GQ Deputy Editor Michael Hainey's book, After Visiting Friends: A Son’s Story, comes out tomorrow!

Michael Hainey had just turned six when his uncle knocked on his family’s back door one morning with the tragic news: Bob Hainey, Michael’s father, was found alone near his car on Chicago’s North Side, dead, of an apparent heart attack. Thirty-five years old, a young assistant copy desk chief at the Chicago Sun-Times, Bob was a bright and shining star in the competitive, hard-living world of newspapers, one that involved booze-soaked nights that bled into dawn. And then suddenly he was gone, leaving behind a young widow, two sons, a fractured family—and questions surrounding the mysterious nature of his death that would obsess Michael throughout adolescence and long into adulthood. Finally, roughly his father’s age when he died, and a seasoned reporter himself, Michael set out to learn what happened that night. Died “after visiting friends,” the obituaries said. But the details beyond that were inconsistent. What friends? Where? At the heart of his quest is Michael’s all-too-silent, opaque mother, a woman of great courage and tenacity—and a steely determination not to look back. Prodding and cajoling his relatives, and working through a network of his father’s buddies who abide by an honor code of silence and secrecy, Michael sees beyond the long-held myths and ultimately reconciles the father he’d imagined with the one he comes to know—and in the journey discovers new truths about his mother.
A stirring portrait of a family and its legacy of secrets, After Visiting Friends is the story of a son who goes in search of the truth and finds not only his father, but a rare window into a world of men and newspapers and fierce loyalties that no longer exists.

To pre-order your copy, click here.

GQ Deputy Editor Michael Hainey's book, After Visiting Friends: A Son’s Story, comes out tomorrow!

Michael Hainey had just turned six when his uncle knocked on his family’s back door one morning with the tragic news: Bob Hainey, Michael’s father, was found alone near his car on Chicago’s North Side, dead, of an apparent heart attack. Thirty-five years old, a young assistant copy desk chief at the Chicago Sun-Times, Bob was a bright and shining star in the competitive, hard-living world of newspapers, one that involved booze-soaked nights that bled into dawn. And then suddenly he was gone, leaving behind a young widow, two sons, a fractured family—and questions surrounding the mysterious nature of his death that would obsess Michael throughout adolescence and long into adulthood. Finally, roughly his father’s age when he died, and a seasoned reporter himself, Michael set out to learn what happened that night. Died “after visiting friends,” the obituaries said. But the details beyond that were inconsistent. What friends? Where? At the heart of his quest is Michael’s all-too-silent, opaque mother, a woman of great courage and tenacity—and a steely determination not to look back. Prodding and cajoling his relatives, and working through a network of his father’s buddies who abide by an honor code of silence and secrecy, Michael sees beyond the long-held myths and ultimately reconciles the father he’d imagined with the one he comes to know—and in the journey discovers new truths about his mother.

A stirring portrait of a family and its legacy of secrets, After Visiting Friends is the story of a son who goes in search of the truth and finds not only his father, but a rare window into a world of men and newspapers and fierce loyalties that no longer exists.

To pre-order your copy, click here.

Hit Me
For five decades, Lawrence Block has been writing about underworlds. Wealthy back-stabbers, the brotherhood of the criminal class, and hard-living souls who somehow inhabit their middlegrounds. Gentlemanly criminals. Ex-cops who drink too much. Dubiously-employed private investigators. They sound like cliché detective novel characters only because Block has so masterfully shaped the genre over the last 50 years. His new novel “Hit Me” finds a New Orleans builder collecting stamps, playing Dad, and trying hard to forget a past he knows isn’t done with him. When work dries up and the call comes from New York …  well, look at the title. Out today. —COLE LOUISON

Hit Me

For five decades, Lawrence Block has been writing about underworlds. Wealthy back-stabbers, the brotherhood of the criminal class, and hard-living souls who somehow inhabit their middlegrounds. Gentlemanly criminals. Ex-cops who drink too much. Dubiously-employed private investigators. They sound like cliché detective novel characters only because Block has so masterfully shaped the genre over the last 50 years. His new novel “Hit Me” finds a New Orleans builder collecting stamps, playing Dad, and trying hard to forget a past he knows isn’t done with him. When work dries up and the call comes from New York …  well, look at the title. Out today. COLE LOUISON

Oh, The Places You’ll Come!
Tom Bissell wrote about Nicholson Baker’s latest—and raunchiest yet—exercise in literary smut, House of Holes. And no, he ain’t talking about donut holes. Below, a sample (of Bissell’s review, not Baker’s smut). Oh yeah: sNSFW, duh.

How has the English language done without fuckwizard, manslurp, and thundertube? I  am not sure, but Nicholson Baker’s awe-inducingly smutty House of  Holes: A Book of Raunch contains these pleasing new coinages, along  with many, many others. Baker’s singularly obsessive work has in  previous books covered poets, escalators, baby bottles, World War II,  and John Updike, who once said that the writer “should be as honest and  explicit as we are with ourselves” when describing sex. This is sound  advice, though it is debatable whether phrases like “slippy sloppy  fuckfountains” and “lasso of manstarch” are what Updike had in mind.

Oh, The Places You’ll Come!

Tom Bissell wrote about Nicholson Baker’s latest—and raunchiest yet—exercise in literary smut, House of Holes. And no, he ain’t talking about donut holes. Below, a sample (of Bissell’s review, not Baker’s smut). Oh yeah: sNSFW, duh.

How has the English language done without fuckwizard, manslurp, and thundertube? I am not sure, but Nicholson Baker’s awe-inducingly smutty House of Holes: A Book of Raunch contains these pleasing new coinages, along with many, many others. Baker’s singularly obsessive work has in previous books covered poets, escalators, baby bottles, World War II, and John Updike, who once said that the writer “should be as honest and explicit as we are with ourselves” when describing sex. This is sound advice, though it is debatable whether phrases like “slippy sloppy fuckfountains” and “lasso of manstarch” are what Updike had in mind.