For months at bedtime, I’ve been pecking away at the Ron Powers biography of Mark Twain. Read it in bits and pieces and in between other books over half a year, so I got used to seeing Twain’s face on the bedstand and tagging along with him paragraph by paragraph. I thought the book was terrific. So terrific that when I hit the last page, and Twain was gone, I actually felt bereft.
(In a weird postmodern webby twist, when I set up the link above, I found myself quoted in the “From the Blogs” tab toward the bottom of the page.)
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