What Do You Remember

Remember the Bionic Woman, Dippity Doo, Pop Rocks, Planet of the Apes, Peter Frampton, and white lipstick? Do You Remember? takes readers back to a simpler, tackier time, when TV shows were unabashedly corny and shags (carpets and hairdos) were all the rage. Over 130 images of long-lost-pop-culture items and unforgettable icons from the '50s, '60s, '70s, and even early '80s fill the pages of this wacky collection. Do You Remember? is the perfect gift for baby boomers, ex-hipsters, and even members of Generation X, sparking chains of remembrance that make Proust's madeleine look like just another cookie.

Do you ever forget to remember what's true? Sometimes remembering is hard to do! But in this lyrical tale, Ellie Holcomb celebrates creation’s reminders of God’s love, which surrounds us from sunrise to sunset, even on our most forgetful of days.

A beautiful book of first moments to share and celebrate with your child.

'Let's play remembering,' says Hedgehog. But Rabbit isn't very keen - 'You know what always happens,' he says. And sure enough the friends remember events entirely differently, whether it be an acorn rolling competition or crossing a stream ('You fell in!' says Hedgehog. 'I was picking up a water snail,' says Rabbit. 'I dropped it when you grabbed me.')

Tells the full story of house music in Chicago, from its emergence to its queer remediation to its memorialization from the late '70s to the present.

In this delightfully witty, provocative book, literature professor and psychoanalyst Pierre Bayard argues that not having read a book need not be an impediment to having an interesting conversation about it. (In fact, he says, in certain situations reading the book is the worst thing you could do.) Using examples from such writers as Graham Greene, Oscar Wilde, Montaigne, and Umberto Eco, he describes the varieties of "non-reading"-from books that you've never heard of to books that you've read and forgotten-and offers advice on how to turn a sticky social situation into an occasion for creative brilliance. Practical, funny, and thought-provoking, How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read-which became a favorite of readers everywhere in the hardcover edition-is in the end a love letter to books, offering a whole new perspective on how we read and absorb them.

Talk to anybody who has ever lived in Dublin, and they'll be able to tell you about some of the strange characters who have roamed this city's streets throughout the ages. With cheeky narration from storyteller Bobby Aherne and amusing illustrations by Ruan Van Vliet, D'You Remember Yer Man? tells the stories of over 100 of Dublin's most peculiar citizens, and takes you down the side-streets of the city which you'd usually try to avoid

In her award-winning book Harmful to Minors, Judith Levine radically upended our fixed ideas about childhood. Now, she tackles the other end of life in this poignant memoir of a daughter coming to terms with a difficult father who is sinking into dementia, presenting an insightful exploration of the ways we think about disability, aging, and the self as it resides in the body and the world. In prose that is unsentimental yet moving, serious yet darkly funny, complex in emotion and ideas yet spare in diction, Levine reassembles her father's personal and professional history even as he is losing track of it. She unpeels the layers of his complicated personality and uncovers information that surprises even her mother, to whom her father has been married for more than sixty years. As her father deteriorates, the family consensus about who he was and is and how best to care for him constantly threatens to collapse. Levine recounts the painful discussions, mad outbursts, and gingerly negotiations, and dissects the shifting alliances among family, friends, and a changing guard of hired caretakers. Spending more and more time with her father, she confronts a relationship that has long felt bereft of love. By caring for his needs, she learns to care about and, slowly, to love him. While Levine chronicles these developments, she looks outside her family for the sources of their perceptions and expectations, deftly weaving politics, science, history, and philosophy into their personal story. A memoir opens up to become a critique of our culture's attitudes toward the elderley. A claustrophobic account of Alzheimer's is transformed into a complex lesson about love, duty, and community. What creates a self and keeps it whole? Levine insists that only the collaboration of others can safeguard her father's self against the riddling of his brain. Embracing interdependence and vulnerability, not autonomy and productivity, as the seminal elements of our humanity, Levine challenges herself and her readers to find new meaning, even hope, in one man's mortality and our own.