Essay by Marjorie Hakala
The nice thing about magic, from what I could tell as a young reader, was that it gave such an order to existence.
The nice thing about magic, from what I could tell as a young reader, was that it gave such an order to existence.
Swann’s Way was simply impassable. Even Proust said so.
Admitting you are a writer at Wheeler’s is like admitting to folding origami or shopping at the Whole Foods.
If you’re stocking the shelves of your survival shelter, don’t forget to throw in a few gripping novels.
I called my children by each other’s names, missed appointments, left my keys in the running car.
Lines don’t come cheap or easy. It just sounds as if they do.
Horton can’t hear me. I’m on the dandelion he tramples while looking for his Whos.
I could still hear the movie voices circling at the bottom of the staircase like lost and scared children in a forest.
I began listening to these books as naively as I’d begun my campaign: Press the start button and go.
Compared to these families, maybe my own isn’t so badly off, after all.