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Passports and Visas

Passports and Visas

The past became like the creatures in Where the Wild Things Are, baring its terrible fangs, breathing its terrible breath.

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The Unruly Past

The Unruly Past

All pasts are unruly. All pasts resist the tidy, codifying insistence of the page, resist the will of the writer.

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Fools Rush In

Fools Rush In

I said I always wished I could see uniform trade paperbacks of my work, books that could sit on a shelf and actually look to be related, visibly related, instead straggling like unruly foster children from different homes.

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Olive Kitteridge

Olive Kitteridge

Nearly a century apart Sherwood Anderson and Elizabeth Strout created unique modes of storytelling where one character’s deepest heartache or greatest failure is but a footnote in the life of another.

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Gene Fowler

Gene Fowler

Gene Fowler is a raconteur of the Old School, rooted in the rough-and-tumble world of reporters, men who bellied up to the bar, wrapped their ink-stained fingers around the bottle, and told each other mostly true stories.

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The Club

The Club

The Club, above all, expands on the famous Samuel Johnson quip: “He who is tired of London, is tired of life!” The thump and bustle of 18th century London throbs in these pages.

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West of Sunset by Stewart O’Nan

West of Sunset by Stewart O’Nan

Each time I return to FSF’s novels, his stories, his letters and essays I am saddened, even touched by the talents he squandered. If only….. hangs over the last dozen years of his short life. In some ways I marvel at what he did accomplish, given the self-destruction everywhere apparent.

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Resurrected Women: Barbara Pym

Resurrected Women: Barbara Pym

Perhaps this moment, now, when all our lives are sequestered, made small, compact, cloistered, perhaps this is the moment to return to Barbara Pym: savor your small pleasures.

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Jane Eyre

Jane Eyre

When I first read Jane Eyre, perhaps at age twelve or thirteen, I was intolerable for months. Southern California was very short on wild moors, and I longed for them.

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Memoir in a Jar

Memoir in a Jar

I opened the back door and walked into a house that was cold, dark, empty, and worst of all, silent. I had just returned from taking my youngest son to university 1300 miles away where he joined his brother. The day your child leaves home  is every bit as momentous as...

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We Need to Gather: November 9th, 2016

We Need to Gather: November 9th, 2016

The phone kept pinging in the night, text after text, for the most part, as I glanced at them, numbers without names. I tried to sleep through them. I tried to sleep at all. I didn’t want to wake up to a world where Donald Trump would be the President of the United States.

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