Books
A complete lists of works, including sample excerpts
A complete lists of works, including sample excerpts
The Keillor Reader collects the full range of Garrison Keillor’s work: monologues from A Prairie Home Companion, stories from The New Yorker and The Atlantic, excerpts from novels, newspaper columns, and pieces never before published.
Read MoreI started out with No. 2 pencil and pads of paper, then acquired an Underwood manual typewriter with a faint f and a misshapen O. You had to poke the keys hard to make an impression. I set it on a maple desk in my bedroom, which looked out onto a cornfield across the road, and I wrote stories about tortured loners who stood at a distance from the crowd and observed their comings and goings with envy tinged with contempt.
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O, What a Luxury: Verses Lyrical, Vulgar, Pathetic & Profound is the first poetry collection written by Garrison Keillor. Although he has edited several anthologies of his favorite poems, this volume forges a new path for him, as a poet of light verse.
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On the 12th floor of the Acme Building, on a cold February day in St. Paul, Guy Noir looks down the barrel of a loaded revolver in the hands of geezer gangster Joey Roast Beef who is demanding to hear what lucrative scheme Guy is cooking up with stripper-turned-women’s-studies-professor Naomi Fallopian. Everyone wants to know-Joey, Lieutenant McCafferty, reporter Gene Williker, Guy’s ex-girlfriend Sugar O’Toole, the despicable Larry B. Larry, the dreamboat Scarlett Anderson, Mr. Kress of the FDA–and Guy faces them one by one, as he and Naomi pursue a dream of earning gazillions by selling a surefire method of dramatic weight loss. In this whirlwind caper Guy faces danger, falls in love, and faces off with the capo del capo del grande primo capo Johnny Banana.
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Greatness comes in many forms, and as Garrison Keillor demonstrates daily on The Writer’s Almanac, the most affecting poems in the canon are in plain English. Third in Keillor’s series of anthologies, Good Poems, American Places brings together poems that celebrate the geography and culture that bind us together as a nation. Think of these poems as postcards from the road, by poets who’ve gotten carried away by a particular place-a town in Kansas, a kitchen window in Nantucket, a Manhattan street, a farm in western Minnesota. Featuring famous poets and brash unknowns alike, the verses in this exhilarating collection prove that the heart can be exalted anywhere in America.
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A Christmas Blizzard is the story of James Sparrow who dreads the holiday and the poignant memories it dredges up and who longs to spend December in Hawaii. But his wife adores Christmas and cannot bear to miss it. A phone call from cousin Liz in James’s hometown of Looseleaf, N.D. — his uncle Earl is dying — brings James out of the doldrums and he flies to Looseleaf just in time to be snowed in by a major blizzard. There is a ghost, a wise man of San Francisco, a genial uncle, an undercover FBI agent, a steamy sauna scene, and the singing of Christmas carols. And several feet of snow.
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Twelve Wobegonians fly to Rome to decorate a war hero’s grave, led by Marjorie Krebsbach, with radio host Gary Keillor along for the ride. The pilgrimage is inspired by a phone call from an Italian woman seeking her Lake Wobegon roots and by a memoir O Paradiso by a farm wife who found the secret of life and love in Italy. And by marjorie’s longing to win back the love of her husband Carl. Far from home, sitting in the rain in the Piazza Navona, the pilgrims talks about themselves, as they never could do in the Chatterbox Café.
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Based on Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon monologues, Life among the Lutherans is a collection of stories about the struggles of ordinary people in an imperfect world, the life and work of the pastor who leads them, and the church to whose high standards they aspire in the small town they call home.
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“When I was 16, Helen Fleischman assigned me to memorize Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 29, ‘When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state’ for English class, and fifty years later, that poem is still in my head…”
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