The simple act of picking up a book and reading again feels as rudimentary and simultaneously dramatic as learning one’s letters for the first time.

For me, reading is an exercise that has always been a ceremony. It’s an activity around which time dances and bends itself, rather than a walking-stick for one to lean one’s free time upon. It’s not a side-dish, but a demanding, chewy, robust main, to be relished and contemplated upon with every new flavour and nuance. Read the rest of this entry »

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