skopia
Printed by the billion and waved by Red Guards, Mao's pocket handbook compresses his politics into 427 quotations on struggle, self-criticism, and war. During the Cultural Revolution, not carrying one was dangerous.
Chin skied from the summit of Everest and hung off El Capitan to film Alex Honnold climbing it without a rope. His photographs come with what it cost to stand there.
Between 1980 and 1989, Shabazz stopped young New Yorkers on the street and photographed them in shell-toe Adidas, sheepskin coats, and gold ropes. Everything hip hop later sold the world is already here.
Two hundred prints run chronologically from 1680 to 1938, black-and-white sheets giving way to the full-color glut of Utamaro's beauties, Hiroshige's roads, and Hokusai's wave. Marks names the publisher behind every design.
A Los Angeles magazine asked architects how postwar America should live, and Eames, Koenig, and Neutra answered in steel and glass on hillsides. Julius Shulman's photographs sold California modernism to the world.
Nobody has written funnier prose about drink. Kingsley Amis separates the physical hangover from the metaphysical one, calculates what a party will actually consume, and hands down recipes he plainly tested.
Twelve New Yorker reports on how companies behave: Ford burning millions on the Edsel, a grocer trying to corner his own stock. Bill Gates calls it the best business book he has read.
Pendergrast traces coffee from an Ethiopian hillside to the corner cafe, through Brazilian slave plantations and the US-backed coup in Guatemala, and shows how grocery marketing wars made American coffee undrinkable.
Beauty and utility generate each other, Paul Rand argues, and the designer's job is fusing idea with image. He pulled European modernism into American advertising and made the trade take design seriously.
Every American house is a set of clues: roof pitch, window shape, porch depth. McAlester supplies the vocabulary, from Georgian mansions to postwar ranches, and you walk out able to name your street.
A Berkeley merchant drives France cellar by cellar, buying from small growers and arguing that filtering a wine bright strips out what you want to drink. Lynch taught Americans to taste for place.
Serious photography meant black and white when Singh shot India in color, insisting a country this saturated demanded it. He packs pilgrims, monsoon light, and painted walls into frames borrowed from Indian painting.
Every grape that makes wine, 1,368 of them, traced by DNA to its parents and described by flavor. Zinfandel is revealed as a Croatian vine, and Sauvignon Blanc descends from Savagnin.
Wine as geography: Johnson and Robinson map every serious vineyard region on earth, down to the slope and soil, so you can see why one hillside tastes different from the next field over.
One fish shaped the whole Atlantic world. Kurlansky follows cod from the Basques and their secret fishing grounds through the slave-trade economies it fed to the Grand Banks collapse of 1992.
Cash tells it in his own voice: picking cotton in Dyess, Arkansas, the brother a saw killed at fifteen, the amphetamine decades, and the night he crawled into Nickajack Cave to die.
Working the Disneyland magic shop as a teenager, Martin set out to build comedy without punchlines, so laughter had nowhere to land. He filled arenas with it, then quit for good.
Gamow carries a reader from counting to infinity, from atoms to the expanding universe, drawing every illustration himself. The psychologist Steven Pinker traces his science writing to reading this as a boy.
Speech therapy for a lisp, a methamphetamine phase of conceptual art, then a Paris classroom where a French teacher reduces grown adults to stammering. Sedaris finds humiliation funny and never spares himself.
Feinstein spent the 1985-86 season inside coach Bob Knight's Indiana basketball program and printed all of it, the profanity and the fury and the players absorbing both. Sports reporters still envy that access.
Byrne argues that music is written backward from the room it will fill, cathedral or CBGB. He works outward through recording, technology and money, explaining everything that shapes what reaches your ear.
Bubbles are not aberrations but a permanent feature of markets. Chancellor follows the fever from tulip mania through the South Sea Bubble to Japan's 1980s, with borrowed money at the center every time.
Levy found the hacker ethic among MIT students who monopolized the university's computers all night: all information should be free, mistrust authority, judge a person by the code. Silicon Valley still recites it.
From Aleppo and Samarkand to Vilna and New York, Roden gathered eight hundred recipes and the histories that traveled with them. She was born into Cairo's Jewish community and expelled along with it.
Sister Mary Bradley, a grandmother Hughes invented, tells death to wait because her feet are caught in the sweet flypaper of life, then walks you through DeCarava's photographs of her Harlem block.
One killing per chapter, in towns no reporter usually visits, including a Kentucky landowner who shot a documentary filmmaker for trespassing. Trillin cares how these Americans lived, not how they died.
Marcella Hazan taught America what Italians actually eat, region by region, and her rule is exacting: buy well, do less, wait. Her tomato sauce is a can, an onion halved, and butter.
Curious why the juice from a Penn Station machine changed color through the winter, McPhee went to Florida. He came back with citrus botany, grove barons, and the entire industry of frozen concentrate.
Freetown, Virginia was founded by freed slaves, including Edna Lewis's grandfather, and her cookbook is that community's year: what the farm gave in each season and the meal it made.
Twenty years of letters between a broke New York writer hunting English classics and the London bookseller who found them. She mailed meat parcels through rationing and never crossed the ocean in time.
