Cold Tea and Tears is Mary Farmer’s biography of her life and work as a dietitian – and the result is a candid and highly personal account of her 30-year career.This profession-confession will appeal to readers who have more than a passing interest in matters medical and nutritional, are keen to know the variety of knowledge and expertise of dietitians and to discover what happens behind the scenes.Mary takes the reader on a whistle-stop tour of her training and her first job. She invites us to be a fly on the wall in her out-patient clinics and on home visits; trips to residential care homes for the elderly and to the hospice where embarrassing ailments, ethical dilemmas, controversial and contentious matters are aired. She’ll draw you into debates on mental illness, malnutrition in older patients and artificial (tube) feeding. Mary also looks at how nutritional messages have changed over the years.This behind-the-scenes account gives some insight into the work of dietitians who, unlike doctors, paramedics and nurses, are not usually at the forefront of medical dramas and whose important work is often unrecognised by the wider public.

Nikki A. Toyama-Szeto, Tracey Gee and Jeannette Yep bring together stories of Asian American women and how God has been at work in their lives. Family expectations and cultural stereotypes assume that these women can only act in certain roles. But with the help of Scripture and mentors, these women have experienced God's blessing and transforming power.

Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank takes a fair and balanced look at the unsettling rise of the silly Fox News host Glenn Beck. Thomas Jefferson famously wrote that “the tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure.” In America in 2010, Glenn Beck provides the very refreshment Jefferson had in mind: Whether he’s the patriot or the tyrant, he’s definitely full of manure. The wildly popular Fox News host with three million daily viewers perfectly captures the vitriol of our time and the fact-free state of our political culture. The secret to his success is his willingness to traffic in the fringe conspiracies and Internet hearsay that others wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole: death panels, government health insurance for dogs, FEMA concen­tration camps, an Obama security force like Hitler’s SS. But Beck, who is, according to a recent Gallup poll, admired by more Americans than the Pope, has nothing in his background that identifies him as an ideologue, giving rise to the speculation that his right-wing shtick is just that—the act of a brilliant showman, known for both his over-the-top daily out­rages and for weeping on the air. Milbank describes, with lacerating wit, just how the former shock jock without a college degree has managed to become the most recognizable leader of antigovernment conservatives and exposes him as the guy who is single-handedly giving patri­otism a bad name.

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • From the indie rock sensation known as Japanese Breakfast, an unforgettable memoir about family, food, grief, love, and growing up Korean American—“in losing her mother and cooking to bring her back to life, Zauner became herself” (NPR). • CELEBRATING OVER ONE YEAR ON THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER LIST In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer, songwriter, and guitarist. With humor and heart, she tells of growing up one of the few Asian American kids at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother's particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence; of treasured months spent in her grandmother's tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food. As she grew up, moving to the East Coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, and performing gigs with her fledgling band--and meeting the man who would become her husband--her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother's diagnosis of terminal cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her. Vivacious and plainspoken, lyrical and honest, Zauner's voice is as radiantly alive on the page as it is onstage. Rich with intimate anecdotes that will resonate widely, and complete with family photos, Crying in H Mart is a book to cherish, share, and reread.

A New York Review Books Original In 1908, deep in Siberia, it fell to earth. THEIR ICE. A young man on a scientific expedition found it. It spoke to his heart, and his heart named him Bro. Bro felt the Ice. Bro knew its purpose. To bring together the 23,000 blond, blue-eyed Brothers and Sisters of the Light who were scattered on earth. To wake their sleeping hearts. To return to the Light. To destroy this world. And secretly, throughout the twentieth century and up to our own day, the Children of the Light have pursued their beloved goal. Pulp fiction, science fiction, New Ageism, pornography, video-game mayhem, old-time Communist propaganda, and rampant commercial hype all collide, splinter, and splatter in Vladimir Sorokin’s virtuosic Ice Trilogy, a crazed joyride through modern times with the promise of a truly spectacular crash at the end. And the reader, as eager for the redemptive fix of a good story as the Children are for the Primordial Light, has no choice except to go along, caught up in a brilliant illusion from which only illusion escapes intact.

It was a year since he had gone. He just disappeared one day, and inside she saw herself crouched in the bottom corner of her soul, screaming silently, Dont leave me, please love me! For many months, she had wanted to ball up like an unborn baby and stay inside of her soul. She wanted to withdraw her membership in the human race. Maybe all of our training and talk about love were lies told to us as children, to keep us from despair. Maybe there is no love in the world, she thought. She pulled the old, ragged letter from the top vanity drawer. It was a year old now and still no address to mail it to.