The shaping power of my little library goes beyond the suggestion to bury myself in Dostoevsky. The library is my life history collected across volumes; these are the ideas and stories that have formed me.
When you’re largely stuck indoors, even the building next door becomes special. And I see how this house blocks the sun, how it abuts the little walkway between our buildings that makes me feel cramped and unwelcome. No wonder I rarely step through here.