Hello, Old Friend
About three years ago, I slowly lost reading as one of my most pleasurable pastimes. Not for lack of trying, but for lack of vision. Now two surgeries later and Kindle-equipped, I have rediscovered what I have long missed.
Ten days ago I began with Louise Erdrich's deeply affecting The Round House; moved on to Jesmyn Ward's Salvage the Bones which a friend rightly called "raw"; slipped into a bit of frippery with Julia Stuart's The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise; and then read the insightful and informative memoir Epitaph for a Peach by David Mas Masomoto. Waiting for me now on my re-charged reader is Julian Barnes' The Sense of an Ending.
Rain, a comfortable couch, shelves of art and books, my cat at my side, and literature: hello, old friend. How long you've been gone.
Ten days ago I began with Louise Erdrich's deeply affecting The Round House; moved on to Jesmyn Ward's Salvage the Bones which a friend rightly called "raw"; slipped into a bit of frippery with Julia Stuart's The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise; and then read the insightful and informative memoir Epitaph for a Peach by David Mas Masomoto. Waiting for me now on my re-charged reader is Julian Barnes' The Sense of an Ending.
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