Books by Jack Phillips Lowe

The Irish Embassy in Hanoi on November 28 presented the National Library of Vietnam 163 valuable books introducing the land and people of Ireland.

The books were about the history and literature of Ireland, including the architecture of Ireland in 1680-1760 and a dictionary of Irish artists in the 20th century.

These book titles will also be introduced at the "EU Space" exhibition at the National Library from December 4-10.

Speaking at the presentation ceremony, Noel Dempsey, Irish Minister for Communications, Marine and Natural Resources, said this was part of the "Vietnam-EU Cultural Cooperation Year" project, showing the multi-faceted relationship between Ireland and Vietnam, especially in culture.

Our critics choose . . .


Francis Beckett

History is people thinking and feeling as we do, but living lives we can never experience, which is why I can never get enough of it. The very best history writing has the novelist's instinct for characterisation, and understands the import ance of tiny detail. I am as absorbed right now by Manhunt: the 12-day chase for Abraham Lincoln's killer, by James Swanson (Portrait), as I always am by the latest John le Carré novel. The squalid details of John Wilkes Booth's daily life on the run with a broken leg hold the reader firmly, even though we know the ending.

For my other choices, I'm going to cheat a little. For me, summer 2006 was dominated by two wonderful novels that actually appeared in late 2005. Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go (Faber & Faber) is an extra ordinary achievement. The flat, tedious style is set from the first sentences: "My name is Kathy H, I'm thirty-one years old, and I've been a carer now for over eleven years." The idea, that people have been cloned to supply parts for donor surgery, is outlandish. Yet every sentence grips and horrifies. And I've had more fun reading Marina Lewycka's A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian (Penguin) than I've had from a novel for years.



Andrew Billen

I caught up with We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver (Serpent's Tail), although I wasn't sure it was the anti-motherhood apologia some spinsters of this parish think: Kevin's mum was clearly nuts. Griff Rhys Jones's Semi-Detached (Michael Joseph) may be of little interest to anyone not in his family or who didn't go to his school in the 1970s but, since I am among the latter, I was interested very much: I had never dared hope to see my teachers feature in a book. And I thought Julian Fellowes's Snobs (Phoenix) the acutest comedy about the upper classes since Evelyn Waugh.



Billy Bragg

With our civil liberties under assault in the name of the war on terror and our individual rights about to be compromised by the creation of a central database for all our personal information, Thomas Paine's Rights of Man: a biography by Christopher Hitchens (Atlantic Books) is a timely publication. Hitchens's assertions are, as always, somewhat controversial, but his book reminds us that we, too, have a radical tradition in this country, one that we need to reconnect with in order to meet the challenges thrown at us by jihadists and racists alike.



Christopher Bray

David Cannadine's Mellon: an American life (Allen Lane) is a model life, sketching in economic and cultural background detail with a few deft strokes and making the story of the miserable millionaire tug like a thriller. Roger Osborne's Civilisation (Cape) was a daunting race through western history that ought to make any remaining teleologist flip his or her whig. Hypnotic and heartbreaking, Dan Hofstadter's Falling Palace (Profile), a memoir of a failed Neapolitan love affair, afforded the year's most tenderly wrought prose. Wilfully misunderstood by the critics, David Thomson's Nicole Kidman (Bloomsbury) was a scalpel-subtle pro bing of what it means to be an actor.



Michael Bywater

Luckily for Private Eye, with its touching belief in literary nepotism, I know both authors of my two books of the year: Howard Jacobson's Kalooki Nights (Jonathan Cape) and Elizabeth Speller's The Sunlight on the Garden (Granta). Utterly different - hers a memoir, both lyrical and witty, his a high-octane forensic dissection of times and manners - both, though, are about resurrections, and in particular resurrections from madness. Both are mastercraftsmen of language, and both achieved the great trick of taking the terribly particular and making it utterly universal.



Rachel Cooke

My novel of the year is Mother's Milk by Edward St Aubyn (Picador): a brilliant book about parenthood. It's savage and moving, and if you ask me, he was robbed of the Booker Prize. I also loved Hisham Matar's shimmering In the Country of Men (Viking), about growing up in Gaddafi's Libya. It's evocative, disturbing and - I hate this word - relevant. In non-fiction, I would recommend Elizabeth Kolbert's Field Notes from a Catastrophe (Bloomsbury), a compelling book that brings global warming terrifyingly to life. Proper journalism. Last, but not least, Persephone Press's lovely new edition of Plats du Jour by Primrose Boyd and Patience Gray. When it was first published in 1957, this sold 100,000 copies. It was also one of Jane Grigson's favourite cookbooks, which should be recommendation enough for anyone.



