I sort through a box of books and feel the pull to read—or reread—many of them. A wave of dizziness interrupts my inspection and sends me back to the novel I am currently reading. On one side lies reading a good book, the wish to read, the weight. On the other lies reading itself: simple, faithful, and consistent reading—the reading of a single book, however poor it may be, even if it should take a lifetime.
July 2015