Sometimes my life feels like a carpet that’s frayed along every edge. A frayed carpet could last for years, provided that no string is tugged too violently, but with just the right circumstance the entire thing could come undone. I’m solid, reliable, and stable; I’ve hidden almost every tattered string out of site. [...]
I’m nearing the end of Marilynne Robinson’s new book, Home. I count Gilead, one of her other stories, as one of my favorites, and Home has certainly not disappointed. Once I’ve finished it, I’ll write about the book in more detail, but for now I want to highlight one excerpt:
That odd capacity for [...]
