BOOKS

Inspired by Matt Richtel Custom House, $29.99

From the Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times science reporter acclaimed for “bring[ing] scientific concepts to life” (Bill Gates), a pathbreaking new investigation into the mysteries of human creativity. This is the story of how we create. Creativity is perhaps the defining human trait. It sparks achievement and innovation in art, science, technology, business, sports, and indeed virtually every activity. It has fueled human progress (and its discontents) on a global level, but it equally is the source of profound personal satisfaction for individual creators. And yet the origins of creative inspiration and the methods great creators tap into it have long been a source of mystery, spoken of in esoteric terms, our rational understanding shrouded in complex science. Until now.

Inspired is a book about the science of creativity, distilling an explosion of exciting new research from across the world. Through narrative storytelling, Richtel marries these findings with timeless insight from some of the world's great creators—spanning art, science, business, technology, sports, music—as he deconstructs the authentic nature of creativity, its biological and evolutionary origins, its deep connection to religion and spirituality, the way it bubbles in each of us, waiting to be tapped, urgent and essential.

The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex Viking, $27

Inspired by a haunting true story, a gorgeous and atmospheric novel about the mysterious disappearance of three lighthouse keepers from a remote tower miles from the Cornish coast—and about the wives who were left behind. It’s New Year’s Eve, 1972, when a boat pulls up to the Maiden Rock lighthouse with relief for the keepers. But no one greets them. When the entrance door, locked from the inside, is battered down, rescuers find an empty tower. A table is laid for a meal not eaten. The Principal Keeper's weather log describes a storm raging round the tower, but the skies have been clear. And the clocks have all stopped at 8:45.

Two decades later, the keepers’ wives are visited by a writer determined to find the truth about the men’s disappearance. Moving between the women’s stories and the men’s last weeks together in the lighthouse, long-held secrets surface and truths twist into lies as we piece together what happened, why, and who to believe.

In her riveting and suspenseful novel, Emma Stonex writes a story of isolation and obsession, of reality and illusion, and of what it takes to keep the light burning when all else is swallowed by dark. I’ll Show Myself Out by Jessi Klein Harper, $26.99

“Sometimes I think about how much bad news there is to tell my kid, the endlessly long, looping CVS receipt scroll of truly terrible things that have happened, and I want to get under the bed and never come out. How do we tell them about all this? Can we just play Billy Joel’s ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ and then brace for questions? The first of which should be, how is this a song that played on the radio?”

In New York Times bestselling author and Emmy Award-winning writer and producer Jessi Klein’s second collection, she hilariously explodes the cultural myths and impossible expectations around motherhood and explore the humiliations, poignancies, and possibilities of midlife.

In interconnected essays like “Listening to Beyoncé in the Parking Lot of Party City,” “Your Husband Will Remarry Five Minutes After You Die,” “Eulogy for My Feet,” and “An Open Love Letter to Nate Berkus and Jeremiah Brent,” Klein explores this stage of life in all its cruel ironies, joyous moments, and bittersweetness.

Dream Town by David Baldacci Grand Central Publishing, $29.00

It’s the eve of 1953, and Aloysius Archer is in L.A. to ring in the New Year with an old friend, aspiring actress Liberty Callahan, when their evening is interrupted by an acquaintance of Callahan’s: Eleanor Lamb, a screenwriter in dire straits. After a series of increasingly chilling events—mysterious phone calls, the same blue car loitering outside her house, and a bloody knife left in her sink— Eleanor fears that her life is in danger, and she wants to hire Archer to look into the matter. Archer suspects that Eleanor knows more than she’s saying, but before he can officially take on her case, a dead body turns up inside of Eleanor’s home . . . and she herself disappears.

