(reading as my mother sleeps in the adjacent room)

I love Marilynne Robinson. Her language bewilders me. And I’m amazed at how deep her characters and her little towns go, emotionally, aesthetically, intellectually. I’m sort of glad I never took a workshop with her at Iowa because somehow the magic would have been ruined. 


Right now my apartment smells like a thousand different curry spices. It’s funny how the lives of neighbors can waft in through the window, and I have never met them, or even seen them.

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