My friend J. recently lent me a copy of Stoner, insisting that I should read it. The book’s jacket was sticky with dried apple juice from a dousing by one of J.’s small, energetic sons. “Sorry about the apple juice,” J. said. ”You’ll love this novel anyway.” It was not an easy book to begin. There is no startling
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Last night, while driving the only vehicle on a stretch of snowy country road where there’s no cell phone reception and a smash-up would mean a cold march, I mostly gripped the wheel and hoped my car would slither home. Somewhere around Woodford Reserve Distillery, I started thinking about poems and stories in which snow is figural. This is what
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This cutout is from the back flap of an old calendar that I remember as one of my favorites. When that year ended I stuck the cutout on a ribbon board, where it has remained since. Despite periodic attacks on clutter, this scrap of cardboard has survived. Good thoughts for any New Year. I think my favorite observation here is Lillian Hellman’s “People change and forget
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