Jason Cowley

So much has been written about the origins and threat of al-Qaeda by those who know little or nothing about it that one turns with relief and exhilaration to Lawrence Wright's The Looming Tower: al-Qaeda's road to 9/11 (Allen Lane). A staff writer on the New Yorker, Wright travelled extensively in the Gulf states and the Middle East while researching this book, the most com plete account we have of the ideological journey taken by the radical jihadists, as well as of those in the CIA and FBI whose mission it was to prevent them from carrying out the spectacular attack on America that some in US intelligence knew was coming but could not prevent. During his research, Wright spoke to former associates and confidants of Osama Bin Laden and of his so-called number two, the Egyptian medic Ayman al-Zawahiri. He moves back and forwards in time, covering the arrival of the Egyptian radical Sayyid Qutb (1906-66) in America in the 1940s, the brutalisation in Egyptian prisons of al-Zawahiri and his followers, and the US-funded Islamic resistance to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. The Looming Tower has the pace and tension of a great suspense novel and the rigour and discipline of the finest scholarship. Don't miss it.



Amanda Craig

Adam Sisman's The Friendship (HarperCollins) is about the charmed 16 months during which Wordsworth and Coleridge cross-fertilised each other's creative imaginations. Sympathetic and scrupulously fair, Sisman excels at showing how these two great poets brought out first the best, then the worst, in each other as host and guest. Ruth Scurr's Fatal Purity (Chatto & Windus) is the study of the incorruptible Robespierre, architect of the Terror who was ultimately devoured by it. A study that resonates with the current Labour leadership crisis, it is consistently challenging, original, beautifully written and essential for those interested in revolutionary politics.

Irène Némirovsky's Suite Française (Chatto & Windus) is an unfinished masterpiece by a novelist murdered in Auschwitz, discovered 60 years later by her daughter. Surprisingly sophisticated, it depicts the Tolstoyan underbelly of war as experienced by women and non- combatants; struggling into life out of the author's perilous present, it moves me like Michelangelo's half-glimpsed Slaves. Michael Arditti's A Sea Change (Maia Press), concerning a snooty Jewish boy's attempt to escape Nazi Germany on a ship bound for Havana, proved that the Holocaust continues to inspire authors. Like Nabokov fused with Howard Jacobson, it depicts first love and last farewells with agonising wit and candour.

For children, I recommend Cressida Cowell's picture book, That Rabbit Belongs to Emily Brown (Orchard) - concerning a small girl's stubborn defence of imagination and love in the face of intrusive, duplicitous auth ority - and Paul Shipton's enchant ingly funny and clever novel The Pig Who Saved the World (Puffin), about the one member of Odysseus's crew who chose to remain a cowardly swine.



Edwina Currie

The faster history disappears from school curricula, the more books and TV examine our history and identity. Andrew Miller's The Earl of Petticoat Lane (Heinemann) follows a family saga back into Poland in the 19th century. Peter Hennessy's Having It So Good (Allen Lane) revives the strange, erratic 1950s as Britain emerged from austerity. Chris Stringer looks at really ancient Britons in Homo Britannicus (Allen Lane) - a prehistoric elephant was their dinner in Ebbsfleet in Kent 400,000 years ago, while, more recently, Somerset people were cannibals. On the fiction front, Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe's Fury (HarperCollins) is one of his best yet, as Captain Richard Sharpe distinguishes himself both in bed and at the 1811 battle of Barossa.



