If you read, you’ve been there. It may be a single book, or it may be an author. It may be a literary work, or a popular novel you pick up at the grocery store. But each page shouts that you’ve found a kindred spirit, someone who occupies your mind and knows you as well as you know yourself.
I can name the books when that’s happened to me: The Pier Falls by Mark Haddon; All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr; A Whispered Name by William Brodrick; The War of the End of the World by Mario Vargas Llosa; Farewell, I’m Bound to Leave You by Fred Chappell; Grief is a Thing with Feathers by Max Porter; David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. There are others, including a short story. I first read “A Good Man is Hard to Fund” by Flannery O’Connor in the 1970s, and as soon as I began reading, I knew with dead certainty what exactly was going to happen. As bizarre as that story was and remains, it is about the American South I grew up in and recognized.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
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