Missing client or not, Archer is dead set on finding both the murderer and Eleanor. With the help of Callahan and his partner Willie Dash, he launches an investigation that will take him from mob-ridden Las Vegas to the glamorous world of Hollywood to the darkest corners of L.A.—a city in which beautiful faces are attached to cutthroat schemers, where the cops can be more corrupt than the criminals . . . and where the powerful people responsible for his client’s disappearance will kill without a moment’s hesitation if they catch Archer on their trail. The Puzzler by A.J. Jacobs Crown, $27.00

What makes puzzles—jigsaws, mazes, riddles, sudokus—so satisfying? Be it the formation of new cerebral pathways, their close link to insight and humor, or their community-building properties, they’re among the fundamental elements that make us human. Convinced that puzzles have made him a better person, A.J. Jacobs—four-time New York Times bestselling author, master of immersion journalism, and nightly crossworder—set out to determine their myriad benefits. And maybe, in the process, solve the puzzle of our very existence. Well, almost.

In The Puzzler, Jacobs meets the most zealous devotees, enters any puzzle competition that will have him, unpacks the history of the most popular puzzles, and aims to solve the most impossible head-scratchers, from a mutant Rubik’s Cube, to the hardest corn maze in America, to the most sadistic jigsaw. Chock-full of unforgettable adventures and original examples from around the world, The Puzzler will open readers’ eyes to the power of flexible thinking and concentration. Whether you’re puzzle obsessed or puzzle hesitant, you’ll walk away with real problem-solving strategies and pathways toward becoming a better thinker and decision maker—for these are certainly puzzling times.

Every Vow You Break by Peter Swanson William Morrow, $27.99

Abigail Baskin never thought she’d fall in love with a millionaire. Then she met Bruce Lamb. He’s a good guy, stable, level-headed, kind—a refreshing change from her previous relationships. But right before the wedding, Abigail has a drunken one-night stand. She puts the incident— and the sexy guy who wouldn’t give her his real name—out of her mind, and now believes she wants to be with Bruce for the rest of her life. Their honeymoon on a luxurious, secluded island will be the beginning of their lives together.

Then the mysterious stranger suddenly appears—and Abigail’s future life and happiness are turned upside down. He insists that their passionate night was the beginning of something much, much more. Something special. Something real— and he’s tracked her down to prove it.

Does she tell Bruce and ruin their idyllic honeymoon—and possibly their marriage? Or should she handle this psychopathic stalker on her own? To make the situation worse, strange things begin to happen. She sees a terrified woman in the shadows one night, and no one at the resort seems to believe anything is amiss… including her perfect new husband. n

of Bethlehem has been pursuing this goal diligently and vigilantly over eight decades. For a quarter century it showcased a Curtis Institute quartet with the violinist father of Zubin Mehta, the fabled conductor. Along the way it’s presented up-and-comers (the Emerson String Quartet), veterans (the Guarneri Quartet) and esteemed soloists (violinist Jaime Laredo). The current season is typically robust. On April 8 the Hermitage Piano Trio performs two works by Rachmaninoff, star of its first CD. On June 24 Project Fusion spins Bach and Gershwin with four saxophones. (Concerts in Foy Concert Hall, Moravian University, 342 Main St., Bethlehem; 610-435-7611; cmsob.org)

The Valley’s three cities are increasingly diseased by new hi-rises as charming as stacked storage pods. One antidote is the Karl Stirner Arts Trail in Easton, which nurtures nature and human nature. The urban refuge is named after the late scrap-metal sculptor, artist-studio landlord and cultural/economic godfather. Karl’s trail reflects his personality: crooked, expansive, mercurial. A paved path meanders below Route 22 and above Bushkill Creek, changing perspective as the highway curves and the waterway bends. Visitors are encouraged to veer into a woodsy nature byway, a course for ancient Chinese exercises, and a cozy dog-legged dog park. The best branch is around or through Willie Cole’s blue-painted, angel-winged “Grace Gate.” It opens into a tunnel that opens into Easton Cemetery, a splendid memorial park for Aaron O. Hoff, Lafayette College’s first African-American student, and Burt Cohen, my Lafayette psychology professor/humorist. (Park in the lot on North 13th Street, across from Pennsylvania Water Rescue building; 610-250-6612; karlstirnerartstrail.org)