William Dalrymple

This was the year that the catastrophe of Anglo-American foreign policy finally came home to roost. It became clear to everyone - even the Americans - that during the past five years the wrong countries had been invaded for the wrong reasons, secular Ba'athists had been confused with fundamentalist Islamists, a clueless intelligence community had been producing serially worthless information - all led on by a president who, long after invading Iraq (according to Peter Galbraith's recent memoir), was still unaware of the existence of any distinction between Sunnis and Shias. Amid this mess, there have been two excellent books on the Middle East that define and illuminate the real roots of the conflict: Emma Williams's brilliant and moving It's Easier to Reach Heaven than the End of the Street: a Jerusalem memoir (Bloomsbury), one of the best of recent books about Israel and Palestine; and Lawrence Wright's The Looming Tower, possibly the best book yet written on the rise of al-Qaeda. The most visually spectacular book of the year was Lucknow: city of illusion, edited by Rosie Llewellyn-Jones (Prestel Verlag), one of the most lavishly produced and beautifully printed photographic books ever published on the architecture of India. The book uses the work of early photographers such as Felice Beato to record the fabulously baroque architecture of Lucknow, most of which was wantonly des troyed by the vengeful Victorians in the aftermath of another catastrophic clash between east and west, the Indian Mutiny of 1857.



Helena Drysdale.

I had hours of understated pleasure with James Runcie's Canvey Island (Bloomsbury), which centres around the island's notorious flood of 1953. On a similar flood-watery theme, I was gripped by Helen Dunmore's marvellously imagined undersea world in The Tide Knot (HarperCollins), second of the Ingo trilogy, which I had to wrest from the hands of my 13-year-old daughter.



Geoff Dyer

Lawrence Weschler's "book of convergences", Everything That Rises (McSweeney's), is an endlessly stimulating glimpse into what must be one of the most hyperactive brains in the world. Nutty Weschler looks at a whole bunch of stuff - a Vermeer, Joel Meyerowitz's photos of Ground Zero, a Rothko - and writes about how they remind him of a bunch of other stuff. The play of associations - "This in turn set me to thinking . . ." - is never more engaging than when at its most tangential. It's all done with such panache as to make much cultural criticism seem plodding.



Maggie Gee

A great year for reading. Dannie Abse produced his best work in a long life of brilliant writing in his latest collection, Running Late (Hutchinson), which speaks of sorrow but also arresting moments of beauty as the poet watches "the highest, jubilant, silver sunlit point of a fountain". The poet Karen McCarthy published a slender poetry chapbook, The Worshipful Company of Pome granate Slicers (Spread the Word), that fizzed with intelligence, energy and linguistic invention. Two other great pleasures were re-reading: Doris Lessing's stunningly sharp and far-sighted Going Home (HarperPerennial), on her return as an exile to a land she loved, Southern Rhodesia, but under the shadow of the then white supremacist regime; and Proust, whom I had read more than three decades ago without noticing the comedy. Of course he is the elegist of lost time, but he is also a very funny writer with a striking sense of the absurd. And he will last me until 2008. How wonderful books are.



John Gray

Michael Frayn's The Human Touch: our part in the creation of a universe (Faber) is the result of many years of deep reflection. Though his standpoint is too anthropocentric for my taste, Frayn has given us a book with that rarest of qualities - intellectual beauty. London: city of disappearances (Hamish Hamilton), edited by Iain Sinclair, is an inexhaustible compendium of enigmatic vanishings and real-time illusions. George Walden's God Won't Save America: psychosis of a nation (Gibson Square) is a manual for independent thinkers - you might not agree with all or even any of it, but you can't read it without thinking again.



A C Grayling

The best book of the year for me is Amartya Sen's Identity and Violence: the illusion of destiny (Allen Lane), in which he attacks the mistaken commitment that underlies identity politics - namely, that people are defined by a single fixed identity, typically a religious affiliation. He reminds us that we each have many identities: someone can be an academic, a father, an Indian, a feminist, a tennis player, and more; recognising our plural identities reduces both the possibility and plausibility of simplistic oppositions and violence.



Tarquin Hall

Any book by Tahir Shah, who has created his own genre of gonzo travel writing, is bound to be different. The Caliph's House (Doubleday) is an uproarious account of his new life in a sprawling Casablanca house infested by jinns. Rory MacLean's Magic Bus (Viking) is also a highly original journey, with this eloquent writer making his way from Istanbul to Kathmandu on the old "hippie trail" in search of the spiritual seekers who blazed it. And Peter Hopkirk's classic The Great Game (John Murray), reissued this year along with his other books, brilliantly recounts 19th-century imperial rivalry in south Asia, a period of history that could not be more relevant to today.



