Tawny Kitaen and David Coverdale | George Rose/Getty Images

If there’s one thing that all kinds of metal fans can agree with it’s that Tawny Kitaen was a the supreme metal babe. And actually, she was more than that, she was an equal of David Coverdale in terms of hair and sex presence. (Is that a term? If it is, it definitely applies to them.) Tawny nailed an interpretive dance accompaniment to a glam rock song, with her acrobatic and balletic moves on the hood of a Jaguar in illustrating the freedom that her then-beau Coverdale sang about in lyrics such as, “Like a drifter…


San Francisco, an interesting place. It was the home of Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead, and then not too many years later the cradle of American Heavy Metal, largely due to Metallica.

My guess is that the metal explosion was the result of a new generation rebelling against the “Make Love Not War” of their parents. They were all about war, and not just war but WAR! A war fought against society, against the military, and of course, against themselves. War, what is it good for? .

Previously on Heavy Metal Genealogy, I covered the family…


Four elderly gentlemen gather once a week to tell ghost stories by the fire in Peter Straub’s aptly-titled “” a tale as old-fashioned as its main characters and frightening enough to give its readers a sleepless night or two.

Known as the Chowder Society, these well-to-do inhabitants of fictional Milburn, NY, used to be five in number until a year earlier, when one of their members, Edward Wanderley, died — possibly from fright. His sudden demise and its rumored cause have left the remaining men anxiously speculating about when their time will be up (Tomorrow? Today? Now?), along with…


A young woman finds herself trapped in a web of deceit, betrayal, and Satanism in Ira Levin’s 1966 classic, “” Written the same year Time magazine printed their infamous “” issue, the book reflects Baby Boomers’ changing values against those of the Tommy Dorsey era. (Or should I say the Frank Sinatra era?) Though the twist is that the values of the Tommy Dorsey era may not be as straightlaced as they appear, and some Baby Boomers may be more naïve than others, even if they are on the pill.

The novel opens with newlyweds Guy and…


“If you build it, he will come.”

Besides “” there are few sports novels (actually, none that I can think of) that have such an iconic line. W.P. Kinsella connects with it on page one.

“Three years ago at dusk on a spring evening, when the sky was a robbin’s-egg blue and the wind as soft as a day-old chick, I was sitting on the verandah of my farm house in eastern Iowa when a voice very clearly said to me, ‘If you build it, he will come.’”

Ray Kinsella (yes, he has the same surname as the author)…


Through a recent conversation about Russian politics, I learned about Masha Gessen’s 2015 book “” about Tamerlan and Dzhokhar “Jahar” Tsarnaev, the brothers behind the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing. Both had been written off as radicalized Chechens whose newfound religious zeal caused them to avenge their Muslim brothers, but Gessen sought to find a deeper, more logical answer as to what turned these men from aimless youths into terrorists.

In this, I believe she failed — more on that later — however, Gessen does take us on an enthralling albeit miserable journey along…


In the turn-back time spirit of #tbt is Harold Robbins’ 1976 novel, “” I’d thought a lot of Robbins’s work was a slight step above dime-store schlock, but “The Lonely Lady” is a surprisingly timely story about a woman who strives to be a successful screenwriter, yet is repeatedly stonewalled by men in power — men who prefer to sleep with her in exchange for vague promises of promoting her work. In short: they don’t take her seriously as a screenwriter because she’s a woman, and only see her as a sex object. Ring any bells?

I should…


Like many young girls who grew up the 1980s, I stumbled upon because I was attracted to its cut-out paperback cover. (Anyone remember those? You’d open it to reveal a bigger — usually creepier — picture underneath.) In “Flowers in the Attic,” the image of a beautiful blonde girl looking tentatively out a window hinted of family secrets inside. I was hooked and I hadn’t even read page one.

Back then V.C. Andrews’ name was synonymous with a kind of pulp gothic horror, including rather large helpings of sex and incest. Here, four Dollanganger children are…


Continuing my reviews of is “” a YA novel that could not be more different from “Flowers in the Attic,” but at the same time left such an impression on me that for years I considered it one of my favorites, even after I’d forgotten much of the plot. I do remember, though, that this was the first book where the ending made me cry. (Or maybe that was Judy Blume’s “”?I read them both around the same time.)

The basics qualify as a kind of Brontë-esque novel…


I love trivia. Trivial Pursuit is the only board game I’ll play. Probably because it’s the only one I’m good at. (Well, that and Stratego.) I get very competitive — for me, trivial knowledge is personal. I knew that Craig Claiborne was The New York Times’ restaurant critic when the first Genus edition of Trivial Pursuit came out. I was eight. How I knew this, I still don’t know. I didn’t read the Times, and definitely not its food section. But I must’ve overheard someone mention it and it stuck. Math doesn’t work like that with me. …

Heather Quinlan

Filmmaker, Writer, Godzilla Enthusiast

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