Michael Dirda
Michael Dirda
Critic

Michael Dirda is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Washington Post Book World and the author of the memoir “An Open Book” and of four collections of essays: “Readings,” “Bound to Please,” “Book by Book” and “Classics for Pleasure.” Dirda was born in Lorain, Ohio, graduated with highest honors in English from Oberlin College, and received a Ph.D. in comparative literature (medieval studies and European romanticism) from Cornell University.

Latest by Michael Dirda

Book review: Charles Rosen’s ‘Freedom and the Arts’

Book review: Charles Rosen’s ‘Freedom and the Arts’

Seldom does a book of literary essays so unashamedly champion study and scholarship as does pianist and polymath Charles Rosen’s “Freedom and the Arts: Essays on Music and Literature.”

The New Mystery

Every so often genres seem to take off, or find a renewed vigor. Certainly this seems a hot time for mysteries and crime thrillers, especially those from European countries, particularly Scandinavia. Alas, I’ve missed out on this smorgasbord. While I admire, immensely, the the Swedish Martin Beck police procedurals by Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo, I’ve not kept up with their descendants.

So who should I read? I’m asking for guidance from the collective wisdom of the Reading Room. If you had to choose the five best crime novels of the past 15 years or so, which ones would you select? Would your list include work by Jo Nesbo or Laurie King, Ian Rankin or John Connolly, Arnaldr Indridason or Michael Connelly, George Pelecanos or S.J. Rozan, Randy Wayne White or Mo Hayder?

In my limited view, the best American mystery/crime novels of the period just before this current Renaissance were George V. Higgins’ The Friends of Eddie Coyle and James Crumley’s The Last Good Kiss. Elmore Leonard’s books seem consistently excellent, but none stands out more than others, at least in my memory (and I think they tend to meander a bit too much at times). Alas, I never got round to reading the much admired James Lee Burke. In England this period is, of course, dominated by the inexhaustibly brilliant Ruth Rendell—The Briedmaid!--and the revered P.D. James.

Anyway, I’m hoping that the Reading Room can provide me with a “new mysteries” reading list for the coming year. I’d be really grateful.

“The Werewolf of Paris”

“The Werewolf of Paris”

Guy Endore’s notorious novel is a classic work of horror from 1933.

Robert Hughes

So another one who was doing us some good is now gone. Robert Hughes was best known as the longtime art critic of Time Magazine and as the host of two wonderful television series, “The Shock of the New” and “American Visions.”

I have particularly fond memories of the latter. A few years back, I found for $5 a boxed set of the eight VHS tapes for this “history of American art and architecture,” as the subtitle has it. At the time I was spending two nights a week in Westminster, Maryland, teaching on Tuesday and Thursday at McDaniel College. It was a wonderful time, for several reasons: The job got me out of the house, the cafeteria offered unlimited food and dessert, and the excellent library stayed open late.

Often I would pig out at the cafeteria, then meander among the stacks, picking out books I’d never seen and wanted to read. Having a faculty library card, with a semester-long checkout, was the perfect perk for me.

Still, by 10 PM or so, I’d be in the house the college had generously allocated to me, and shortly thereafter I’d have a cold beer in my hand and one of the American Visions tapes running. It was quite blissful to sip a Guinness and listen to the articulate, yet loveably bluff Hughes as he discussed Monticello or the work of Winslow Homer or Jackson Pollock. I carefully rationed myself to one tape per night and only when I was in Westminster.

I read “The Shock of the New” but somehow only caught a couple of its episodes when they first aired. It, too, was good, though I still preferred “American Visions,” even if Hughes tended to be a little sentimental about our art. As my interest in Australia and Barcelona—the topics of two of his other books—is fairly faint, I’ve never read them, but probably should, especially “The Fatal Shore.” On the other hand, I have used “Nothing if Not Critical,” Hughes’s collected art journalism from Time, in occasional courses on reviewing and feature writing.

I gather that Hughes could be rather a good ol’ boy, rather like his contemporary the critic and poet Clive James, but that only made the man’s passion for art all the more endearing. I’ll miss not having him out there, ready to lay out the merits of, or lay into the questionable value of, so much of our modern art.

Did other members of the Reading Room admire Hughes? Please share your thoughts. Are there other art critics that you turn to for guidance? Kenneth Clark, I suppose, is on everyone’s list, and perhaps E.H. Gombrich, but who else in art criticism is important to you? Many thanks.