The Stirner trail neighbors the Simon Silk Mill complex, a residential/commercial village in a long-dead industrial beehive. The 19thcentury brick buildings, some with 15-foothigh windows, have been handsomely transformed into a brewery, a creamery, a winery and an oil-paint refinery for artists. The latter business is an easy walk from a huge root sculpture by Steve Tobin. Roaming corridors and courtyards makes me imagine the might of a mill with 1,200 workers in a Valley with 75 silk factories. I imagine the giant smokestack envisioned as an installation by neon sculptor Stephen Antonakos, a Lafayette guest artist buried in in Sag Harbor, N.Y. (671 N. 13th St., Easton; simonsilkmill.com) n Make Way for Tomorrow (1937, Leo McCarey, United States)

Just about everyone can relate to the trials and travails of aging, especially among close family. Leo McCarey’s classic drama tells the heart-wrenching tale of Bark and Lucy Cooper (Victor Moore and Beulah Bondi), an elderly couple shuttled around between their adult children after they lose their house. From this

simple premise a thousand cuts (and more) result. If you don’t break up at the long-distance phone call husband and wife share while the kids listen in, then you certainly will when they are forced, by circumstances that manage to be both cruel and all-too-comprehensible, to separate permanently. Japanese filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu would loosely remake the movie into his own masterpiece, Tokyo Story, several decades later. And the film was famously summed up by Orson Welles thusly: “It would make a stone cry.” Truer words… (Available via Amazon.)

The New World (2005, Terrence Malick, United States/United Kingdom)

One of the founding myths of America gets a complexly elegant and elating treatment by writer-director Terrence Malick. Disgraced sailor John Smith (Colin Farrell) acts as emissary and love interest to Native tribeswoman Pocahontas (Q’Orianka Kilcher), both of them bridging and destroying cultural and political gaps in equal measure. Malick’s approach is elevated in ways that put us above the fray, though not necessarily outside it. The European explorers’ genocide (spiritually if not always corporeally) of America’s original inhabitants hangs over the lush proceedings and colors the star-crossed melancholy of Smith and Pocahontas’ romance. Nature acts as casual counterpoint to the human drama (the skies thunder, the trees rustle, the rivers flow), and the whole movie is constructed like an elemental symphony that steadily crescendos to a final sequence sure to leave no eye dry. (Available via Amazon.) n (maybe) murders the suitors. It could all be an elaborate game, and it is so long as the victims (who include Jacob Elordi and Finn Wittrock) disappear without a trace. Complications arise, however, when Tracy Letts shows up as a nosy neighbor whose suspicions aren’t easily allayed. As the thriller plot takes over, and the setpieces take a turn for stunt-doubleheavy silliness, this sporadically trenchant and titillating analysis of two people in savage love gets much less compelling. [R] HH1/2

Vortex (Dir. Gaspar Noé). Starring: Dario Argento, Françoise Lebrun, Alex Lutz. The latest provocation from Gaspar Noé (Climax) is comparatively relaxed given his typically demoniacal standards. That’s not to say this portrait of an elderly married couple, played by giallo director extraordinaire Dario Argento and The Mother and the Whore leading lady Françoise Lebrun, doesn’t have its aesthetic and thematic incitements. Filmed almost entirely in split-screen—one frame favoring the

husband’s perspective, the other the wife’s, with some occasional variation—and confined mostly to a single apartment, the film charts the devolution of the duo’s relationship due to dementia and other ills. In many ways Vortex resembles Michael Haneke’s end-of-life dirge Amour (2012), though in much more balanced and oddly empathetic ways. Both Argento and Lebrun’s characters feel on equal footing in their tragedy-prone voyage toward the inevitable, and that makes the occasional moments of grace (which Noé unearths even in confrontational images of a corpse on a slab) hit all the harder. [N/R] HHH1/2 n

go around 1920, but they were having problems replicating the system. It was a system built on high volume, quality, and loyal, hardworking employees. They expanded really fast in New York and Philadelphia, but you can’t just recreate that with the snap of a finger. I think it’s quite nice that they limited their expansion to only two cities. Nowadays, global domination has become the norm, but there’s something beautiful about staying regional and respecting the territory of others.

