In which there is talk of the slim stories which have travelled with me within the city, while bulkier volumes stayed home. Amitav Ghosh's Flood of Fire and Paul Auster's 4 3 2 1are awkward travelling companions. As are some of the skinnies in my current stack, like Iris Murdoch's
The winter months are good reading months for me, especially when snug indoors with a view of the snowy cityscape. I've been reading more than I've been reviewing here, so here's a peek into the recent stacks. Iris Murdoch’s Under the Net (1954) and The Sandcastle (1957) were read with
Readers meet a woman up in the air. Literally. She is flying to Athens, where she will teach a course in creative writing. This is Outline. Perhaps partly because she could instruct in the art of outlining, demonstrate for her students the art of constructing a framework on which
"My books aren’t romances per se; they don’t even necessarily feature happy endings any more, they just conclude with hopeful moments that allow the reader to decide whether widows have the strength to go on or divorced dads find love for a second time." And there is nothing romantic about the
It begins with something extraordinary. "Almost a decade earlier, a man with a .45-70 Marlin hunting rifle walked through the front doors of Avalon Hills prep school. He didn't know that he was about to become a living symbol of the age of white men shooting into crowds." House
