Last year, while staying a house in Berlin, I came across an old, 1950s Chatto & Windus set of Proust in twelve little volumes. Innocently enough, I picked up Swann’s Way, slipped it into my jacket pocket, and reread it on the trains. When I finished, I picked up the next little volume. Soon enough I realized this was it, I had begun in the foothills and was now climbing the mountain. I have given it most of my reading hours, and with great joy. Also, inter alia, Kevin Power’s beautiful novel of the Iraq War, The Yellow Flowers; Edward P. Jones’ The Known World; and Julian Barnes’ The Sense of an Ending. On the non-fiction side, I’m reading mostly about Reconstruction: David Blight’s Race and Reunion, and Philip Dray’s At The Hands of Persons Unknown.
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