Lynsey Hanley

This year, two books arrived that both explained and encouraged the need for tolerance, honesty and constant self- questioning in the strange and anxious period we've found ourselves living in: Am ar tya Sen's Identity and Violence and Kwame Anthony Appiah's Cosmopolitanism (both Allen Lane). Both authors are great humanists and unsentimental optimists: both books are just what I needed to read.



Tom Hodgkinson

We are accustomed to viewing the US as a country of Puritan strivers à la Benjamin Franklin, but Doing Nothing: a history of loafers, loungers, slackers and bums in America by Tom Lutz (FSG), an excellent book, uncovers another tradition - that of the freedom-seeking hobo, from Rip Van Winkle to Jack Kerouac.

Based on interviews with band members and associates, The Story of Crass by George Berger (Omnibus) gives a good account of the bohe mian household that produced the influential anarchist punk band as well as a series of avant-garde artistic projects.

John Wilkes: the scandalous father of civil liberty by Arthur H Cash (Yale University Press) is a scholarly and well-written biography of a fantastic 18th-century character. Wilkes followed liberty in his political life and libertinism in his personal life, a combination that led a London drayman to remark approvingly that Wilkes was "free from cock to wig".

New York therapist Esther Perel argues in Wild Things in Captivity: reconciling the erotic and the domestic (HarperCollins) that the close and intimate nature of modern western coupledom actually damages the erotic impulse. A bold thesis that turns conventional wisdom on its head.



Hanif Kureishi

Joe Boyd's White Bicycles (Serpent's Tail) was an informative pleasure and will remain an invaluable addition to writing about the 1960s; Edward Said's On Late Style (Bloomsbury) was an exercise in late style itself, full of melancholy, insight and humour; and Matthew von Unwerth's Freud's Requiem (Continuum) shows us why Freud continues to fascinate even as we argue with him.



Andrey Kurkov

Orhan Pamuk's Snow (Faber) doesn't need much explanation. Incidences by Daniil Kharms (Serpent's Tail), a 1930s master of black humour and absurdity, has just been republished in English. Russian humour still needs support from abroad - authorities recently prevented a collector from the UK from exporting a caricature .

Ruben Gallego's White on Black: a boy's story (John Murray) is an incredible and moving autobiographical novel of a handicapped son of famous Spanish communists who was abandoned in a Soviet special institution for children.



Kathy Lette

Rumpole and the Reign of Terror (Viking) finds our favourite defence barrister still ensconced at Pommeroy's wine bar, liberating the world's underdogs from their kennels. Urbane and humane, with lashings of Wodehousian humour, John Mortimer satirises new Labour's anti- terrorism laws. Our befuddled, bewigged one is also a victim of terror, from She Who Must Be Obeyed. Love should end in marriage - and believe me, in many cases it does. Especially when your wife, the indomitable Hilda, is penning a memoir listing your faults and foibles. Pithy and witty.

Carl Hiaasen's Nature Girl (Random House) is a page-turning eco-thriller that you will devour from cover to cover. It's also leg-crossingly comedic. Hiaasen's literary creations have no higher education, but heaps of lower. Here he introduces a new host of riotous characters - from the queen of lost causes, Honey Santana, to her drug-runner ex-husband, a man who has all the charm of a Mafia hit man. Possibly because he is one. These are the sort of people who check their machine-guns at the door. And they're all marooned in the Florida everglades, which may not survive the invasion of these wild, marauding humans. Heaven.

Richard E Grant's The Wah-Wah Diaries (Picador) details the writing and directing of his autobiographical film, Wah-Wah. The film is about the coming-of-age of a teenage boy, concurrent with the coming-of-age of a country, Swaziland. The hair-raising horrors of trying to make a movie are depicted with toe-curling comedy. It helps to remember that most movie producers couldn't produce a urine sample. And if they did, it would be so toxic they'd be stamping due dates in prison libraries for the rest of their lives. Heartbreaking but hilarious.



Hilary Mantel

The novel that's most intrigued me is M J Hyland's Booker-shortlisted Carry Me Down (Can ongate), about growing up in Ireland in the 1970s; when I met the author, I stared at her stupidly, not able to understand that she was not her main character, a rapidly growing and volatile teenage boy. The poet John Burnside, in A Lie About My Father (Cape), produced a finely corrosive memoir. The late John McGahern has left us Creatures of the Earth: new and selected stories (Faber), the last work from one of the great writers of our era. Essential poetry is Seamus Heaney's District and Circle (Faber) and essential commentary is Pankaj Mishra's Tempations of the West: how to be modern in India, Pakistan and beyond (Picador).