Mel Brooks drinking coffee in the Automat. Carl Reiner took the photo in 1950 when they were both writers on Your Show of Shows. Courtesy of A Slice of Pie Productions

What did the Automat mean to Philadelphians? It was kind of a lifeline for people. It was such a heavily trafficked eating spot around town. It became part of the fabric of everyday life for so many in the city. It was patronized by everybody, and a very popular place among African Americans. Wilson Goode explains in his interview that the Automat was an incredibly welcoming place that offered high-quality service for its customers. And people looked forward to going there. It was a positive place, a hangout, a place to get nourished, a place to get out of the cold, a place to congregate. It was so much.

Audrey Hepburn at a Horn & Hardart restaurant in 1951. Photo: Lawrence Fried/Film Forum

Are you enjoying the movie’s success?

I’m aware of what an accomplishment this is, and I’m very proud. There are moments every day when I’m reminded that this is incredible. I’ve thought, “this is why people hire wedding planners”—so they can enjoy the wedding. Here, I’m the wedding planner, and at this point I’m the best person to do it. Nobody cares about it as much as I do. I’m working hard, I’ve got this amazing team, and a distribution advisor who’s also the film’s sales agent. I have a theatrical booker, and as of two days ago, I have an intern, which is like, hallelujah.

I’m enjoying it, but it’s overwhelming. After we premiered at Film Forum all the media started coming out. I’m still not caught up on all the emails, and I think I have booking inquiries buried in there. I have sort of a bear-with-me vacation message on my email. I’m looking forward to being able to catch up on everything and taking that off. We’re getting there. n April 9: Daryl Hall at The Met Philadelphia

Don’t kid yourself. The Pottstown-born, Temple University-going blue-eyed soul singer and songwriter, will never leave his vocal sparring partner for good. But, at times, you have to allow Daryl the room to try, fly, and hope. So here Hall is, with his Live from Daryl’s House Band and Upper Darby-raised buddy and one-time producer/mentor Todd Rundgren (because who really wants to be alone) doing tracks from his klatch of solo albums that you never bothered to listen to. And why? Because you were at a Hall & Oates show listening to “Maneater.” Just saying.

April 12 to May 1: Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard at The Wilma Theatre

Famously in late March, the brain trust of the Wilma Theatre, Philly’s home to allthing avant-garde, gave back a chunk of its funding when they found out that a portion of the cash came from a Russian oligarch. F&$k him. That said, The Cherry Orchard on the stage of the Wilma rolls on in a new adaptation of the Chekhov classic, adapted and directed by Dmitry Krymov and staged with the Wilma’s HotHouse Acting Company. Smart.

April 17: South Street Headhouse District Easter Promenade at the apex of Passyunk Avenue and South Street

Easter Sunday isn’t only for God-loving Roman Catholics. It’s for anyone who likes to dye eggs funny colors. Like the Mummers (without the racism), those Easter strut-loving paraders—run by Henri David, the holiday host with the moistest—welcome children and grown-ups alike come dressed in their Sunday best for a promenade down South Street. Plus, the Easter Bunny, who judges the best-dressed contests, will be there.

April 29 to May 1: The Philadelphia Show at the Philadelphia Museum of Art

For the first time in its 60-year history, what used to be known as the Philadelphia Antiques Show hits up the PMoA for 40 of the most prominent exhibitors of old things and collectible things in the U.S. I have many old things lying around my house in South Philly if you care to Uber down from the Art Museum area. n

Justin Jain and Krista Apple in The Cherry Orchard at the Wilma Theatre. Photo by Wide Eyed Studios

The gypsies, who passed their style of jazz down from generation to generation became your calling.

I was already a guitar player when I first saw and heard their jazz. You’re right—I had that calling. It was like a voice, telling me what I should do: “Study Django” it said. Play his music. Spread the word. But that said, I’m allergic to the term”‘gypsy jazz.”

What’s jazz guitar without a cigarette?

Django Reinhardt in 1946.

