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There’s something about reading a deeply moving book that forms a kinship between author and reader, even if they’ve never met. This is the magic of literature. A few years ago I found an old, dog-eared copy of Plainsong on a “Used Book” shelf at… Continue Reading “When an Author Dies”
A few years ago, I picked up a book called Plainsong by Kent Haruf. The writing was brilliant. I had a difficult time putting it down. But there was a problem. The book touched too many ragged nerves. It was a painful read for me.… Continue Reading “Reading Haruf”
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