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A Canadian general recounts his efforts to stop the Rwandan genocide�and then to remain sane.

Sam Lipsyte’s bravura new novel manages to lift slacker fiction out of its terminal adolescence.

Heather Lewis’s posthumous novel reanimates a movement unfairly dismissed as victim art.

NASCAR may now be a virtual byword for the hard-working, God-fearing red-state interior, but auto racing began as very much an upper-crust pastime.

David B.’s Epileptic lays bare the author’s tortured muse�and transfigures the graphic novel.

A ballyhooed Corrections knockoff from Down Under points up the stalled state of the social novel.

The novel is, first off, a prank.

His memoir, in a translation that preserves the author’s gorgeous, discursive style and his love of wordplay, is a social history embedded within an autobiography.

Indian novelist Pankaj Mishra scours the Buddhist past for answers to modern ills.

Three unrelated murder cases come under the scrutiny of a private investigator, whose quirks are only slightly less predictable than his canniest pensées.