Ralph Ellis will discuss his new novel, "The Accident Report," in conversation with Susan Puckett at 3 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 7, at City Lights Bookstore in Sylva.

Set in the summer of 1974, the novel follows rookie reporter Ronald Truluck, stuck covering petty crimes in a North Carolina textile town until he uncovers a possible police cover-up involving a drunken city councilman.

In a review written in 2013 of John Williamson’s “Stoner,” Tim Kreider snagged the attention of  The New Yorker readers with this title: “The Greatest American Novel You’ve Never Heard of.”

This year, when my friend Anne introduced me to “Stoner,” I still belonged to the ignorant crowd. I’d never heard of the man or his book. Given the title and its publication in 1965, I immediately assumed “Stoner” featured hippies and potheads.

I have always been a sucker for a good love story, so when I was told that J. M. Coetzee — who has been awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature — had a new novel and that it was a love story (“The Pole,” W. Norton & Co., 2023), I was all in. 

In the course of human events, there does come a time when comedy is in order. Such was a time last month for me. I was choosing a book to read and I needed comedy.

“Morte D’Urban,” a novel by J. F. Powers (Doubleday, 1962), had been recommended by a trusted friend. It is brilliantly funny and, how wonderful, much more than that. 

The ever growing stack of my “to-read” books has had Amor Towles’ “A Gentleman in Moscow” for about a year now. Several friends, whose literary opinion I respect, raved about this novel and one of them even bought me my copy.

To the Editor:

The 2024 presidential election revealed one thing in crystal-clear, proof-positive, light-years beyond any reasonable doubt comprehensibility, that the ability and capacity of the average American voter to simply (but so importantly) distinguish between fact and fiction, the ability to grasp (and choose confidently) between truth and falsehood, the aptitude necessary to seek out and determine right from wrong, to diligently and with purpose contrast good and evil, and lastly, the ability and the practiced competence to differentiate and choose the honorable from the dishonorable — no longer exists. 

As I peruse the shelves in the Jackson County Library’s “new releases” section, it is evident to me that there are more new titles written by women than by men. And while this may be true in literary circles in much the same way it is in politics these days, many of the storylines in these books being written by women have to do with a feminine renaissance that is going on world-wide.

Let’s not sugarcoat it anymore. To call it “misinformation” is, in itself, misinformation. Let’s just call it what it is — straight-up lies, of the sort that would earn you a whoopin’ by meemaw if you repeated them to her face instead of spreading them from behind a keyboard like a coward. 

Over 30 years ago, I read Helen Hooven Santmyer’s “And Ladies of the Club,” a doorstopper of a book chronicling life in a small Ohio town from the post-Civil War era to the early 1930s.

On the first Saturday of June, my friend John and I were just leaving McKay Used Books in Manassas, Virginia, when I spotted a woman young enough to be my granddaughter seated at a table topped by a couple of piles of books.