Black’s life and career to leave readers hungry for more.

Why did you decide to set your novel in 1970s Manhattan?

1972 was a key turning point in the history of American fine dining. It’s the moment when old-school French — think white tablecloths, heavy sauces and snooty maitre’d’s — faded into the background, allowing nouvelle cuisine and what we now call New American to take its place. It’s also a moment when exceptional, modern cooking would share a menu with “parsleyed ham in aspic” or something else that today’s diners would consider repulsive. That tension between old and new, and the question of what fine dining would become, drives a lot of the conflict in the book.

How did you research the restaurants you describe so well in the book? Did any of those chefs/restaurateurs inspire Laurent Tirel, the murder victim?

I have a big pile of old cookbooks that inspired a lot of the specific dishes in the book, but the best resource was the New York magazine archives, particularly Gael Greene’s old columns. Bernice Black’s name is a little nod to Greene. And Tirel is very much inspired by Henri Soulé, whose Le Pavillon was the definitive New York restaurant for a generation, and whom Greene wrote about beautifully.

Bernice spends a lot of time trying to perfect a Charlotte Russe for her fiancé. Why that particular dish?

The Charlotte Russe is a specialty of my mother, a former caterer who helped run New York’s Hard Rock Café in the ’70s. It’s the kind of lavish, creamy, boozy party dessert that you don’t see often anymore, and it’s involved enough to offer Bernice a challenge. Julia Child’s got a good recipe in “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” but I relied on my mom’s recipe, which readers can find on my Patreon, and which my mom once cooked for Jacques Pépin!

Woods is a book critic, editor and author of several anthologies and crime novels.