Gypsy jazz is a convenient term. Jazz is a convenient term, shorthand. All great iconic artists transcend. If I had taken the word “jazz” out of my question, would I have received a different answer? [laughs] When I answer, I try to be precise. In fact, when you called, I was working obsessively on my turnarounds with the diminished chords. To start a song, you have to know its melody and chords. Then, the closer you get to the end of the progression, the more you get to the cadence, the less freedom you have. Once you get to that cadence, you have things that work and don’t work. If you’re playing the rhythm, you’re bound to it.

You graduated from Berklee. How has that changed the touch of your strings? The way you take in music? The way you think? Moving to America was always a metaphysical move for me. It was extremely important since I was a kid. That was my dream. I had to fulfill that. I discovered Django, and that was a dream that I had to fulfill. There are a lot of dreams that I have and work to fulfill. I had a dream that I would write music for Woody Allen, and that happened. But Berklee was my way into this country, my entrée. I learned from those guys, studied Indian music, heard bluegrass. It was all so different from what I knew in France. By the time I got to New York, I had synthesized everything. I studied composition, and I kept studying Django—because he is like Bach. You study Django, and he is good for you in every way. I’m in the last stages of figuring out much of how his system works. Now I’m sharing that with my students, as well as going back to my own compositions.

Because you never stop learning. I need to be clear on something here: Woody Allen didn’t just happen on to your music and call you. You sought him out.

When I saw his Sweet and Lowdown, I knew I had to work with that guy. I couldn’t sleep until I saw my music in one of his films. One of the first things I did when I arrived in America was go on a Woody Allen Yahoo group—there was no such thing as Facebook at the time—and find out how I could get in touch with him. Next thing I know, my “Big Brother,” was included in his Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Then I did his Midnight in Paris.

Django is who you are, what you do. You’re getting back to composing again. Is there a process in which there’s as much disassociation from Django as association with him?

When I play Django is when I play jazz. I love to play jazz. As a guitarist, what is good for jazz is Django. That’s how it works. There’s no difference. It is jazz on the guitar. I don’t like to mix culture into music. Music is a thing unto itself that is alive. We use it as a support for our lives. It’s a very tribal thing with songs, dances, particular instruments, and storytelling. Then there is classical, which is the root of all music—how does harmony work? How does reason work? It acts like a boomerang, returning to the human who then expresses it differently every time. Everyone will have a different swing, a different rhythm, sense of harmony. A minor chord never means the same thing for every person and how they process it.

It’s a universal experience as much as it is a unique experience.

Isn’t it wonderful? n for nubile male flesh. He acts the cuck and (maybe) murders the suitors. It could all be an elaborate game, and it is so long as the victims (who include Jacob Elordi and Finn Wittrock) disappear without a trace. Complications arise, however, when Tracy Letts shows up as a nosy neighbor whose suspicions aren’t easily allayed. As the thriller plot takes over, and the setpieces take a turn for stunt-doubleheavy silliness, this sporadically trenchant and titillating analysis of two people in savage love gets much less compelling. [R] HH1/2

Vortex (Dir. Gaspar Noé). Starring: Dario Argento, Françoise Lebrun, Alex Lutz. The latest provocation from Gaspar Noé (Climax) is comparatively relaxed given his typically demoniacal standards. That’s not to say this portrait of an elderly married couple, played by giallo director extraordinaire Dario Argento and The Mother and the Whore leading lady Françoise Lebrun, doesn’t have its aesthetic and thematic incitements. Filmed almost entirely in split-screen—one frame favoring the husband’s perspective, the other the wife’s, with some occasional variation—and confined mostly to a single apartment, the film charts the devolution of the duo’s relationship due to dementia and other ills. In many ways Vortex resembles Michael Haneke’s end-of-life dirge Amour (2012), though in much more balanced and oddly empathetic ways. Both Argento and Lebrun’s characters feel on equal footing in their tragedy-prone voyage toward the inevitable, and that makes the occasional moments of grace (which Noé unearths even in confrontational images of a corpse on a slab) hit all the harder. [N/R] HHH1/2

Solution to REROUTED FLIGHTS