Sometimes, I am reading a book and suddenly just mentally step back and admire the artistry of the author. It is a strange experience—the book has a plot, but I am not really noticing the plot, but rather the amazing way the plot has been so deliberately constructed. It’s like watching a play from backstage; you notice how everything is done. I have this experience a lot when reading Wodehouse. And I had that experience with Alice Munro. Dear Life is her last volume of short … [Read more...] about Dear Life
Measuring out my life with coffee spoons ...and books
