There are rare moments in history when a nepotism case uses his or her power for good. This is true of John Bemelmans Marciano, who has been bred over generations to write delightful illustrated books, in much the same way that Maremma sheepdogs gambol out of the womb already prepared to be gentle with lambs but ferocious with wolves. His Anonyponymous, a (very) selective encyclopedia (or rather, “opinionated dictionary”) of the crazy stories of Candido Jacuzzi, Patrick Hooligan, Jules Léotard, Charles Boycott, and their ilk has all the charm of his famous grandfather’s Madeline books -- although, with adult touches, especially in the bits about de Sade and Sacher-Masoch and good old seed-spilling Onan. It’s a fascinating topic, and Marciano manages to be breezy and whimsical without losing any historical accuracy. Marciano anticipates and answers reader questions (such as, why and how do certain words survive while others die? And, how does anonyponymity operate across different world languages?), and he has a word geek’s love of the chase. His interest in dead or dying eponyms (“pulling a brodie,” “lucy stoner,” “pinchbeck”) is matched by a vibrant sense of the contemporary -- he describes Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford as “the original Brangelina” -- and a passion for the ridiculous. “Making a Bemelmans” doesn’t yet mean “writing and illustrating a charming book,” but some day it might. - Reviewed in Bookslut

The novels of Wu Ming (Chinese for "anonymous" or "five people") might be the best ever written by a gang. Most efforts of this sort have been intent on producing bad novels...Wu Ming, on the other hand, squeeze every potential for incisive, rabid adventure they can out of the popular novel. Their books sizzle with a kind of lefty jazz: they're linguistically and culturally hip, historically astute, with a heart worn challengingly on the sleeve...Manituana, on the surface, is a [straight] story: that of educated, enigmatic Joseph Brant, leader of the Mohawks during the American revolution; of his sister Molly, who "dreams with great strength"; and crucially, the loss, for humanity, of the confederation of the Six Nations...Manituana unspools mesmerisingly like an old Hollywood movie, ducking the common mishaps of the historical novel – there is not a single longueur. The descriptions of American abundance are worthy of Washington Irving, with a fall chill punchy as a stanza of Longfellow or a Remington painting of woods....Wu have now out-Dickensed Dickens, and when you read this novel, you will become aware of a faint buzzing noise. That will be James Fenimore Cooper, spinning in his grave. – Reviewed in The Guardian