I fell in love with Ada Calhoun’s memoir, Also a Poet: Frank O’Hara, My Father, and Me. Not only does it provide the lit history dishing you may crave, but it also illuminates the super hella entangled ways in which so many of us in the arts tend to live, whether we’re based in the East Village or in the smallest of podunks. My review’s up today at Chapter 16.