The finest life written of an American coach. Maraniss takes Lombardi from a Brooklyn butcher's son studying for the priesthood to the Packers dynasty, and shows what the discipline cost his family.
Bourdain cooked for two decades, then told everything: the drugs, the immigrant crews who hold restaurants up, why you never order fish on Monday. He made the line cook a figure Americans envied.
Lewis walked postwar Sicily and found monks running extortion from the confessional and Mafia bosses installed as mayors by American liberators, whose invasion, he argues, restored what Mussolini had nearly destroyed.
No history of hip hop is better. Chang begins with landlords burning the Bronx, arrives at Kool Herc's turntables, and reads Public Enemy and the Los Angeles riots as one generation's politics.
Michael Burry, a one-eyed doctor turned investor, read the mortgage documents no one else opened and bet against American housing. Lewis turns credit default swaps into a thriller about who saw it coming.
Oakland spent a third of what the Yankees spent and won as many games, buying the hitters scouts despised. Every team in baseball now runs on the arithmetic Lewis watched Billy Beane use.
Osnos spent eight years watching China chase fortune faster than its politics allowed, and tells it through a soldier who swam the strait to defect and a blind lawyer who escaped house arrest.
I have little interest in streamlining government, Goldwater declares, for I mean to reduce its size. A hundred pages of refusal that dragged the Republican Party rightward and made Reagan's presidency thinkable.
Ideology no longer divides the world, Huntington argued: culture does, along fault lines between seven or eight civilizations. After 9/11 nobody could discuss the West and Islam without answering him.
Buying a house in the hill village of Bellapais, Durrell watched Cyprus slide from Mediterranean idyll into insurgency, and ended up speaking for the British government as his Greek friends turned against him.
Liberal democracy won, Fukuyama argued as the Soviet Union fell: no rival idea of how to organize a society remains. Then he asks what becomes of men with nothing left to struggle over.
In 1920 an Englishman settled in the mountains south of Granada, in a village called Yegen. Brenan sets down its customs, its poverty and its gossip, an Andalusia the Civil War would erase.
Twenty-five million people bought a physics book. Hawking explains black holes, the arrow of time, and whether the universe needed a beginning, carrying the argument on almost no mathematics at all.
Sixty-six songs, from Sinatra to the Who, each taken twice: Dylan writes his way inside the record in second person, then steps back and talks craft. Nobody listens to music this closely.
Henry Hill spent twenty-five years as a Lucchese associate, from stolen cigarettes to the Lufthansa robbery, and Pileggi lets him tell it himself. Scorsese lifted whole scenes of Goodfellas straight from it.
The artist Robert Irwin gave up the image, then the frame, then the object, until only seeing was left. Weschler recorded three decades of his talk, and reading it retrains your eye.
Easy Company jumped into Normandy on D-Day, held Bastogne through the snow short of ammunition and coats, and finished the war at Hitler's alpine retreat. Ambrose built it from the men's own accounts.
Fifty thousand men climb out of a Brazilian gold pit on wooden ladders, caked in mud. Salgado spent six years across twenty-six countries photographing manual labor as the machines took it away.
Murphy left Dunkirk in the frozen January of 1963 on a bicycle named Roz and rode to Delhi, fighting off wolves in Yugoslavia and thieves in Iran, and setting it down without drama.
Avedon spent five years photographing drifters, miners, waitresses, and slaughterhouse workers against plain white paper. Printed larger than life, the faces leave nothing to hide behind and no cowboy myth standing.
At an Aspen party a man lectures Solnit about an important new book on the photographer Muybridge. She wrote it. Her essays track how silencing women shades into violence against them.
Five ships left Seville in 1519 and one came home three years later with eighteen men aboard. Zweig tells the circumnavigation as the story of an obstinate will set against an unmapped ocean.
For a decade the Czech photographer Josef Koudelka lived among Roma families in Slovakia, waiting for his subjects to present themselves. The portraits are grave, formal, and free of pity.
Quitting the London fashion trade with almost no climbing behind him, Newby set out for an unclimbed Afghan peak. The funniest travel book in English comes out of that mismatch.
Arbus met twins, giants, nudists and Westchester couples with the same level stare. Here are the prints with her notebooks and letters, and the argument American photography has never settled about her.
On Corfu in the 1930s a boy hunts scorpions and owls while his mother and three grown siblings supply the chaos. Durrell describes every creature exactly and every relative without mercy.
Forty photographs, and Adams tells how each was made. His meter lost in New Mexico, he computed the exposure from the moon's known brightness and got one negative before the light went.
For three days in October 1974, Perec sat in cafes on the Place Saint-Sulpice and wrote down every bus, pigeon, and passerby. Look long enough, he shows, and nothing is background.
Chris McCandless gave his savings to charity, burned the cash in his wallet, and walked into the Alaskan bush in April 1992. Krakauer refuses to file him under either fool or saint.
Written at thirty-three, Obama's account of being the son of a Kenyan he met once runs from Hawaii to Jakarta to a Chicago organizing job, and ends at that father's grave.