Jonathan Meades

The Passenger by Chris Petit (Simon & Schuster) is a terrific thriller that proceeds in a bewildering series of directions in the aftermath of the Lockerbie disaster. The characters are mendacious, covert: even those who aren't spies behave as though they are. Petit's world may be one of wearisome despair, but it is described with a gleeful appetite for the mores of the flawed and the (literally) fallen.

Grass Seed in June by John Martin Robinson (Michael Russell) is part memoir of an aesthetic awa k ening, part celebration of the ritualistic side of Catholicism, part hymn to the Bavarian baroque and, most startlingly, a graphic account of a brutal education by Scottish monks in the 1960s.

The Moldavian Pimp by Edgardo Cozarinsky (Harvill) sketches tango, brothels, Jewish sex traffickers and Buenos Aires in the 1920s. Cozarinsky's shadowy novella is preoccupied with the way that any attempt to exhume this ignominious history - or any other history - is impaired by the accretion of all previous attempts and by the ghosts of those who strayed into the territory.



Don Paterson

Cosmologist Paul Davies is one of the clearest writers on a horribly complex subject, and The Goldilocks Enigma (Allen Lane) is an exciting guide to the current state of multiverse theory. John Burnside's beautiful A Lie About My Father (Cape) is just about as good as English prose gets these days. Greg Palast's Armed Madhouse (Allen Lane), his long-awaited follow-up to The Best Democracy Money Can Buy, is just as incendiary an affair as its predecessor, and his virtuosic dismantling of the saurian global- market apologist Thomas Friedman had me cheering on my feet.



Geoffrey Robertson

I enjoyed The English Civil War: a people's history by Diane Purkiss (HarperCollins), which brings home just how bloody awful the civil war was for civilians. Purkiss is good on the independents and the women, and provides an antidote to noble-centric historians who seem to think the civil war was merely a continuation of the War of the Roses.

Tom Keneally's The Commonwealth of Thieves (Chatto & Windus) is thoughtful, readable and revelatory, especially about the admirable Admiral Arthur Phillip, whose humanity and compassion towards Aborigines and convicts was extraordinary in an age of savagery and slavery. The British have never honoured Phillip (probably because he was Jewish), so it is appropriate for Australians to claim him as their "founding father", without whose leadership the country would have been colonised by the French, who do not play cricket.

For modern history, red in tooth and claw, The Torture Papers: the road to Abu Ghraib edited by Karen Greenberg and Joshua Dratel (Cambridge University Press) is an essential read. From their own perverse pens, this is how the Bush lawyers junked the Geneva conventions, habeas corpus and the law against torture, which they redefined as "pain equivalent to the loss of a bodily organ", thereby legitimising "water-boarding", the unleashing of Alsatians upon exposed Arab genitals, and the pulling out of fingernails.



Sukhdev Sandhu

A really fascinating book from 2006 is Patrick Wright's Iron Curtain: from the theatre to the burning world. His idiosyncratic studies of tanks, London streetscapes and Dorset ghost villages have led to his being rightly lauded as one of Britain's most original cultural historians. This new work, a beautifully written, character-rich portrait of the "long cold war", is just as illu minating. A shame, then, that the shrunken intellectual horizons of mainstream publishing houses in the UK means that Iron Curtain is currently forced into self-published, samizdat-style circulation.

Kenneth Helphand's Defiant Gardens (Trinity University Press) is an incredible and deeply moving history of the ways in which soldiers and civilians, often in the most grievous and immiserated circumstances, have created little pockets of horticultural hope throughout the 20th century: in allied trenches during the First World War, Warsaw ghettoes, Japanese-American internment camps. The photographs alone are extraordinary, but the chronicles of imaginative resistance are almost beyond belief.

Rajiv Chandrasekaran's Imperial Life in the Emerald City: inside Iraq's Green Zone (Knopf) is a near-masterly piece of investigative reporting that systematically exposes the grotesque incompetence, corruption and greed that were a feature of almost every aspect of the American attempt to import a self-serving parody of dem ocracy to Iraq.

