Back in the days when you taped movies onto video cassettes, I was recording "Anna Karenina" to watch another time, when I turned on the television -- thinking the film was over and the credits would be running past -- and I could not unsee the last few seconds of the story
"Do you remember, Big Sister, all those good times? In Cousin Chan's abandoned house right in the middle of our neighbourhood, a dozen or so girls lying together, cooking together, working the fields, laughing and gissipping the entire day." The excerpt from this letter, from Fong Mei in March 1919,
My reading resolutions for this year revolve around a set of too-long-unread books. Many of which were too-long-unread because they are long and complicated. Like Marge Piercy's Gone to Soldiers and Leslie Marmon Silko's Gardens in the Dunes, which I have been leaving at home, while these slimmer volumes have been
In the ninth grade we read Winston Rawlings' Where the Red Fern Grows. It didn't seem strange to read an animal story in school; I'd read the Thornton Burgess books and Allison Uttley tales growing up and this was just a longer version of Robert Lawson's stories. Some kids are still
It's a bright sunny day, when I snap this photo. I'm even more optimistic when I think of a month's reading, when the sun shines. More hours with good reading light. And, in February. What could be better. You can see the sheen of it in the image, the veil
