Sometimes the Gray Lady pulls through. In this case, with the amazing “Wading Toward Home,” by Michael Lewis.

Just then a car turned the corner, rolled up to a house in the next block and stopped. Its appearance was as shocking as the arrival of a spaceship filled with aliens — apart from Ms. Perrier, I hadn’t seen a soul, or a car, for miles. Four men with black pistols leapt out of it. Two of them looked as if they belonged in the neighborhood — polo shirts, sound orthodontia, a certain diffidence in their step. But the other two, with their bad teeth and battle gear, marched around as if they had only just captured the place.

. . . They had just landed Russian assault helicopters in Audubon Park. Not one, but two groups of Uptown New Orleanians had rented these old Soviet choppers, along with four-to-six-man Israeli commando units (platoons? squads?), and swooped down onto the soccer field beside the Audubon Zoo.

. . . The commandos went inside to “clear the house.” A nice little yellow house just one block from my childhood home. Not a human being — apart from Ms. Perrier and me — for a mile in each direction. And yet they raised their guns, opened the door, entered and rattled around. A few minutes later they emerged, looking grim.

“You got some mold on the upstairs ceiling,” one commando said gravely.

(Courtesy of MaxSpeak, You Listen!.)