Finally, in the year that New York nightclub CBGBs closed, Brandon Stosuy's Up Is Up But So Is Down (NYU Press) is a tear-inducing, pumped-fist-raising tribute to the downtown literary scene that flourished in the two decades before Giuliani turned Manhattan into a mausoleum.



Ziauddin Sardar.

William Dalrymple con tinues to scale new heights. The Last Mughal (Bloomsbury) is a moving and totally engrossing account of the life of my favourite Urdu poet, the unfortunate and tragic emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar. It should shame all those belligerent, neo-con historians who claim that colonialism was a good thing for the colonised - if they had any shame left.

Two first novels have also impressed me. The Curry Mile by Zahid Hussain (Suitcase Press) tells the story of a young, rebellious Muslim woman who is forced to rescue her father's restaurant business in Manchester's Asian area. Squabbling families with overbearing fathers, neighbourhood business feuds, charlatan mystics, music and mayhem - all human life is there. Mohammed Umar's Amina (Africa World Press) faces a more overt political struggle in northern Nigeria. Umar cleverly weaves women's current struggle with Islamic law and social convention with the historical narrative of the 16th-century Hausa Queen Amina of Zazzau to show that little has changed over the past four centuries. Surprisingly fresh and brilliant debuts.



Alexei Sayle

This year I seem to be yearning to read about the dark and ignored side of the United States. I don't know why. Two books that fulfil this need are Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell (Sceptre), all you ever wanted to know about crank-cooking hillbillies in the Ozarks, and No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy (Picador), a similarly bleak story set on the US/Mexico border. The first is intimately redemptive; the latter left me feeling quite peculiar for a week.



Kamila Shamsie

Kiran Desai's The Inheritance of Loss (Hamish Hamilton) and Hisham Matar's In the Country of Men (Viking) are wonderful, compelling novels that fully deserve the attention and acclaim they've received. Lydia Millet's Oh Pure and Radiant Heart (Heinemann) is a beautifully written novel. Both meditative and humorous, it imagines the creators of the atomic bomb - Oppenheimer, Szilard and Fermi - awakening in Santa Fe, 2003, and embarking on a global disarmament campaign.



Bee Wilson

Apicius (Prospect) is the only surviving Roman cookbook that was a byword for indulgence and luxury. Now, at last, it has been given the def initive English edition, by the classical food experts Christopher Grocock and Sally Grainger, and it makes fascinating reading. Grocock and Grainger argue that Apicius was not produced by a sole Roman gour met, as is often suggested, but was the work of many cooks. Either way, these are recipes for cont em plating rather than cooking: piglet stuffed with brains and covered with papyrus; flamingo cooked with coriander and rue. One recipe asks you to "blow into the intestines" of a hollowed-out kid "so that the excrement is expelled from the very bottom". Yum.

If you are more in the mood for real food, I recommend The Taste of Britain by Laura Mason and Catherine Brown (Harper Press), a lovely inventory of British food, from damsons and Egremont russets to potted shrimps and Eccles cakes. It is both beautiful and informative.

Finally, The Wages of Destruction by Adam Tooze (Allen Lane) is a remarkable and gripping revision of the history of Nazi Germany, which charts the relationship between Hitler's aggression and the weakness of the German economy.

Nidhi Sharma - All Headline News Staff Writer

Lexington KY (AHN) - The latest edition of books by publisher Mascot Books have launched special books for the preschools that introduce them to the great games of their parents' alma mater.

Their series of books aimed at preschoolers include Hello Wildcat! that shows the University of Kentucky basketball team winning at Rupp Arena. Priced at $14.95, the book features the Wildcat mascot strolling around in the campus past Commonwealth Stadium until he reaches Rupp Arena.

Rupp Arena is the place where the basketball Wildcats won against a team identified as "visitor" by a mere 10 points.

Lexington Herald-Leader reports that the Mascot books lead the readers on tours around various campuses including the gardens, the libraries and the chapels.

However, Mascot hasn't included Louisville in its series of books as it failed to get sign-ups from the team.

The other section of books include other teams like Duke (Hello Blue Devil!), Tennessee (Hello Smokey!) and Indiana University (Let's Go Hoosiers!).